Just a Tease

My Mantra

I am NOT a slut!

It’s very important to keep one’s eyes on trends.  Black sexuality is political.  There is an emerging movement, very much like feminism of the 60s but dissimilarly driven, that has given rise to a segment of the population referring to themselves as sluts and whores as some sort of “empowerment”.  Some women are doing so without thought or consciousness, because they have been conditioned to believe that it’s arousing to be called names during sex.  Others, however, are doing so because they believe they are somehow changing the meaning of the word.  It is those women who give me great pause.  Internalizing our abuse is not reason to sanction our own objectification.

Society will call women, ESPECIALLY women of color, sluts and whores, label us as promiscuous at the drop of a hat, all day every day.  Turn on the radio, watch a movie, there are Black women being called sluts and whores ever where you turn.  For us to call ourselves that doesn’t change anyone’s opinion of us, it simply reinforces to them their negative perceptions.  They see any sign of a woman’s sexuality, any display of owning our preferences and desires, as being slutty.  If women enjoy sex, we are sluts.  Well, I’m not a slut.  I’m a woman who masturbates, enjoys porn, who loves hot, steamy, passionate fucking, but I’m not a slut.  I don’t think it’s arousing for men to call me a slut or a whore, I don’t want to be slapped around, spit on, called names and nor do I think if I ask for it or call myself names am I empowering anyone other than perhaps the person I’m with to feel superior to me, like they can treat me like shit with my approval. 

“I’m changing the meaning of the word, taking the sting out of it.”  I’ve heard that exact same argument from numerous women in reference to being called a slut.  It’s the same argument I’ve heard from Black people about using the word nigger.  If you look at the segment of the population who uses the word nigger, they aren’t particularly empowered.  They are at the bottom of the socio-economic ladder, they are under-educated and under and unemployed.  They are seen by society as niggers and treated thusly.  Other than a handful of rappers who have used to word to ride to fame by degrading themselves and their race, there are very few “niggers” who are commanding respect from those that would oppress them.  I’m going to politely suggest that the same is true for the women who claim that they are making a bold political statement about calling themselves sluts.  I’m not really seeing the instances of men feeling uncomfortable by their words and actions; I’m not really seeing a movement for men to be more introspective and rethink their use of the word.  Men are more and more comfortable calling women degrading names and the women who sign on for it, whether it be for political or sexual reasons, are NOT empowering anyone. 

There is an entire generation of young women who have grown up on porn.  In my day, porn was hard to come by and if you did happen upon it, it was a magazine with softcore pictures, not, the constant stream of hardcore porn that young people have grown up on.  My sexuality and VCRs (machines that played video tapes for those who are too young to even know what they are) are about the same age and I never saw an adult film until I was almost 20.  There was no internet so you had to go to a store and in the store there was a back room separated with a swinging western door where men looked at the ground and tried to pretend they were invisible.  There were NEVER any other women in the room, no matter what time of day you went, no matter how long you stayed.  There were three categories of movies: straight, gay, and lesbian and even the lesbian porn was created solely for men.  There was no anal section, there was no MILF porn, no, Japanese, shemale, public, or certainly BDSM or extreme or any of the numerous categories that can be found in seconds today on any computer.  Interracial porn was in the fetish section and considered an oddity.  And quite different from today, there was no common theme of the rape and degradation of women.  Back in the day, was a lot of moaning and groaning in porn, there was even a ton of kissing, and they were the masters of sexy talk.  That talk, however, wasn’t, “You filthy fucking whore, gag on my dick bitch.”  Today, you can’t watch a movie without a young lady being spit on, gagged, choked, slapped, spanked, and being called and calling herself every name in the book. 

