I Want a Lover with a Slow Hand

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright 2011 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved

Transformation

The bartender noticed the slight movement of hand and the universal nod as the gentleman discreetly ordered another round of drinks while his date wasn’t looking.  He wasn’t trying to get her drunk; he was actually trying to work up his nerve.  Who would have thought that Doug Rivers, President and CEO of Major Conglomerate, Inc., or some such corporate plantation, would be nervous on a date with the overnight security guard in his office building? 

He had seen her for months.  He would leave his office at midnight and return at 6 a.m. and she would be there, competent, friendly, efficient and smiling.  Even with their brief interaction, Doug could tell that she wasn’t the usual overnight lackey that used the job to catch up on sleep or play video games on the computer.  She always looked him in the eye, anticipated his wants and followed up with details above and beyond what Doug required. 

Regina Marvel took her job seriously but it wasn’t difficult to do.  The job was beneath her, she dangerously underemployed and could do the job with one hand tied behind her back.  It fit her schedule perfectly however, she could go to school in the evenings, use the overnight shift to study and do research and sleep during the day.  It was the perfect gig for a grad student and she was going to take advantage of the situation as long as it was beneficial to her. 

There was something about Regina that absolutely fascinated Doug.  He found himself lingering in the lobby on his way home for inexplicable reasons.  He would actually look forward to their brief encounters on his way to the lobby in the elevator, aware that she could see his every move on the security cameras.  He wanted to strike up a conversation with her but he wasn’t sure exactly how-- or why for that matter.  She was a freakin’ security guard for God’s sake.  AND Black.  He was almost positive that he wasn’t attracted to her.  Regina was NOT his type.  Doug could get any Playboy centerfold of his choice.  If he met a bimbo and something wasn’t exactly to his liking, he had the money and the wherewithal to hire the best plastic surgeons money could buy to remedy it.  Surely, Doug Rivers could have any blonde-haired, blue-eyed, size 2 woman he wanted.  Why on earth would he find himself looking forward to seeing her every day?  Sure, she had a pretty face but she was every bit of size 18.  The top button on her navy blue uniform did little to hide her ample cleavage and Doug found himself trying to not stare occasionally. 

His curiosity could not be contained one night when he peeked over the desk one night and asked, “What are you reading back there?”

“Re-reading actually.  It’s a standard.  Patricia Hill-Collins’ Black Feminist Thought.  I’m dismantling the womanist vs. feminist argument YET AGAIN for my professor. 

Doug froze.  He’d never expected a response like that.  “Wow, I’ve never even heard of Patricia Hope-Collins yet alone can I articulate what the hell a womanist is.  I didn’t think you were that smart . . . “   He felt like an idiot the second the words left his mouth.  He never intended to be disrespectful, even to the hourly employees.  He knew he had insulted her and the sincerity in his voice was apparent as he said, “ I’m so sorry, that didn’t come out right.”

“It’s Hill-Collins and don’t sweat it.  I get it all the time at this job.  People expect me to be functionally illiterate and stupid all time.  It’s part of the job . . . It’s part of your white privilege.  You don’t have to see me as a human being.  I’m just the black body behind the desk to wait on you hand and foot.”  Regina had never been one to censor her true thoughts and the words flowed from her mouth without even the slightest hesitation. 

Doug felt the blood rise up in his cheeks.  He was mad at her for being so blunt and mad at himself because she was right.  He couldn’t let her know that he was so shaken by her forwardness.  “I’m not racist . . . I see everyone the same . . .  color doesn’t matter.”  He was spewing out clichés left and right, stumbling over his words in an effort to ease the guilt and the fact that he was painfully aware the that higher the floor number in his company the lower the numbers of African Americans.  “I don’t think that at all,” he mumbled.  “And to prove it,” gaining more nerve as he spoke,” how about I take you out for a drink on Saturday night to make up for my stupidity?  You can explain to me what womanism is.”  The words came out before he knew what he had said. 

