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.

Tuesday, December 06, 2011

The Culture of Rape




The abuse of women’s bodies, our spirits, is so accepted, so ingrained in our society that rape isn’t even seen as anything abnormal.  Black women’s bodies especially are seen as objects to be used and abused by men.  We’re supposed to take it, like it even.  If we as a culture, society, and community don’t do something to stop this NOW it will be the end of us. 

Fate is a mother fucker.  I get into an argument on Facebook today, on someone else’s page mind you, and someone else, an “innocent bystander” as it were, starts fanning the flames, trying to provoke the disagreement.  The instigator sends me a friend request.  I accept, not thinking anything about it more than he’s someone who likes what I have to say.  He sends me a private message, asking me if I used to live in the apartments in downtown Atlanta.  In that first few seconds, I couldn’t imagine how he would know me like that.  I didn’t really think anything about it, but I didn’t panic or anything, I just responded, “How do you know me?”  He responded by saying, “You probably don’t remember me.  We met in the summer of ‘99.  You took me to your apartment. Wow, small world. LMBAO.” 

My home is sacred to me.  I’m very cautious of the people I invite into my home.  When he said, “You took me to your apartment,” I think I knew who it was before I even went to his profile.  At this point, time is moving in slow motion.  Going to his page, pulling up his pictures, opening the albums that show his face . . . everything is taking light years.  Sure enough, it was the face of the man who raped me, whose name I hadn’t previously known.  Jason Mass is his name as it turns out.  I confront him.  I say that I do in fact remember him, that you are the man who raped me. 

He wasn’t even a man at the time, he was 19 or 20.  I was in my early thirties. I was not attracted to him in the least even though I shouldn’t even have to mention that fact.  We met at Atlanta’s Underground Mall outside the Haagen Dazs store.  I saw him there a few times.  I’m guessing he was a student at Georgia State.  He could have just been hanging out there, I don’t know.  I didn’t really inquire too much, he was far too young for me and I was not at all interested in him.  I was nice to him; we might have even had lunch in the food court once.  I’m not sure. 

One day, he asked me to come to my apartment.  I told him no.  He kept asking, saying he just wanted to hang out with me.  I told him that we could hang out in the club room of my apartment building but that we couldn’t go to my apartment.  We watched TV for a while and I told him that I was not interested in him, he was far too young for me.  He wasn’t my type at all.  He said that didn’t matter, he just wanted to hang out with me, he wanted to see what sort of music I listened to, he said he thought he could learn from me.  He wouldn’t take no for an answer and I really thought I had made myself clear that I wasn’t interested in him. 

Finally, I told him that we could go to my apartment to check out my music.  I didn’t own a TV at the time so I had a super duper extensive music collection.  I honestly believed he saw me as a mentor or semi-mother figure.  There was nothing remotely sexual or romantic between us and I thought he was a harmless kid.  We went to my apartment and he was impressed by the Black art, all the books; I wasn’t a kid and I wasn’t ghetto so he probably hadn’t been exposed to very many homes that were like mine.  I showed him my balcony and that’s when things started to go terribly wrong.  We came back inside and he started to try to kiss me, grab me, hold me.  I started pushing him away.  He took out his dick.  I remember it so clearly, like a movie in my head.  It was almost like he was in a trance.  He was stroking it, telling me, “I love my big dick, I’m in love with my big dick.  I have such a big dick, don’t I?” It was like he was hypnotized by his own penis.    I told him to get out, I was trying to make it to the front door and he pulled me to the floor and we fought.  We fought and fought and fought.  We fought until I couldn’t fight any more.  I cried out, I said no, stop, NO.  We fought until I had no more strength in my body.  I lay there, in tears, while he raped me, unable to fight any more. 

So, here I am, on Facebook, and I’ve just accepted a friend request from the man who raped me.  I’ve written about him before, years ago, in my efforts to reclaim my own personal power.  I didn’t know his name but I would identify him whenever I spoke of the instance when men have violated me.  I confront him, in my haze of confusion, anger, and disbelief.  I say, “You raped me.”