I can clearly see how young ladies today, growing up in a time when porn was accessible and their only exposure to sex has been about degrading women would find that arousing.  I can also see how women my age, who have had to hide their sexuality all their lives, who haven’t had outlets to express themselves can watch videos of other women being degraded and get a secret thrill.  I’ve heard more than a few women who have been the victims of sexual abuse say that they are empowered when they call themselves sluts and whores and feel that they are diffusing the meaning of the word by doing it.  I’ve never really gotten a good understanding of how that works exactly.  If society and men in general don’t change their perceptions of the word, calling oneself a slut doesn’t seem particularly empowering, it seems more like objectifying yourself.  To be honest, to me, it seems like abusing yourself and calling it liberating.  In any case, there are legions of women, for one reason or another, who feel that calling themselves sluts and whores, and/or being called a slut and a whore during sex is arousing and empowering.  I don’t. 

I’m secure enough in my own identity as a woman, a sexual woman at that, that I can say, “No, I am not a slut.”  I don’t find it arousing to call myself a slut, I do not think it’s empowering to have someone call me a whore, I don’t think I’m making a political statement by conforming to society’s preconceived notion that I’m a slut, that’s not redefining anything.  I personally find it far more empowering to BOLDLY and unapologetically say, “Look at me.  I’m a regal queen.  Hey world, I’m a precious and divine gift and I’m not going to share my body with random men who are undeserving, who don’t treat me with respect, who don’t value what I bring to the table.”  Yes, I’ve been raped, more times than anyone ever should in fact.  I have struggled with my sexual identity like most women have in this patriarchal society.  My wants, desires, and preferences have been shaped by the lovers I’ve had in the past, my sometimes low self-esteem, and my overwhelming desire to take responsibility for my sexuality.  In the end, I’m much more comfortable defining myself and my sexuality by not apologizing to anyone for having desires and lusts that celebrate me being a woman, not a whore, thing, or a slut. 

I guess, at the end of the day, one has to ask themselves what they feel is more empowering.  Is it, “I am a gorgeous and divine queen, deserving of nothing less than a man who will treasure, adore, please, and treat me as the special and unique individual I AM,” or, “I’m a filthy, nasty slut who wants men to treat me like a cum dump.” 

Private Time

Offer Love

Sounds of Love

Friends and Lovers

Tracy Robinson had a hard and fast rule: Do NOT, under any circumstances, never, ever, ever fool around with a married man.  She’d been married and cheated on and she remembered all too well the pain it caused her.  In her mind there was no valid, justifiable reason to date someone who she knew was going to be a liar from the very beginning; she had enough respect for herself to not date someone else’s man.  Because she was bisexual, the same theory applied to women as well.  Women were slightly different in that she rarely, if ever, had a married woman trying to seduce her.  Most women weren’t after illicit sex and extramarital liaisons with random other women so while Tracy felt morally righteous and superior for saying on principle that she never messed around with a married woman, the instances of her being tempted by a married woman were almost non-existent. 

Tracy was the kind of woman who felt comfortable adhering to rules.  She’d served in the military for 20 years and was now enjoying her life pursuing her dreams of becoming an artist.  In many ways, it was the exact opposite of the strict, rigid life she’d had in The Army.  She could stand in front of a canvas for hours, sometimes forgetting to eat, on only two or three hours of sleep a night, and paint to her heart’s content.  Several local galleries were showing her work and while the sales were few and far between, they were enough to keep her motivated to continue her passion.  Her military pension paid the bills so she was comfortable and happy.  Single life wasn’t necessarily to her liking but she wasn’t so desperate to be in relationship that she would jump at the first man who showed her attention either.  Her 40^th birthday was coming up, she was relatively content in life, and didn’t really have a care in the world. 

When they say that life has a way of knocking you off your feet, sometimes that can be literal.  In her garden pulling weeds one day, Tracy made a wrong move and ended up face up in amongst her gardenias unable to move.  If it hadn’t been for her trusty letter carrier happening along, she might have been there for hours.  After a very brief stint in the local hospital, she ended up in the VA for rehabilitation and physical therapy.  She’d injured her back in the military years before and it had a habit of acting up every once in a while, but after a few days rest, it might literally be years before another flare up.  If her blood sugar hadn’t been so out of control, she would have been released with the usual, “Take care, don’t over-exert yourself, take two pain killers and call me in the morning,” shtick.  The combination of the medicine and the fact that she hadn’t been eating well were causing her glucose levels to go up and down like a yo-yo, sometimes spiking to dangerous levels.   They released her but with orders for a nurse to come visit her home for follow up visits and make sure she was getting insulin when and if she needed it and monitor her progress.  Say what you want about the military, and disregarding the times when they occasionally drop the ball, their care for their own is beyond compare. 

