My Romantic Resume

It's time.  It's time for me to be in a healthy relationship. I'm not getting any younger,  I've done the work on myself to be a great partner, now is the time to manifest the man who can share my life.  

The following is Scottie in a nutshell.  I'm putting myself out there, being open and receptive for getting and sharing a divine love. 


I'm Miss Non-confrontational and Pleasant to be Around.  Most men want a woman who is sweet.  Sweet is for bunnies and women who are emotionally submissive.  I'm not sweet. Granted, I don't like to argue.  I don't have the need to be right.  I don't need to have the last word or prove my point but I’m not complacent and I won’t cater to a man’s inflated ego.  I'm childlike in my awe of things that move me but I’m far from childish. I fly into a rage when I'm lied to but other than that, I'm good to go.

I'm Ms Radical Black Feminist.  I don't hate men, I don't hate white men, I DO hate the privilege that a penis and/or white skin affords some people without merit and I work to dismantle the fallacy of male domination and white supremacy with my words and deeds.  If you don't like the idea of me saying that (white) men have unfair privileges in this society, I'm not the one for you. 

I'm Ms. AfroerotiK.  I write personalized, customized erotic stories for a living.  My life is dedicated to showing African Americans in a healthy sexual light and dismantling the stereotypes of Black women being ghetto hoochies and Black men being thugs and pimps.  I write stories about all facets of Black and interracial sexuality, including individuals in the GBLT community, giving them a voice and an outlet to feel validation and respect.  I'm more open minded about sex than the vast majority of the population.  That being said, I'm not physically sexual with anyone unless I'm in a relationship with them so while I can discuss any kink, fetish, or fantasy under the sun, while I can be as brutally forthcoming and open in my discussions of the specifics of what I like, I’m not going to have sex with anyone unless I am 100% positive that they are committed to me for more than my physicality.

I'm Ms. Flexible who can adapt to most situations and not afraid to decline an offer if it isn't to my particular liking. 

I’m Ms. Straightforward . . . Do I even have to expound?  I don’t play games, I don’t expect a mind reader, I’m not pulling any punches. 

Independent is my middle name.  Actually, it's my confirmation name but let's not get caught up in minutia.  You needn't worry that I'm going to give up my goals, aspirations, and dreams or lose my identity in being your girlfriend because I have more drive, ambition, and pure spunk than most people could even dream of.  While I adore being partnered, and I'm EXCELLENT at being a girlfriend (loving, nurturing, supportive, the whole nine) I am a woman with a mission that can’t be distracted.

I’m Ms. Loyal, faithful, and monogamous to a fault.  When I'm with someone, I only have eyes for him.  If I feel the relationship is not providing me with something I need, I'll address it with hopes of a resolution or end the relationship before I look elsewhere.  I expect the same in return from my partner. 

I’m Ms. No Pressure.  I don’t want a ring, I am not planning on how to get you to marry me, I’m not looking for you to spend every minute of your time with me.  I just want companionship, intimacy, and connection.  Anything more than that is a bonus.  

I’m Ms. Low Maintenance.  I'm considered attractive by some, not so much by others.  My looks, appearance, and wardrobe don't define me.  I am grounded, down to earth, non-pretentious and humble. 

I need someone to remind me that I am a woman in my lonely existence, that I do have value more than my aesthetics.  I want a male friend with whom I can express my fears, doubts, and insecurities without being labeled damaged or imperfect.  I’d love a male voice to tell me goodnight and someone with whom I can share the details of my day.  I’d like to think that I could make life’s journey a little less daunting as I’d like to hope that you might be able to do for me.  Not many men would be open to a woman like me but nothing ventured is nothing gained for sure, right?

Peace and many blessings,

Ms. Trying to stay sane in this crazy mixed-up world. 

Wishing You a Peaceful Journey

I loved Heavy D.  It's taken me almost two weeks to come to terms with his death.  I wrote the following on his Facebook page back in June of 2010. 

For many years, Mr. Myers, you were my imaginary lover.  As I’m sure is very commonplace for you, your celebrity allows people to think they know you intimately.  I am to be counted among that population.  I was attracted initially to your music, to your lyrics.  Like most women, I was attracted to your aura. I didn’t see your size, I saw your energy, your articulation, your intellect.  I wanted to be the somebody that would love you for you . . . You spoke to me in your songs, I felt a connection that I was sure you would feel equally if only we could just have the opportunity to meet.  With each new album, I would listen intently for a sign that you were still available and still searching for me.  When you were on Living Single, I was jealous of Regine, not in the stalker sense, but in that the things your character said were the things that I’d always dreamt you’d say to me.  I wanted to be the woman standing beside you as you ascended to acting stardom. 

After many (many) years of lusting after you, loving you, and longing for you to find me, I gave up my hopes of our spiritual, divine connection.  I realized that I was nothing more than just another star-struck fan with childish fantasies.  Today, I no longer have delusions about our destined love affair but I still have love for you in my heart.  I still hold a place for you as a man I once loved in my imagination.  You made loved to me, we built a life together as divinely connected partners.  I celebrate you and all that you’ve accomplished, for all that you are and who I think you are.  Peace and blessings my dear brotha and all my love. 

I'm not sure he ever read it but I'm glad I was able to speak my truth to him before he passed.

Dwight was the rapper who was far more intellectual than he allowed the public to see.  He was the one who never said anything that was offensive to my feminist sensibilities.  He was the one who loved Black women and it showed. 

I had the opportunity to speak to him on the phone once.  He was a guest on Arsenio Hall and I had seen the show enough to know that guests of the show stayed at the Hotel Nikko.  Well, I picked up the phone and I called.  I left a message on the hotel voicemail that was as AfroerotiK as it could get considering it was a full ten years ago before AfroerotiK was even a tiny thought in my consciousness.  I praised him for his insight and spirit.  I poetically penned something, I have no idea what, that was flattering yet truthful.  I told him that I was infatuated with him, with who he was, with what he stood for.  He called me back the next day.  He kept saying, "Who are you?  How do you know me?"  I explained that I wasn't a stalker, just someone who appreciated and respected his work.  We fell into a comfortable groove and we clicked.  In my perhaps deluded memory, we spoke freely and comfortably like lovers would.   And at the most inopportune moment, my roommate picked up the phone and interrupted the call, yelling at me that he had a very important phone call to make.  I was humiliated and I apologized for the interruption and Dwight said he would call me back.  He never did.  I sort of knew he wouldn't but there was also a part of me that knew that we would meet again and that we would experience that connection again in real life. 

As crazy as it sounds, I know I was meant to meet him and we were meant to share a connection.  That's why it's been so hard for me to acknowledge and accept his death.  For some reason, we never got that chance.  I miss him in a way that doesn't make sense to any rational person. 

Dwight, journey peacefully my love, your impact and presence has shaped us all.  I love you.

True Ebony Queen(ing)

Tell me THIS is not AfroerotiK!

A Question for my white male submissive followers

I have a question for my loyal submissive white male readers and fans.  What is it about my writing that you appreciate the most?  What is it that appeals to you about my stories?  What sets it apart from other interracial domination stories?


I need specific examples of what draws you back to read AfroerotiK stories.  What makes you seek out arousal from my stories? 

Please provide detailed feedback. 

Tag Team Back Again

My man and I are a threat to be reckoned with.  I’m a cruel psychological Domme that loves to humiliate and degrade and he’s a sadistic Dom that loves to administer a little bit of pain with his weapon of mass destruction.  He’s got 10 inches of thick, hard man meat that is waiting to be sucked and he loves to ram tight white asscunts. 

Good Doggie

Lipsticks and Studs

Smothered by AfroerotiK

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