He responds by saying, “Rape?  Don’t say that.  It didn’t go down like that.  We didn’t even get a chance to finish because you said stop.” 

Finish?  Finish?  Perhaps he wanted a second or third time to rape me but I most certainly had finished.  I informed him that we had fought, that I didn’t want him, that I said no, and he had raped me.  At that point, he gets an attitude with me, like I’ve offended him, saying, “Are u fuckin' kiddin' me?!  om fuckin' g!!!”  At this point, I’m scrambling to block him before I explode in anger and outrage. 

This wasn’t my first time to meet up with him.  The first time was as FunkJazzKafe, one of Atlanta’s premiere music events, a few years later.  We were both going in the backstage door in a dark, not heavily traffic parking lot.  He said something to the effect of, “You probably don’t remember me but . . .”  I turned around and looked at him and I knew him immediately.  I think I said, “You’re the guy who raped me,” but I’m not sure.  I got so scared I just turned around and ran away, shaking and crying and terrified.  The second time, I had my hands full of groceries and I was coming home and he was coming out of my neighbor’s apartment two doors down.  It was all I could do to open the door and get inside and I was terrified.  He took my sense of safety.  He took my sense of peace in the world.  He took something from me that was no his to take.  He stole a piece of my soul.  He’s walking around, not a care in the world, no remorse, no guilt, seemingly no consciousness at all that he RAPED me.  I think I knew that if I ever did have a chance to meet him again, he would deny it but I didn’t think he would send me a friend request, like I was going to be happy to talk about old times.  There’s something delusional about a person who doesn’t even realize the hurt that they’ve caused. 

I can’t describe to a man the fear that consumes you when you come face to face with your rapist and you know he could do it again.  Most men will never know that sensation.  He felt justified in violating my body.  He felt he had a right to take it without my permission.  We fought.  Not a tussle, not slap and grab, but I’m yelling NO and pushing and kicking and trying to punch and bite and do anything I can to get away and somehow, in his head, he thought that was foreplay.  He somehow interpreted that as perfectly acceptable to force himself inside me as long as it felt good to him. 

This god damn obsession society has with dick size, specifically black men’s dick size, is breeding rapists.  Objectifying women and this willingness to see us as things to be used by men, for men’s pleasure is manufacturing rapists.  Mothers raising their sons not to take responsibility for their actions is creating a nation of rapists.  Fathers teaching their sons to measure their manhood by the number of women they fuck is Rape 101.  This shit has to stop.  IT HAS TO STOP.  I don’t want another black girl to endure what I did.  I don’t want another black woman to know the sort of fear I felt.  There is a culture of rape that let him think that without any foreplay, romance, no attraction whatsoever, that he had the go ahead to force himself on me and that I would like it. 

I’m going to speak truth to power.  I’m going to continue to address the pathologies of this diseased and sick society that treats women like things to be used and thrown away.  Don’t feel sorry for me and tell me how you wish you could take the pain away.  Do something.  Confront men when they talk about women like things.  Confront the men you know are rapists, make them admit what they did.  Don’t waste your empathy on me, I’m going to be okay. 