Itching to get back to her canvases and ready to assume more responsibility for her health, Tracy started eating well and doing all the exercises they suggested she do for slowly strengthening her back muscles the minute she got home.  If there was a regimen to be performed, Tracy could do it.  She didn’t want or need a nurse coming to check on her; she wanted to paint.  Twice a week, whether she wanted it or not, a nurse was to come to check on her until the doctor released her.  The first day Karen showed up, Tracy tried her best to be polite but it was more than apparent that she was frustrated and anxious about someone taking care of her.  Karen was respectful of the retired Major, even calling her Ma’am.  She was warm, gracious, and a highly competent nurse as well.  Tracy insisted, “Do not call me Ma’am.  I’m not in the military anymore.”  The two ladies had a rapport immediately.  While she could have been in and out in twenty minutes, Karen stayed for almost an hour, getting to know her new patient and asking all sorts of questions to ensure that she was getting the best care possible and that her recovery was imminent.  Karen was very personable, meaning she liked getting to know her patients in order to provide them with the absolute best care. She felt like it was her responsibility to extend herself to her patients, to be a friend to them. 

Karen was, for all intents and purposes . . . well . . . not exactly the complete physical opposite of Tracy, but there were some significant differences.  Other than the obvious difference in race, Tracy being Black and Karen being white; Tracy was taller than average, Karen was of average height.  They both had similar builds but Karen had recently given birth and was nursing and the owner of very large, very sensitive breasts.  They were both very attractive women who didn’t feel a need to flaunt it and downplayed their attractiveness out of sensibility and practicality.  The two women hit it off immediately and seemed to become friends from essentially day one.  There was that connection, that intangible bond you get sometimes when you meet someone and you feel as if you’ve known them forever.  Or, at the very least, that you can open up to them in ways you can’t with others.  Karen hadn’t even been coming two full weeks when Tracy started looking forward to her visits.  They would break up the monotony of her day, provide her company, and she enjoyed sharing her artwork with Karen. 

One day, Karen stopped by on a day she wasn’t scheduled to visit.  She said she just wanted to check up on Tracy.  The visit lasted almost two hours and the women talked about life, love, and everything else under the sun.  It was that day that Tracy realized that the chemistry she shared with Karen was more than platonic.  It was that night that Tracy allowed herself to have her very first fantasy about Karen.  She lay in bed, tossing and turning, fantasizing about her new friend.  Her hormones raged and her body ached to explore a more physical, sensual connection with the woman who had mandatory access to her home two times a week.  Because she had been compelled to keep her sexuality secret and hidden in the military, Tracy had been accustomed to not opening up to anyone but potential lovers about her preferences.  The newly emerging artist in Tracy was different. It was almost as if the minute she picked up a paint brush, she became committed to telling the truth, with her art and with her heart. 

“Hey friend, come on in,” Tracy said as she opened the door widely to greet Karen on her next scheduled visit.  This time, rather than her hands and clothes being covered in paint, she was wearing a teal colored blouse and jeans that would be what she’d wear on a casual date with a man.  She watched for Karen’s reaction carefully as she undid the buttons on her shirt to reveal a black lace push up bra as she listened to her heart.  Tracy rested her right hand on Karen’s thigh as she pricked the finger on her left hand to test her blood sugar.  Still no response.  Karen seemed to be oblivious to any sexual tension and went about her business professionally and reported that she would in fact be telling the doctor that Tracy was cleared for release. 

