AfroerotiK

Erotic provocateur, racially-influenced humanist, relentless champion for the oppressed, and facilitator for social change, Scottie Lowe is the brain child, creative genius and the blood, sweat, and tears behind AfroerotiK. Intended to be part academic, part educational, and part sensual, she, yes SHE gave birth to the website to provide people of African descent a place to escape the narrow-mined, stereotypical, limiting and oft-times degrading beliefs that abound about our sexuality. No, not all Black men are driven by lust by white flesh or to create babies and walk away. No, not all Black women are promiscuous welfare queens. And as hard as it may be to believe, no, not all gay Black men are feminine, down low, or HIV positive. Scottie is putting everything on the table to discuss, debate, and dismantle stereotypes in a healthy exchange of ideas. She hopes to provide a more holistic, informed, and enlightened discussion of Black sexuality and dreams of helping couples be more open, honest, and adventurous in their relationships.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Blowing his Mind




The beauty of our relationship is the perfect balance we've achieved.  He cooks, I clean.  He can invite the boys over to play Madden football and never hear a peep out of me.  I can host my book club every month without any hassle.  He'll even make us a fabulous lunch to boot.  We work together, play together, pray together, and our sex life is out of this world. 

We were sitting back, watching TV like any ordinary evening and I decided that I wanted to step things up a notch.  "Sweetie, would you like another glass of wine," I asked, knowing full well that it was something else entirely I had in mind to drink.  He kissed me on my neck and said, "Thanks babe," as I wiggled out of his arms and headed for the kitchen.  I took a little detour and headed for the bedroom for a change of wardrobe.  When I came back, I stood directly in front of the TV with a simple, elegant red silk nightie and matching heels. 

He reached for the remote and clicked the TV off, leaving us bathed in the light of a single white candle.  I took his strong hand in mine and pulled him to me.  I wrapped my arms around his neck and we kissed as he filled his hands with the fullness of my ass.  I kissed my way down his neck and across his shoulders.  For a brief moment, he tried to head us toward the bedroom but I would have no such thing.  I stopped him right there and knelt in front of him. 

Kneeling before him, I pulled the string to his sweats and let them fall to the floor.  He stepped out of them and kicked them to the side.  His dick was already starting to get engorged and throb. Softly, gently, I took it in my hands and brought the head to my mouth.  I felt his hands caress my head and shoulders as I surveyed my prize.  Teasingly, I let my tongue tenderly touch the slit, sending shivers down his spine.  I rolled his balls around in my fingers and began to explore his growing erection further with my tongue. 

From base to head, I licked.  I used my mouth to explore every millimeter of his thickening tool until he was as hard as a rock and ready for more.  When I placed the head in my mouth, I heard him let out a gentle moan.  My objective was for him to let out quite a bit more than a moan so I continued to pleasure him with my mouth and tongue.  I slid my soft, full lips down his shaft and back again, looking up at him with a wink.  I could feel his knees buckle just a bit as I did it once more, this time, just a bit harder.  I wanted to let him know exactly who was in control. 

His precum was leaking and he kept saying, "Oh shit, don't stop, that feels so good" so I knew he was ready for everything I had to give.  I took his dick in my mouth and swallowed him whole, the head of his dick deep in my throat.  I grabbed his ass just as he tried to push me away.  He never wants to cum before me so his instinct is always to make me stop before he nuts.  Grabbing the base of his thickness, I looked up at him and I said, "Cum in my mouth."  

I really shouldn't have been so cruel because I know all his triggers and every time I he would get close to eruption, I would stop. I sucked his dick, licked it, I swallowed it and begged for more.  The room filled with his chanting and moaning and the sounds of my sloppy, wet blowjob.  I lowered the straps of my lingerie and he filled his hands with my full breasts, kneading them and softly pinching my hardened nipples.  I moaned around his dick and slid my finger between my moist folds of my pussy to give him a little taste.  For a brief moment, he sucked my finger like I was sucking his dick. 

I knew it wouldn't be long so I used every trick in the book I had.  I licked, I sucked, I licked some more.  "Come on baby, give it to me.  Shoot your hot cum in my mouth.  Mmmm, let me taste it.  Come on baby, fuck my mouth."  I deep throated his dick and pushed against his spot and he exploded in my mouth, falling back on the sofa out of pure exhaustion, whimpering like a baby, satisfied like a man. 

Copyright 2009 AfroerotiK


Sunday, September 04, 2011

Inisde Me

Would you spend $1.00 to let your lover know how much you want them?