Monday, December 05, 2011

A Full-Course Meal




I struggle with finding suitable partners, ones to whom I attracted, who meet my criteria, and who appreciate what I bring to the table.  I’m most assuredly, unquestionably sapiosexual; I’ve yet to meet the man who is too intellectual for me, so finding someone who stimulates me mentally (notice I didn’t say challenges me mentally, I ABHOR verbal sparring with my partner) is essential.  That eliminates quite a few men from my potential dating pool.  I’ve dated men who were smart, I’ve dated men who were intelligent, I’ve even dated those who were not particularly bright, but nothing compares to dating an academic and an intellectual in my book.  I don’t need to date Einstein (Who am I kidding? Yes I do.  And, if he comes in the body of a 6’3” beautiful black man, I'm chaining him up in my basement and never letting him leave.) but I mos def need a man who thinks outside the box, who sees things beyond black and white, who has challenged the status quo.  I’m tall, I’m outspoken, I wear my hair short and natural, and I’m AfroerotiK, so that intimidates a lot of men.  Bam, my dating pool just got infinitely smaller.  I’m convinced, beyond the shadow of a doubt in fact, that there is a man out there who will find me attractive, whom I find attractive, who meets my criteria (I will not settle for anything less than a Black man who is HONEST, a man of integrity, socially and politically liberal, and emotionally mature) AND who appreciates all that I have to offer. 

I am the real deal.  If I have to say so myself, I’m quite the package, or as applies in this metaphor, I bring a lot to the table.  First and foremost, my table is set with fine china, linens, crystal and sterling silver cutlery.  I’m far from ghetto.  I’m not average, mediocre, or typical.  I’m sophisticated, worldly, traveled, well-read, educated and I come from a family of professional, intellectuals, and activists.  I carry myself like a queen because I am descended from royalty.  I don’t do drugs, I’ve never engaged in any illegal activity, I don’t associate with riff raff, degenerates, or those prone to drama.  The table itself is reflective of five-star dining. This ain’t no take out joint or chain restaurant. 

What’s on the menu?  Well let’s start out with the appetizer.  How about a woman who is mentally stable, a great communicator, pathologically honest, of above average intellect, creative, talented, and independent?  I’m not at all superficial or materialistic; I’m extremely grounded and down to earth.  I’m loyal, a great friend, and trustworthy.  I’m a great cook and very domestic but a phenomenal entrepreneur to boot. I’m socially conscious and empathetic and very much an advocate for the oppressed. 

Is that enough to whet your appetite?  Well for the main course we have a woman who has a HUGE heart and who is unbelievably loving.  Caring, affectionate, romantic, and thoughtful are all words that accurately describe how I behave in a relationship.  Do you like gifts and surprises for no reason?  Perhaps you like a woman who is spontaneous and adventurous?  That’s me.  I will be supportive, I will help you fulfill your dreams, I will take excellent care of you when you’re sick, and be your biggest cheerleader.  I won’t give up on the relationship; I’ll work hard at it to make it happy and satisfying for both of us.  Compromise is my middle name and I’m never so arrogant as not to admit when I’m wrong. 

And for dessert . . . ahhhhh . . . dessert is the sweetest, most mouth-watering treat imaginable.  My sex is like whoa.  I do not give my body away indiscriminately; I’m very selective with my partners so if you get to taste this rare delicacy, consider yourself lucky.  Once you get it, once you get my juicy, hot, sticky, sweet, wet love it is all yours, and no one else’s.  I am a fanatic about keeping the fires burning in a relationship and seduction is an art form I’ve mastered.  My passion burns hot and I love to express it all the time.  Intimacy is my drug of choice and I’m addicted to it.  Prepare yourself for a night of extended foreplay, beautiful love-making, and finished off with sweaty, loud, primal fucking over and over and over again. 

What’s the cost of this sumptuous meal?  Your commitment to me and the relationship, your complete honesty, and your love.  Not a very high price to pay for such an exquisite meal. 

Saturday, December 03, 2011

Stevie Wonder + Prince Superstition live in Paris 2010



I'm not sure how much the tickets to this cost but I think I would have sold a kidney to go to the concert.

Eye-opening to say the least

I thought I would and should  publish the follow up comments from the gentleman after he read my piece about submissive white men.  It really concerns me that the only comments being made about this topic are coming from the insane submissive white guy whose name I'm not allowed to mention.  White women, I would love to hear your comments.  Black women and men, please don't stay quiet.  There is mass dysfunction here and it needs to be addressed.  Remaining silent is not the solution.  I know sex is a messy, unpleasant subject and talking about white men's sexuality is unpopular and fraught with decades of complications and social stigmas but I'm begging you to participate in the discussion. 