Visibly saddened, Tracy sighed and said, “I’m going to miss you, friend. It’s been great getting to know you over this short period of time.” 

“Oh, I can still stop by and see you,” Karen responded.  “I have other patients in the area and I would be more than happy to stop by and check on you every once in a while.”  She added, “You know, my life is so routine, so predictable.  I’ve been married to the same man for fifteen years, we’ve been in a relationship since high school; I’ve been in the military for more than a decade. I’m a mom and a wife and a nurse.  You’re an artist.  I admire what you’re doing.  It’s so, you know, different. I think what you’re doing is fascinating and I love your work and I just think you’re a really interesting, really nice person.”   It wasn’t exactly what Tracy wanted to hear but it felt nice regardless and she knew Karen was being sincere.  The last things she wanted to do was alienate her new friend so they hugged goodbye with promises of seeing one another again. 

Before the week was out, Karen called and asked if it was okay if she stopped by.  Tracy was elated.  She grabbed a bottle of wine, some cheese and crackers and set out a little tray.  “I finished with all my patients early today and I just didn’t feel like going home yet,” Karen blurted out the second she walked in.  “My sister-in-law is watching the baby and my older two have practice after school.  I just needed a little adult time, I hope you don’t mind.” 

Mind?  Was she crazy?  Tracy was elated.  Karen graciously accepted the offer of the chilled Pinot Grigio at 3:00 in the afternoon and nibbled on the smoked gouda and crackers.  Nestled comfortably on her sofa, the two women continued to open up to one another in ways that far exceeded most burgeoning friendships.  They were both revealing personal information about each other, about their sex lives, love lives, fears, dreams, frustrations, things that usually come after knowing someone a long time.  As the proverbial clock struck 5, Karen had to leave and her car was barely out the driveway before Tracy had her vibrator out and was frantically stimulating her already aroused pussy. 

In the following weeks, the unscripted visits became more frequent, with Karen sometimes stopping by on her lunch breaks, after seeing all her patients, and even on her days off.  The beauty of their conversations was that they were deep, raw, and honest, not at all superficial. Tracy didn’t want to seem obvious, so some days she would offer herbal tea or juice, others nothing at all, and occasionally, when she thought she might get Karen to loosen up a bit more, she offered some form of alcohol, you know, all under the guise of being a gracious hostess.  Her nights were tortured and sweaty, fantasizing about making love to her new friend, terrified she might lose her if she revealed her lust but aroused beyond belief by the connection. 

Eventually, Tracy knew it was time to reveal her true feelings.  She decided she would do it with a painting.  Inspired, the piece came to life and she invited her friend to her studio to reveal it.  “It’s not finished,” she mumbled, terrified about being rejected as an artist and a friend.  As Karen stared at the canvas, she could clearly make out two women who could not be confused for anyone other than herself and Tracy in a very intimate, semi-nude embrace. 

“Oh my!  Is that who I think it is?”  Tracy nodded, too scared to say anything at that moment.  “I’m flattered,” Karen said, trying to be careful not to hurt her friend’s feelings.  “You know . . . I’m not attracted to you like that, right?  I just want to be friends.” 

Tracy felt a sense of relief almost.  It wasn’t as if she wanted Karen to rip her clothes off and for them to fuck in the middle of the floor, it was more like she just needed her friend to see all of her, to know her truth, to not hide any parts of herself anymore.  She felt free.  She mumbled something about the chemistry and the connection they shared and apologized in ten different ways for making Karen uncomfortable and asked if they could just remain friends.  For all of her infatuation, Tracy knew that Karen was married and she wasn’t about to break that rule, even if the attraction was mutual. 

The dynamics of the relationship did change after that.  Karen was more hesitant to come by, not because she didn’t like Tracy any more but because she felt awkward.  Tracy was gracious but offered no alcohol on their brief visits.  Their conversations were more tentative and reserved for a few weeks.  Before long, water found its own level and everything was back to being comfortable, with the small exception of the fact that they two didn’t mention the sexual attraction thing.  It didn’t need to be mentioned.  There was a growing sexual tension between the two women.  They would sit closer together on the sofa, touch more.  A bright lamp in the corner of the room would eventually become replaced by the soft glow of candlelight.  Their hugs goodbye lasted longer and it was more than evident that Karen was beginning to trust Tracy in ways she never thought possible. 