“Mr. Rivers, I don’t need your pity date.  I’m quite confident in who I am and I don’t need to validate my intellect or personhood to alleviate your white guilt.” 

How dare she!  The gauntlet had been thrown.  How dare she challenge his motivations.  Did she have any idea who she just turned down?  Doug wondered if she had any idea how many zeroes he had in his net worth.  He was incensed that she would be so bold as to reject his offer.  There was some movement in his slacks that indicated that she had pushed the right buttons however and stirred him to an almost maniacal competitive passion. 

“This isn’t a pity date and I won’t take no for an answer.  I’ll pick you up here at 8 on Saturday,” his ego dictating his words more than common sense at that point.  “I sincerely want to get to know you better.” 

Regina laughed at his persistence and said, “If you are going to pick me up you will pick me up at my home, like a gentleman.  Unless you are afraid to come to the ghetto, Mr. Rivers . . . ,” her voice trailing off leaving a trail of innuendo and challenge. 

At that moment, Doug wanted to say, “My roommate in college was Black,” but he had attended enough of those damn sensitivity workshops to know that would be digging a deeper hole for himself.  Regina had scribbled her address on a post-it and extended it to him as an unspoken invitation. “Eight it is,” he said.

Doug was pleasantly surprised at the neighborhood that Regina lived in.  Half because he expected her to live in the ghetto and half because it looked relatively affluent and ALL Black.  He knocked on the door promptly at 8, hoping he could ease his guilt, have a drink and have her home by 9:30.  Then it would be on to a wild night of drinking and partying with the boys. 

Doug could barely believe his eyes when she opened the door.  Gone was the navy blue polyester uniform and conservative demeanor of the night security guard.  Before him was an astonishingly beautiful woman.  Her hair was down, rather than in a severe bun, and it framed her lovely face.  Her eyes were dramatic and smoky and her lips were seductive red.  She was wearing a gold colored blouse that came off the shoulder and a rust colored silk skirt that hugged her full hips, thighs and round ass.  Her smooth legs were bare and she had the tiniest high-heeled sandals that looked like nothing more than a delicate leather string that went across her perfectly pedicured toes and around her ankles.  She smelled like a mix of coconut and jasmine and something else . . . something feminine.  Her brown skin was luminescent and staring at her curvaceous figure and dazzling smile he wondered momentarily how he had not found Black women more attractive previously.  Regina was nothing less than breathtaking.

At that moment, Doug knew he was in over his head.  He quickly changed his game plan and decided to take her to his favorite exclusive martini and cigar bar.  If there was ever an atmosphere for seduction, it was there.  It was dark and secluded and the perfect environment for some sensual interplay . . . or foreplay if he was lucky.  He wasn’t sure if this was a game anymore or pure desire. 

Regina controlled the conversation, her wit, charm and intellect completely blowing Doug out of the water.  When she laughed she leaned in close and put her hand on his thigh, when she listening to his tales of mergers, takeovers and general male bravado, she licked her lips seductively and maintained her seductive eye contact.  The semi-erection Doug sported all night served to make his stories more animated and his movements guarded. 

After a few drinks and more than enough flirtation, Regina took control.  “Mr. Rivers,” she leaned in close,” Let’s drop the pretenses here, shall we? There’s enough chemistry between us to win the Half Hollow Hills Annual Science Fair.  Let’s go back to my place and see what happens.  No strings.” 

Doug swallowed hard.  He had never been with a Black woman before.  He wondered silently if it would look different, taste different, feel different.  What would his friends say?  Would they be able to tell just by looking at him that he was “different”?  A million thoughts raced through his head.  Only one word came out.  “Sure.”

He was out of his element in her home.  It was beautifully decorated, immaculate and filled with exquisite examples of Black artwork.  Doug never before considered that Black people would have all Black people in their artwork.  He hadn’t even considered that such a genre existed.  He sat nervously as she went to make herself more comfortable.  She emerged from the bedroom in a white satin nightgown.  Her nipples poked through the shiny material and her full breasts were overflowing.  In her bare feet now, she sat close to him to resume her seduction. 