You know what it's like. You are making love, the temperature is rising, you are overwhelmed with feelings of pleasure but it's not just because the down stroke is just right, it's all because you are giving your heart, your soul, all your love to your partner. That's what Inside Me is all about. It's telling the erotic story of the love that gets deep down in your pores, makes you light headed and dizzy it's so profound. This song is about the connection, the intimacy you feel when the chemistry, connection, and compatibility you feel with your lover all converge in a moment of bliss, of ecstasy divine. This isn't about a one night stand or a hook-up or even about casual sex. It's about that moment, that second in time when you are joined with your lover, your bodies are working together in unison and your breathing, your heartbeats become ONE.

Monday, August 29, 2011

Outside the Box




I’m not really sure how I got to be so different, see things so differently than the rest of the world, than the rest of my family even.  I mean, I didn’t have particularly radical parents who raised me to buck the system and question the status quo.  I had a dysfunctional, conformist mother who strived for mediocrity and lived to justify her belief systems with a circle of friends who thought just like her.  My grandparents were activists, radical for their time, but they were the definition of mainstream.  I have to sit back and ask myself, how is it that I came to see the ills of society and have a need, a compelling drive to correct the wrongs that color the very fabric of our existence.  I mean, how is it even possible that in a family of Christian, conservative deacons, deaconesses, trustees, and ushers who have never once thought to question the religion the slave master gave them, that I stand alone as the symbol of religious tolerance?  You see, I see don’t see Jesus as the one way to Heaven.  I think Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, Yoruba, and a host of other religions are all equally valid.  I don’t think any of them is completely true, nor do I think they need to be.  I think that religion is supposed to give people is a sense of grounding and peace, not intended to be the divisive tool that its used as to perpetuate war and hate.  People assume that because I don’t identify as Christian any longer that I’m some amoral atheist. Nothing could be further from the truth.  I believe in a Divine, universal, scientific Creator that masterfully, intentionally, lovingly crafted the most complex, beautiful system of organisms that ALL operates to glorify them.  How did I come to such an understanding?  Hell if I know.

How did I come to embrace all forms of sexuality as acceptable?  Look around you and ask yourself how many people do you know who can see a transgendered person as unique, valid, and deserving of every single solitary right as every other human being on the planet.  Sadly, not many.  I was raised in a family were there was no tolerance for anything other than heterosexuality.  I see a host of reasons that contribute to a person’s sexual preferences and I don’t necessarily place any more value on nature or nurture, as long as a person chooses to love whom they love, they have a right to do so in freedom without my or anyone else’s judgment.  Sexuality, as far as I’m concerned, is such an irrelevant issue, such a minimal facet of a person’s entire being that I place absolutely no importance on some societal need to condemn anyone for whom they are attracted to.  How is it that I’ve known since I was a child that loving someone had absolutely nothing to do with what genitals were between their legs?  When I look at the people who surround me at family dinners, do I see anyone who mirrors my opinions?  Nope.

I wear my hair short and nappy with pride.  I’m among a very small (but thankfully growing) population of Black women who embrace our natural, God-given hair texture.  I’m not even sure how I could have come to such a revelation because among my peers and family, I’m almost singular in that view.  I have more integrity, less fear, and am singularly the most introspective person I know.  I can totally see how I learned to fight racism; I was raised in a family where civil rights were as important as religion and education.  What I’m not so sure about is where I became so comfortable embracing my identity as a descendant of slaves and as an African.  Most Black people see slavery as something shameful and something to be denied and wouldn’t identify with anything African if you paid them.  I have dedicated my life to the pursuit of understanding how the collective African American consciousness came to be and restoring it to a place of wholeness.  I can assure you, not many people think like me.

Perhaps, most significantly, I write erotica.  Not only do I write erotica, but I write erotica with an agenda.  I use sex as a tool to teach Black people how to love and white people how not to be so fucked up.  Certainly, one would assume that I was raised in a family where sex was openly discussed and where I was taught to see sex as healthy.  Yeah . . . not so much.  Sex was dirty, not talked about, and something only for married people.  Where did I find this voice?  Where did I get the confidence to express myself in an unapologetic, explicit voice and not feel the need to censor my thoughts or curb my language in order to get my thoughts out to people?  I don’t understand how I or why I’m so different.  Why am I so willing to step outside the box, to think so differently?  It makes no sense to me.  I wasn’t raised in an environment that nurtured my individuality; I was raised to conform.  I feel as if I’ve taken the red pill, or the blue pill, whatever color pill makes you wake up from the matrix.  But I didn’t ask to take a pill.  For all intents and purposes, I should be a corporate climbing, Christian, cog in the machine.  Being different isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  It’s an isolated existence where I’m constantly being challenged to defend my beliefs and countered with irrational logic.  I’m not sure how I got to where I am today, all I know is that I can’t go back.  I can’t close my eyes to the truth, I can’t unlearn it, I can’t be “normal” at the risk of part of my soul dying.  It’s a very lonely path I’m traveling.