“What’s it like,” Karen asked one day as she stared at her cup of tea, assuming Tracy would know immediately what she was talking about. 

Tracy did understand.  The rapport they had built together was based on a certain level of non-verbal communication.  “You mean being with another woman?”  Karen nodded.  “Well, it can be the most tender, gentle, sensual experience you’ve ever had, in a way that no man could ever touch you, kiss you or satisfy you.  It can be just as intense and frenzied as fucking a man.  Mostly, for me, the difference is there is no end objective.  You know when you’re with a man that everything he does is with one goal in mind, to get to the fucking.  With a woman, there is no such agenda; it’s all about the journey, not the destination.  I’ve made love to a woman for eight hours once and my only goal was to get her to the very edge of orgasm and then stop over and over and over again.  At the end of six hours, she was screaming for me to . . . ”  Tracy stopped in mid sentence.  Karen was breathing heavy, visibly aroused, and her shirt showed signs of her breasts leaking.  She leaned in close and tilted Karen’s face towards hers, their lips virtually close enough for a kiss, making intense eye contact.  “Are you okay?”

“You know, I told John about  . . . you know . . . about . . . well, I told him about the painting and everything.  We aren’t prudes by any means, we experiment like any other couple, watch porn, whatever we can to keep our sex life from being boring.  It’s just that you do get in a rut after you’ve been married a while, the same thing no matter how hard you try.  He got really turned on when I told him.  In fact, our sex life has been really great ever since I shared with him about  . . . it, I mean us, I mean . . . you know what I mean.  It’s just that, I keep wondering what it would be like to . . . you know . . . well, I’m sure you know.  The last thing I want to do is lead you on and I don’t want to lose our friendship but I would be lying if I didn’t tell you that I’ve been thinking about what it would be like.”  Karen was blushing and embarrassed but intimate enough with her friend to open up honestly. 

Tracy reached out and held her friend’s hand.  “I’ll answer any questions you have and I won’t stop being your friend.  I won’t do anything that will make you feel uncomfortable.  I promise.  I have a policy; I don’t fool around with anyone who is married so we are pretty safe to talk about anything.  It will go no further than that.  If you want to talk about sex with me and go home and fuck your husband like crazy, that is just fine with me.” 

They both laughed and hugged but the sexual tension was so thick in the air you could cut it with a knife.  Karen gathered her things and bolted out there like lightning.  Over the next few months, their relationship took on a new dynamic.  Karen flirted, tempted, and teased and Tracy was holding fast to her rule about not fooling around with a married woman.  Karen started forsaking her other friends, friends she’s known since high school, to come spend time Tracy.  She loved the feeling of freedom she got the very minute she walked through the door, the ability to tell the truth that she didn’t have with her other friends.  She loved the sexual tension and she had begun being more discriminate about the things she shared with her husband, not wanting him to know exactly how turned on she was getting sharing time with another woman.  Karen knew that for all Tracy’s integrity, she would never cross the line, so she felt nothing about teasing her friend, making not so subtle suggestions and then running out the door to the safety of her husband and married life. 

One night, a little after one in the morning, Karen, audibly upset, called Tracy and said, “Sorry to wake you, but John and I had a really bad fight, do you mind if I crash at your place?  I just can’t stand the thought of sleeping next to him right now.  I need to get out of the house and I . . . well, I just want to come there to be honest.”  Tracy extended an offer for her friend to stay with her and said she would leave a key under the mat and the guest room ready for her whenever she got there.  Karen was already on her way. 