Doug’s eyes couldn’t focus.  He wanted to touch her hair to see if it felt different, touch her skin to see if it felt like the velvet he imagined it to look like.  His body was alive with electricity.   “What am I doing here,” he kept thinking to himself, “she’s the overnight security guard?”    No matter what her job, or his for that matter; he knew he wanted her with every ounce of his being. 

Breaking the ice, Regina leaned in close and kissed Doug.  Her lips tasted like the slightest hint of strawberry.  Doug closed his eyes and felt his male instinct take over.  Gone were the roles and the titles, this was a man and a woman and she was about to receive every bit of his all out maneuvers.  He was intoxicated with her full lips and soft tongue.  As he cradled the back of her head he marveled at how soft her hair was.  His hands roamed freely over her curves, caressing gently her small waist and sexy bottom. 

At that point Regina was a simmering hotbed of hormones.  She didn’t give a damn if it was Duke of Windsor on her sofa, she was aroused, he was a man, and she was a woman.  They kissed more passionately, the fever rising higher.  She could feel the wetness between her legs increase.  She felt for his dick, half expecting to be disappointed.  It wasn’t the biggest dick she’d ever felt in her life but it seemed formidable enough to do the job.  It certainly was hard and it belonged to a man that was the object of her desire at that particular moment.  She placed his hand in hers and said, “let’s go.” 

The trail of men’s clothing that led to her bedroom looked like a fitting room at Saks during their annual blowout sale.  For a moment it was looking doubtful that they would make it to the bedroom at all.  Regina had lit candles and incense when she had changed her clothes so the room was warm, almost too warm, and the scent made Doug slightly light headed.  She stood before him and lowered the straps to her gown and sensuously stepped out of it, glowing in the candlelight. 

Doug was so hard it almost hurt and he was leaking precum like a teenager.  His own insecurities flashed in his mind momentarily.  “Will I be enough to satisfy her,” he thought?  Sensing his reluctance, Regina kissed him again, this time more animalistic than before.  She stroked him and whispered in his ear, “I want you,” to allay any of his imagined and unfounded fears. 

“Suck my titties, Mr. Rivers,” the exchange of power completely evident even with her use of his surname.  Regina was in control of this ship.  The weight of her breasts captivated him.  He had never in his life felt tits that big AND real.  He suckled and nursed for pleasure and comfort, wanting to bury his face in between them. 

Regina eased herself back on the white down comforter and Doug sucked and followed suit.  He positioned himself between her legs and made himself more comfortable.  His hands found her sweet center and he said, “Oh my god, you are soooo wet.” 

He held his fingers to his nose and inhaled deeply her scent.  He licked her fingers and tasted her sticky, sweet, salty, earthy juices.  He was in heaven.  He spread her legs further apart to view all of her.  He clit stuck out and was begging to be sucked.  Her lips parted to reveal a pink center that was glistening with moisture.  Regina spread her pussy lips and finger fucked herself just inches away from his face.  He was mesmerized.  She pulled her fingers out and sucked her juices. 

Her raw sensuality almost drove Doug over the edge.  He put his lips to her core and tasted her sweetness, assured it was the best tasting pussy he’d ever had.  He wanted to live up to the reputation white boys had about being the best at oral sex.  He licked, sucked, tongued, and licked some more.  He kept his eyes open so he could see everything.  Regina grabbed his head and held it to her pussy as she had a series of mini orgasms in his mouth.  He had no desire to stop eating her.  He licked even more, encircling his arms around her thighs to ensure that she could not get away. 

“Oh shit, white boy, eat my pussy,” the sweet melody of her voice a different kind of honey to feed his appetites.  He was ready to explode.  “Come here baby and let me return the favor.” 