Date Tue, November 29, 2011 - 2:11 AM
Subject Re: Black female superior


Thank you for responding. I do appreciate it very much. Any insite you can provide me is welcome. I would still like to hear more about your personal opinions, I am curious what turns you on. You obviously have an inate interest in sex that goes beyond your personal pleasures. I imagine your interest in this particular topic goes beyond your duties as moderator of a "tribe."

I dont know if you care but I will tell you alittle bit about myself and maybe shed some light on the topic. I am, by definition bi-sexual. Only because I do have, and happen to enjoy, sex with women from time to time. However at an early age I had a preference for men. After I became comfortable with that, I realised more specifically I enjoyed being the 'bottom.' During this time it wasnt necessary to always be the bottom but that was my preference. Also during this time I had sex with several black guys and their race wasnt much more than a after thought. even in these instances it mattered little who assumed the submissive role. I hardly thought about it beyond the desire to have sex with another man. Now, let me get one thing out of the way, long before any of this I found I had a particular attraction to black women. I said that I do enjoy sex with women occassionally. This includes all varieties of woman but, for a white guy, I had more than a passing attraction to black girls.

As I aged and grew more comfortable with my desires I learned that I really liked being the 'bottom.' More and more I began to enjoy being very effeminate when in the intimate company of other men. Back around 2003 or 2004 I began to explore my effeminate side by reaching out to other fems in particular online. At first it start as nurturing my feminine side with some accessories like panties or a wig and lipstick. Soon it became more elaborate with lingerie and womens shoes ( OMG! How I love womens shoes!) Various role playing with me being the schoolgirl or the nurse or the cheerleader all became a part of it and was just as enjoyable as the sex itself. Then around 2006 I found a yahoo group called "Black Men Turning White Boys into Girls." WOW!!! What a mind fuck THAT turned out to be. It was like watching a train wreck yet I was oddly drawn to it. Further I was pleased to see how many members the group had. So my eyes were opened to a fetish that really appealed to me: men transforming into women for Dom tops. Which is what I had been doing anyway. Now there was this whole black/white dynamic that I wasnt sure what to make out of it but I was pretty sure that I liked it.

With that I began to explore the world of the black bull and the white sissy. I enjoyed it...ALOT! I never have seen beyond the sexual act of it though. Although for role playing I do like to play up the master/servant relationship. I have never found slavery or BDSM to be arousing nor do I find cuckolding or castration to be turn-ons either. I dont know why they just seem too extreme for me. I like to show up, meet with a black guy or guys, let them all know that I am the slut in the room, walk into the bathroom and come out dressed as the white girl of their choice and get down to the seriously, deleriously good time of being beat up by black dick. I DO have standards I like well built guys who are of a decent age who are clean and drug free (for the most part anyway).

For some odd reason I have developed at least three other fetishes that relate to this sexual dynamic. One, I like seeing real white girls fucking black guys, Two I like to meet real white girls who date black guys exclusivley and tell them about my own desires ( I dont know why but for some reason it appeals to my inner teenage girl, once that topic is exhauseted the conversation turns awkward and ends on a lame note, you can only say "I like black guys, Yeah me too! Black guys are hot! I know what you mean! I feel the same way!" so many times before the convo runs its course) Of course it is all role playing for me. I have found that I like to be treated the way black guys are often portrayed as treating women. I like being refered to as a ho or a bitch. I like hearing things like "damn bitch you got a fat ass" while Im sucking dick.