Within a half hour, she was in Tracy’s driveway and the key was under the mat as promised.  She quietly let herself in and peeked in the guest room with towels on the end of the bed and a cute little gift basket of toiletries on the dresser.  Tentatively, she walked past the guest room to Tracy’s master bedroom.  Curiosity had gotten the best of her and she had to find out what it was like in real life.  She was desperate to know what it was like to make love to another woman.  She tiptoed in and folded her clothes in a neat pile as she undressed completely.  Tracy lay sleeping quietly.  She pulled back the covers and crawled in bed, snuggling her body against the warmth of her friend’s brown body. 

Tracy awoke immediately, still groggy but very sure that there was a naked body next to hers.  “Karen, what are you doing?  Don’t do this.  Please.”

Tracy’s words were silenced with a kiss.  Karen placed her lips against Tracy’s and they shared an intimate, tender kiss, like only two women can share.  Again, Tracy protested.  “Karen, I’m not strong enough to withstand this kind of pressure.  What about John?”

“I need this.  I want this!  You want it too.  Please, don’t make me go.  Make love to me.  Fuck me.  Do whatever you want to me but don’t make me go.”  The words choked up in her throat as the tears came.  She couldn’t leave, she wouldn’t leave.  This wasn’t just about some random fuck with a stranger to get off.  This wasn’t a cheap thrill.  This was a woman she loved as a friend, cared about, shared with, and to whom she was strangely attracted.  She wanted to experience the thing that she had tried to deny for months.  There was no denying that her clit would throb and her pussy would get moist when she was with Tracy, when they were sitting back talking, at times not even about sex.  There was no denying that when she was having sex with her husband, she was thinking about what it would feel like to have a woman’s mouth on her, licking her, tasting her, eating her, about how different it would feel. 

She didn’t have time to think too much about the ramifications of her actions.  Tracy rolled over and positioned herself over Karen.  Their legs intertwined.  Karen reached up and pulled the t-shirt from Tracy’s sleepy frame and tossed it to the floor.  She felt sexy and wanted in the moment. 

“Are you sure you want this, want me?”

Feeling more confident than she’d felt in a very long time, she reached up and placed her mouth on Tracy’s.  Their lips gently parted and their tongues found each other’s.  Electricity shot through Karen’s body.  Almost immediately, her pussy began to throb and pulse, getting wetter than she’d remembered in a very long time.  A sound escaped her lips, one of pleasure and arousal.  Tracy kissed her back and their kiss because more passionate but still very, extraordinarily sensual.   Tracy kissed her way down Karen’s neck, tasting her skin, pressing her lips to the erotic hot spots Karen had almost forgotten she had.  Her body responded.  She was writhing, twisting, panting and incredibly turned on.  She’d imagined what it would be like to be with a woman but in her wildest imagination she had never thought that it would feel so excruciatingly erotic.  By the time Tracy’s lips got to her collar bone, sounds were escaping her lips that sounded strange to her own ears. 

In the darkness of her bedroom, in the middle of the night, Tracy put aside all her misgivings about engaging in an affair with a married person and gave in to her desires.  Before her was a sensual woman, a needy woman who deserved to be made love to and pleasured like she’d never experienced previously.  The woman beneath her was a friend, a person she knew inside and out, a woman she had craved sexually for months.  She took her time and prepared to pleasure and seduce Karen until she begged her to stop. 

If she had been given the opportunity to prepare, she would have had various toys and things like honey, ice cubes, satin sheets, a blindfold, and maybe even a hot all-girl movie ready.  With nothing but her hands and mouth, she set to work.  Unsure of how to handle the lactation thing, she decided to proceed slowly and let Karen decide how and where she should go.  With that decision, she decided to lick everywhere but her nipples.  Methodically, she kissed, licked, and erotically nibbled her way from Karen’s collarbone to her belly button and back again, not missing a spot in between.