Doug’s head was spinning.  He had to make a judgment call then and there.  He was at the peak of his arousal.  A few seconds of those soft, wet lips on him and he was surely going to shoot his load.  He had to prioritize.  Feeling that pussy was first and foremost on his agenda.  This might be a once in a lifetime opportunity.  He paused, and as if reading his mind, Regina whispered, “Don’t worry.  Before the night is over I’ll have you in my mouth, pussy and ass if you are lucky.” 

He groaned in a fog of disbelief and arousal.  He straddled her face and hesitated.  For a brief second, he wondered if it was politically correct to assume a superior position over Regina.  Not only was she an employee but the centuries of disproportionate power whites had over blacks also played on his mind.  He knew deep in his heart that she was every bit his equal but he hesitated.  All reservations quickly disappeared as he felt her full lips envelop him.  “Oh shit, suck my cock, that feels so good.” The magic her lips created erased all doubt.  Her mouth was an erotic vacuum, coaxing his cum out of his balls.  He closed his eyes for the first time during the evening and fucked her mouth like it was a pussy.  He saw lights behind his eyes as he shot spurt after spurt of cum in her mouth. 

He collapsed in silence next to her and lay in silence.  Embarrassment and insecurity crept over him.  Tonight had been an eye-opening experience and quite possibly the best sexual experience of his life.  He wanted more but was unsure how to ask for it.  Unsure of what to say or do he lay there motionless, pretending to drift off to sleep, fully awake and semi erect. 

Regina snuggled next to him and stuck her tongue in his ear as she whispered.  “Come on lover.  I’m going to give you the ride of your life.”  She got up on her hands and knees and presented him with a view of perfection.  Sweet, soft mounds of Ebony flesh presented to him for his pleasure, the promised land lay within his reach.  He knelt behind her and held his erection to her opening; the contrast in color was intoxicating.  Never in his life had he seen anything so sexy.  Never in his life had he felt so alive.  Transformed, it seems by the overnight security guard. 

Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

The Admiration of Lovers

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There was that moment of recognition, that split second when I first laid eyes on you that I knew you were the one.  Every fiber of my being, every cell in my body recognized you as my other half.  I was enveloped with a peace that passeth understanding and love so deep, so profound that I knew my reality had been shifted forever.  Never more could I be satisfied with the mundane and the average.

You moved slowly and deliberately, arousing me with your mere presence.  Your hugs would cause my knees to weaken and the gentle touch of your fingertips to the nape of my neck would elicit intense sensations of pleasure.  Your seduction of me was complete, stimulating my mind with your knowledge, my soul with your insight and my body with your slow and calculated caresses.  Your kisses, oh your sweet kisses, such ecstasy and intoxication I’ve never known.
I close my eyes to receive your kiss and I float freely in a realm of bliss.  Your soft tongue licks and your tender lips envelope mine and I respond in kind, letting my mouth express my passion and desire.  Your hands explore my body with such tender and intentional strokes.  I feel my temperature rise and my body begin to ache for you to complete me.  Lover, come unto me, join with me so that we might fulfill our destinies and become one.

Come lover; lie all night between my legs.  Lay your weary head on me and let me provide shelter for you from the stresses of the day.  I will be your refuge and your respite.  Come lover; lay your weight upon me.  Feel out bodies crushed together; see our limbs intertwined, a beautiful embrace where you have no ending and I no beginning.  We are the alpha and the omega made manifest as one.  We are yin and yang, created perfectly to give one another balance and completion.  Oh dear lover, fill your hands with the fullness of my hips, grip them as tightly as you would a security blanket in the dead of night when you are awakened from your peaceful slumber by a nightmare.  I will protect you; I will shelter you always with my love.  I know that ours is a love created in the stars and birthed in grace.  Come lover; let my legs surround you, pulling you closer as we prepare to journey to a holy union of body, mind and soul.  Let me feed you with my words of support and encouragement; let me bathe you with my kisses softly on your skin.  Let us possess each other so that your breath becomes my life force, my heartbeat becomes your rhythmic pulse, our vibrations rise together until we become one.