Every nerve ending in Karen’s body felt alive with excitement.  She was tense and aroused and nervous all at the same time.  She didn’t know what to do with her hands so she gripped the sheets tightly and held on for dear life.  Tracy took Karen’s hands and placed them on her hips.  Even in the darkness of night, she could see the contrast in skin tone, feel the softness of a woman’s flesh.  Her hands began to roam, gently caressing Tracy’s curves.  Tracy responded, “Mmmmm, that feels so nice.  Don’t stop.  Oh, yeah, feel my tits.”  Karen froze momentarily and then took a deep breath and did just that.  The weight, the fullness, the feeling of those hard, dark nipples in her hands was sensory overload.  Something deep inside her, something instinctual made her want those nipples in her mouth.  Without saying a word, Tracy knew and lowered her tits to her waiting mouth. 

Karen took to making love to a woman like a duck takes to water.  She licked and kissed and softly sucked like she wanted to be sucked.  She did it the way she knew deep in her gut would feel pleasurable.  In that moment she understood what people meant when they said that only another woman knows how to pleasure a woman.  Tracy was moaning, rubbing her pussy against Karen’s thigh.  It was slippery and hot and distracting.  “Oh, Tracy, this is driving me crazy.  Fuck me.” 

Tracy responded with a smile.  She turned Karen over and proceeded to kiss her way down her back, her thighs, all over her ass, her tongue leaving a wet trail down her spine.  Karen had had enough of the tease and wanted more.  Tracy grabbed her hips and pulled her to her knees, causing Karen to gasp for air.  She gently parted the soft, pink folds of flesh that enveloped all that made Karen a woman and stared.  Almost imperceptibly, she took her finger and gently caressed Karen’s clit.  In that moment Karen was 100% sure John had never touched her so softly, never found her spot so intentionally.  She arched her back and let out a hiss.  Her breathing was short, raspy.  The sensation didn’t last long as Tracy’s fingertips explored further, softly touching and caressing her soaking wet pussy.  The next sensation she felt was that of hot breath on her inner thighs, her ass, her pussy.  It was as if Tracy was making love to her pussy with her eyes, not even touching it, just looking at it, examining it in a way no one had ever done before.  Karen was chanting, “Eat me . . . lick me . . . fuck me . . . FUCK ME . . .”

Reaching between her legs, Karen started to rub her own pussy but Tracy moved her hand away.  She replaced her fingertip with her tongue and began to lick softly.  Karen’s words now were incoherent, she was speaking the language of supreme ecstasy.  From her clit to her asshole and back again, Tracy tasted every inch of Karen’s wet slit.  She sucked where she was supposed to, licked in just the right spots.  And just when Karen didn’t think she could take any more teasing, Tracy took her fingers and pushed them inside Karen’s dripping wet pussy.  They probed and pushed all the right spots.  That was enough to send her over the edge but Tracy had other plans.  Flipping her over, holding her legs back, Tracy started licking her again.  This time her focus was solely on her clit, she was going to bring her to orgasm with the flicking motion of her tongue.  Karen grabbed Tracy’s head and held it close as she sputtered profanities and practically screamed how good it felt. 

Just as Karen was about to reach her special moment, Tracy stopped.  She climbed up Karen’s body and kissed her again, letting her taste her own juices.  Karen sucked her tongue feverishly.  She felt out of control.  She was caressing Tracy’s body now, begging for release.  She felt uninhibited, unrestrained by the fears and apprehensions she previously possessed.  Then, there, it was about feeling good, nothing more, nothing less.  She held up her tits to her friend.  “Here, suck them.”  It was a symbolic gesture, symbolizing a closeness and a bond that the two friends shared.  It was representative of giving her sexuality to a woman in a way that most would never share.

Tracy needed no further encouragement and lowered her mouth to the hardened nipples.  Softly, she sucked.  It wasn’t about her pleasure, it was about the intimacy, connection, and passion between the two friends.  As her mouth filled with the sweet, warm liquid, she heard Karen’s gentle moans.  Her own pussy was flowing freely now as her friend humped her thigh against her mound.  She slid her fingers inside Karen again, this time, intending to give her an earth-shattering orgasm.  At this point, Karen was so wet, the entire room was filled with the sounds of her being finger fucked. 