Deep inside me is the place where you belong.  I will be your shelter from the storm, the comfort you need when you are weary.  Allow me to envelope you, embrace you within my sacred space.  Penetrate me and join with me as we become one.  I have found you, you whom my soul has loved from the beginning of time.  I will hold you deep inside me and I will not let you go.  I will invite you into the space that will soothe you and protect you.  This space will be the beacon in the night and I will bathe you with sweet surrender.  Inside me is where you and I cease to exist and we are transformed into a complete entity in and of itself.  No one else shall enter this space from now on; it belongs to you and you alone.  You have the key to my heart and my body.  You are the key that fits me perfectly and you have unlocked my desire.  I crave you inside me.  Home, where you know you are loved.  Home, where you are safe from harm.  The room where you plant your seed will be all you need to wash away your doubts and fears.  Climb the stairs and lay your burdens down as I welcome you home.

A love that God has ordained cannot be destroyed or separated. Love is the ultimate truth and universal love cannot be broken.  You’ve come home to me, to us, because our energy is far greater together than apart.  You will not find another that will hold you through the night and anticipate your needs like I will.  No one else will fuel your passions and satisfy them so completely.  It’s not vanity that makes me speak these words.  It’s the recognition that we are the sum of two parts that together make a whole.  United we are stronger, together we can accomplish any task.  You are my King and I live to serve you, to exalt you as divinely capable, strong, and wise.  I know that I reign supremely as your queen; not your servant or your maid but as your partner and your equal.  We have put aside those notions of subservience and domination and we have defined anew how we will command authority as a couple.

I love you.  I love you from the depths of my soul and I place that love upon a pedestal to be honored and cherished.  I love those deep expressive eyes that undress me from across the room.  I love your stubborn demeanor that yields to reason.  I love all of you, flaws and imperfections, strengths and talents too.  You promised me a lifetime ago that one day we would join together to become one, to fulfill our destinies and you’ve fulfilled your promise.  This love is greater than I’ve ever known.  This love is stronger than my mind could conceive and it fills me with a peace that transcends time and space.

White Male Submission

This particular piece is the most viewed, most searched for post on my blog.  I'm posting it again only because I plan on updating and revising it.  It's been at least five or six years since I've written it and I'm even more familiar with the mind of the submissive white male.  Still, the pathology needs to be addressed.  

White Male Submission (first edition)

One can’t pick up a magazine or listen to a discussion about the black community these days without reading about “DL brothas”, or black men that have sex with other men while representing themselves as heterosexual.  There is a homoparanoia and fear that is largely media driven that is telling black women that they need to question every black man they meet because he might be having sex with other men.  Certainly, one has to believe that black men must be driven by their desires more than any other portion of the population because this “DL” trend is so rampant among black men, according to every single, solitary book, article, and discussion prevalent today. 

I have the unique opportunity to be in a position where people come to me and tell me their fantasies as a function of my career.  There is a HUGE and very stealth underground sexual movement that is growing that has escaped any mainstream examination whatsoever.  While black men’s sexual practices have been put under a microscope and they have been demonized in the media as sexually irresponsible and morally bankrupt latent “faggots,” white men have been able to slip under the radar, with stealth efficacy, with their sexual secrets. The numbers of white men that come to me and tell me that they have fantasies of being sexually submissive, not only to black women, but also to black men, is STAGGERING.  Literally, thousands of white men have approached me in the last several years, all reiterating very much the same themes in their desires, that they believe that white people are inferior, that they want to pay for the atrocities of slavery by their sexual servitude to black people, that black people are more beautiful.

There are common themes and consistencies in their fantasies and the types of white male submissive men can be grouped into three main categories: white men that want white female partners to engage in interracial sex, white men that want black female partners and white men that want domination by both black men and black women.  The first group of men, the men that want their white wives or girlfriends to engage in interracial sex, are known as cuckolds.   Cuckolds are men that get arousal from having a white wife, commonly referred to as a “slut wife,” that has multiple black lovers. The husband is forced to live a life of sexual denial and servitude while the wife has sex with these so called “superior black bulls.”  Servitude can include anything from getting the wife ready for her lover to cleaning her orally after her lover has ejaculated inside her, to orally or anally servicing the black lover himself. Many times, the sexual component is heightened if there is some level of implied “extortion” or money demanded of the white submissive male to perform theses homoerotic acts.  I’ve had innumerous white men tell me that they want their wives to be “black bred”, meaning impregnated by a black man and they are sexually aroused by the idea of their wives forcing them to raise a biracial child as their own.  There’s little doubt that the origins of these fantasies are steeped in the mythical “Big Black Mandingo” stereotype as they profess love for his abnormally large penis while begging to be taunted and humiliated for their comparatively small endowment.  Sexual submission is usually limited to the bedroom for these men because they seem to be able to compartmentalize the fact that they are only inferior because of their perceived, small penis and, on occasion, express angst that they have fantasies of seeing the black man as superior, even if it is only in a sexual situation. 

The second category of white male submissive is the men that hold black women in the highest esteem.  These men love and desire the black woman far more than white woman and very often admire the natural features of black women that have long been rejected by society at large.   Big butts, dark skin, full lips, natural hair, and sassy and domineering attitudes are the attributes that they most readily describe as the epitome of beauty, black or otherwise. The  number of occasions when white men have said they want a black wife to pamper and provide for, to put her on a pedestal as the true mother of all civilization, are too numerous to mention.  Many times, they reiterate the same sorts of fantasies of the cuckold husband: they want her to have a black lover, but more often than not, they describe feelings of inadequacy because they believe they are unable to satisfy or undeserving of having sex with a black woman. They describe fantasies whereby they are forced by a black woman to engage homosexual acts as an act of punishment or for her amusement. They reiterate they same sorts of fantasies about cleaning Black  woman of ejaculate deposited by her lover, being denied orgasm, being “forced” to humble themselves before the black man to show their  unworthiness and inferior status.  The instances of white men telling me that they want to serve as human toilet to black women are so commonplace, so frequent, I don’t blink an eye any longer when the topic is broached. These men describe how it would be an honor to receive the waste of a black woman and how it is their duty as a white male to do so.  Many desire to be subjected to perform household duties for black women, seemingly with no sexual gratification in return, only the desire to be humiliated for their whiteness.  Most desire to form lifelong, loving relationships with Black women as adoring pets or servants and most refer to themselves as slaves. 

The third category of white male submissive is interested whatever forms of degradation they can receive from whatever Black source that sees fit to dish it out.  They are unashamedly bisexual and, in many cases, prefer to perform sexual acts with black men.  Among this group are the most masochistic of the population.  They are constantly asking for approval and validation that they truly are inferior to black people.  They confess that they want to become slaves, stripped of their rights as a human, that they want to pay for the sins of any white person that owned slaves, and that they want to be degraded and humiliated for their whiteness. Their fantasies are extreme, many expressing desires to be lynched and beaten reminiscent of true slavery as part of their sexual fantasies.  Many tell me that they desire to become black and have romantic notions that they will become well-endowed athletes or big-bosomed matriarchal archetypes.  Several have requested books to read to tell them of a more accurate Black history than the limited exposure they’ve received.  I’ve had white men tell me that they go out of their way to hire black people, support black businesses, or provide daily acts of kindness to black people as their own personal form of reparations. 

These examples are the norm not the extreme and I’m confronted with these examples on a daily basis.  It should be noted that almost 100% of the time, white men use the singular adjective black to describe the collective of people rather than as a descriptor.  i.e. “I want my wife to fuck black, I am attracted to black, I am a slave for black” rather than the proper usage, “I am attracted to black women, I want my wife to fuck black men, I desire to be submissive to black people.”  Their grammatical objectification of us is but a minor indication that they have yet to shatter the racist beliefs that they claim so boldly to have done.