Both women were moaning, groaning, chanting, cursing.  At the last minute, Tracy slid her body around and placed her pussy against Karen’s.  It was soft and wet and unlike anything Karen had ever felt before.  They fucked each other.  They rubbed their clits against one another, pink against pink, holding on to each other for dear life until they both felt the waves of impending pleasure overtake them. 

Karen slid out of bed in the early morning hours.  She needed to get home to the kids before they started moving around.  She softly kissed Tracy goodbye and whispered that she would call her later that afternoon.  Tracy’s heart dropped.  She felt terrible about breaking her own rule.  Karen comforted her as best she could under the circumstances, assured her that their friendship was important and she was unwilling to let it go.  Tracy wasn’t sure exactly what the future held for their friendship but she willing to face the consequences, come what may. 

Copyright 2011 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved

The Making of Slavery in America

This is required viewing.  Chilling!

Episode 1
Episode one opens in the 1620s with the introduction of 11 men of African descent and mixed ethnicity into slavery in New Amsterdam. Working side by side with white indentured servants, these men labored to lay the foundations of the Dutch colony that would later become New York. There were no laws defining the limitations imposed on slaves at this point in time. Enslaved people, such as Anthony d'Angola, Emmanuel Driggus, and Frances Driggus could bring suits to court, earn wages, and marry. But in the span of a hundred years, everything changed. By the early 18th century, the trade of African slaves in America was expanding to accommodate an agricultural economy growing in the hands of ambitious planters. After the 1731 Stono Rebellion (a violent uprising led by a slave named Jemmy) many colonies adopted strict "black codes" transforming the social system into one of legal racial oppression
Episode 2
From the 1740s to the 1830s, the institution of slavery continued to support economic development. As the slave population reproduced, American planters became less dependent on the African slave trade. Ensuing generations of slaves developed a unique culture that blended elements of African and American life. Episode two follows the paths of several African Americans, including Thomas Jefferson's slave Jupiter, Colonel Tye, Elizabeth Freeman, David Walker, and Maria Stewart, as they respond to the increasingly restrictive system of slavery. At the core of this episode is the Revolutionary War, an event which reveals the contradictions of a nation seeking independence while simultaneously denying freedom to its black citizens.
Episode 3
One by one the Northern states, led by Vermont in 1777, adopted laws to abolish and phase out slavery. Simultaneously, slavery in the Southern United States entered the period of its greatest expansion. Episode three, which starts at the beginning of the 1800s, examines slavery's increasing divisiveness in America as the nation develops westward and cotton replaces tobacco as the country's most valuable crop. The episode weaves national events through the personal histories of two African American slaves -- Harriet Jacobs and Louis Hughes -- who not only managed to escape bondage, but also exposed the horrific realities of the slave experience in autobiographical narratives. These and other stories of physical, psychological, and sexual exploitation fed the fires of a reinvigorated abolitionist movement. With a diverse membership comprised of men and women, blacks and whites, and led by figures including Frederick Douglass, Sojourner Truth, and Amy Post, abolitionist sentiment gathered strength in the North, contributing to the widening fissure and imminent break-up of the nation.
Episode 4
Episode four looks at Civil War and Reconstruction through the experiences of South Carolina slave Robert Smalls. It chronicles Smalls' daring escape to freedom, his military service, and his tenure as a congressman after the war. As the events of Smalls' life unfold, the complexities of this period in American history are revealed. The episode shows the transformation of the war from a struggle for union to a battle over slavery. It examines the black contribution to the war effort and traces the gains and losses of newly freed African Americans during Reconstruction. The 13th amendment abolished slavery in 1865, the 14th and 15th amendments guaranteed black civil rights, and the Freedmen's Bureau offered aid to former slaves throughout the 1870s. Yet simultaneously, the formation of militant groups, such as the Ku Klux Klan threatened the future of racial equality and segregation laws began to appear across the country. Slavery's eradication had not brought an end to black oppression.