If there is any level of validity in my findings, my observations lead me to believe that there is no concurrent movement by black people whereby we, on any sort of collective basis, are expressing desires to make white people pay for the atrocities of slavery or to restore a Black supremist racial hierarchy and to do so by the sexual subjugation of white people.  We seem to be naively playing into the role of dominatrix and Black bull and walking away from the experience and not being particularly braggadocios about them either. Those few African American individuals that have confided in me of experiences with submissive white men seem to take pity on them that they are so warped in their thinking that they could actually believe that black people could be superior.  In my amateur anthropological opinion, these black people feel guilty for holding a position of power over white men, even if it’s only sexually and for brief periods of time.  I’ve yet to meet the black person that has engaged in a sexual liaison with a submissive white man that has truly recognized the larger political implications.  Many black women have seen this as an opportunity to capitalize on their “most coveted object” status and made attempts to use white men for money, which seem to backfire more often than not according to their tales. While very few black men confide in me about their experiences with submissive white men, (and one can only assume from the reports of white men that the numbers of black men that are engaging in these behaviors are equally as staggering) I can only assume that they feel some sort of temporary reprieve from the stresses and strains of a racist society while engaged in the act, and as they go on about their daily lives, they replace their societally-imposed veil of powerlessness, never recognizing that their true power does not lie in their penis. Black people, still largely ignorant of our own past, the origins of African greatness, and still largely brainwashed to believe that white people are better, are sadly, too uninformed to  assert that they will not be made pawns in a sexual game to rid white people of their guilt or fulfill their dark continent lust.

There are a multitude of larger implications that are happening beneath this absolutely HUGE movement that need to be discussed and simply can’t be unless the topic is put on the table so that society at large can examine the trend and not have it kept as white America’s dirty little secret.  First and foremost, these men are still, for the most part, holding onto racist, stereotypical and degrading beliefs about Black people while they are insisting that their desire to submit to black people indicates that they are free from all such beliefs.  They assume that because they are sexually attracted to Black people that automatically means they are not racist.  Many white men claim they used to harbor racist beliefs and some sexual event with a black person cured them of their racism, which is obviously an absurd assumption.  If these white men are in fact engaging in sexual acts with black men as they claim, then the source and spread of HIV in the Black community needs to be examined.  These white men should be spreading the virus to their partners in equal proportions to black men. 

I imagine that there are scores of therapists, counselors, sex workers, medical practitioners and journalists in this country that have the same knowledge as I.  Why aren’t there medical journals and articles that are discussing this trend and the psychological implications?  Where are the 20/20 and Dateline exposes, where are the radio talk shows that are discussing this phenomenon, why isn’t every magazine warning white women about the potential hazards of white men that are engaging in unsafe sex with black men?  Given the current political climate in this country, with this move to the ultra-moral, ultra-conservative right, what conclusions can one draw about this population of white men that have this race-driven guilty, envy, and lust?  Are there white men that are secretly harboring these sexual desires in positions of power and exacting stricter punishments on black men to assuage them of their desires to “submit to black?” 

Race in America is still and extremely volatile topic.  If there are, as I’ve experienced, multitudes of white men that are having these types of fantasies and desires, there needs to be an open and honest discussion in a public forum to determine the origins, the implications, and to form support groups and allegiances to address the very important issues that these types of issues bring to the table.  White men are begging, even if it is only privately, to be immersed in a black sexual experience, and they are being led by individuals that don’t have the ability to train, instruct and accurately inform.  This issue can not be swept under the table because it upsets the equilibrium of the status quo.  White men are desiring to be submissive to Black people in phenomenal numbers and the reasons why and the social implications thereof must be discussed. 

Copyright 2004 Scottie Lowe

CEO and   Founder of AfroerotiK

I Have a Dream

I have a dream that white people will one day SHUT THE FUCK UP with referencing Martin Luther King's I Have a Dream speech.  First of all, they can't even correctly quote even one line from the speech.  Second, the man said so much more than I Have a Dream in his other speeches but the media doesn't want white people to hear anything other than the proverbial, "Can't we all just get along."  For God's sake, the man was assassinated for his views so clearly white people wanted him silenced.  Isn't it just like white people to pretend to be supporters now, after his blood was needlessly spilled.

"It is necessary to understand that Black Power is a cry of disappointment. The Black Power slogan did not spring full grown from the head of some philosophical Zeus. It was born from the wounds of despair and disappointment. It is a cry of daily hurt and persistent pain."

Martin Luther King, Jr., Where Do We Go from Here: Chaos or Community?, 1967.

"When we ask Negroes to abide by the law, let us also declare that the white man does not abide by the law in the ghettos. Day in and day out he violates welfare laws to deprive the poor of their meager allotments; he flagrantly violates building codes and regulations; his police make a mockery of law; he violates laws on equal employment and education and the provisions of civil services. The slums are the handiwork of a vicious system of the white society; Negroes live in them, but they do not make them, any more than a prisoner makes a prison."

Martin Luther King, Jr., The Trumpet of Conscience, 1967.

I AM UNAPOLOGETICALLY

Anti-Racist AND Pro-Black
Pro-Choice
Pro-Woman
Radically Feminist
Pro-Gay Marriage
Pro-Civil Rights For Everyone
Pro-Universal Healthcare
Anti-Xenophobic
Anti-Heterosexist
Anti-Patriarchal
Anti-Religious

Reverence II

Morning Sun

Contrast

To Become

My Beautiful Ex

I was chatting with an ex of mine and he found some images I took of him.  Photographer I'm not.  His obvious assets aside, and it's much larger than it seems in the pictures, I'm awed by the fact that he's brilliant, beautiful, and not at all, not in the least little bit, defined by his outrageously gorgeous and gigantic penis.  He's kind and thoughtful, introspective, generous and just a sweet, wonderful man.  For all the white people who ask me why I love black men, all I have to say is, what's not to love? I'm very proud to say that I love and admire him and I know that he feels the same about me. 

Race Matters

I was reading a discussion thread on a sexually-oriented website the other day and there was a question posed by a white dominant asking why there weren’t more submissive black men.  There are about a dozen responses – ALL from white men, waxing philosophically and trying to justify their racism  and stereotypes with clichés.   Not one black person, dominant or submissive, responded.  I was dismayed by the situation, but upon reflection, I had to acknowledge that I probably would have been even more disgusted had a Black person responded because, overall, we as a people are ill–equipped to discuss race in any way that moves the discussion beyond, “Color doesn’t matter.” 

 

Then I reflected on my now defunct website, my shut down yahoo group, and this very blog.  For the most part, the comments added by my own folk sort of resonate around, “Yeah, I agree,” or, “That was nice.”  With few exceptions (and there are some notable exceptions) Black people don’t respond to the topics and forums that confront white people and their racism.  Let me write a piece about getting fucked in the ass, and Black people come out of the woodwork to comment.  Let the topic be about dismantling white people of the fallacy of their unearned, inherited supremacy . . . and you will be deafened by the sound of virtual crickets. 

Sadly, all too often, when Black people do get the gumption to add their feedback, the comments are, I’m sorry to say, barely literate and disjointed.  More often than not, their comments reflect a brainwashed mentality that tries to appease the egos of white folk.  White people, white men really, don’t have a problem espousing whatever contrived logic they’ve come up with to justify their perceptions and they will go on and on . . . and on to make sure they have the last word.   White people control the conversations about race and black people stay mute.  

I’m here to tell the world, as long as we keep letting white people dictate conversations about race, we will forever remained mentally enslaved.  As long as we can’t communicate beyond that of a third grader, as long as we are ill-prepared to dismantle their bullshit, we might as well be back on the plantation picking cotton.  I know I personally provide more than enough thought-provoking material that can be the foundation for lots of discussion.  We need to be able to muster up more than a feeble, “I feel the same way,” in order to really do the work of deconstructing white people of their false sense of superiority.