So that brings me to where I am today. It comes full circle, my early admiration fro black girls and my new found feminine side mixed with the image of pop/hip-hop culture/rap music and the way black men are portrayed as treating black women...it all adds up to my third newfound fetish. I now find myself emulating the black woman during my sexual escapades. Wearing wigs that are styled like black womens hair, wearing stereotypical clothes of a black girl, apple bottom and babbyphat and the footwear (the shoes! the shoes!) This is the latest barrier I have discovered about myself and I love it too. This is not always so easily accepted and often requires several encounters to test the waters. In many ways I am only emulating alot of the white girls who date black guys and therefore adopt these fashions. Who knows where it will go from here, but much like my first experiences with cross dressing I still find the dressing and role playing just as fun as the sex itself. I would probably be just as happy spending the day shopping for clothes and doing hair and make-up with a black girl as I would spending the night with a black dude balls deep in my ass....Well, probably not but you get the idea.

Monday, November 28, 2011

On a Leash


Midnight Tango




We fit together perfectly, our bodies like pieces in a sensual puzzle.  The drumbeat pulsed like the blood coursing through our veins.  The Afro-Cuban rhythms heard only in our heads were genetically encoded in our DNA.  We moved together like two well-choreographed dancers; our dance was of romance, intimacy and erotic expression. 

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Submissive White Men: A Decade Later




I’ve been putting off writing this follow-up piece to White Male Submission for almost a year now.  My love/hate relationship with submissive white men on any given day is tempered by how many cups of Roobois tea I’ve had to keep me calm, exactly how effective I think I’ve been in communicating to them another way to look at their behaviors, and how annoying they insist on being.  Submissive white men love me and I . . . well . . . I don’t hate white men, of the submissive or any other variety, but I’m not fond of the arrogance, lack of empathy, compassion, or concern many of them have for anyone with different experiences than they, or the sheltered, and unjustly privileged existence they lead that allows them to think that the world revolves around their fantasies, and how they manage to think that I owe them my time and attention. 

My very first exposure to the concept of submissive white men began in January of 2000.  I had just quit my job on the corporate plantation and I was starting the new millennium unencumbered by the chains of a nine to five.  In my particular case, I was in retail management so it was more like my nine to nine.  Nevertheless, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life but I knew for a fact it wasn’t making some shareholders rich while I managed to exist comfortably but on an austere budget that allowed for few, true luxuries.  For the first month of my unemployed status, I obsessively visited different chat rooms.  I was new to the concept and yahoo had a chat room for every possible interest.  At first, I joined all the African-American chat rooms and then the political ones.  Next, I ventured to the dating ones for thirty-somethings; and eventually the ones about sex.  I wasn’t interested in chatting about sex with random strangers for my own personal arousal but I can remember, even then, YEARS before the concept of AfroerotiK was even a tiny seed in my consciousness, that I was intrigued by people sharing their fantasies with me.  I wanted to know what made people tick.  I wanted to know what got them off.  I would ask questions and people would confess to me like I was their own personal, sexual high-priestess. 

It didn’t take very long to figure out the patterns of submissive white men.  Everyone told the same story; there wasn’t much deviation in their fantasies.  For a while there I thought I was chatting with the same person because the stories sounded so similar and their lamentations so identical.  Like I said in my previous article, they usually fell into one of three categories: cuckolds, practitioners in female supremacy, and bisexual submissives.  I’m going to suggest that the categories have remained essentially the same but they have grown, morphed into some sort of amalgamation of white male submission where the lines are blurred and the identities aren’t nearly so neatly defined any more.  Cuckolds have become sissies, female supremacists have become black supremacists, and bisexual submissives have become depraved, perverse, degenerates and everyone has ventured over into someone else’s territory to explore and test the waters.  Today, there are financial pay pigs, blackmail addicts, castration junkies, service-oriented subs, and good old-fashioned pain pigs.  The sheer numbers of white submissive men is incomprehensible to me but I can tell you that they are an outrageously large percentage of the population and still growing it seems. 

What do submissive white men fantasize about?  You don’t even want to know. 

Who is the typical submissive white male?  Look around you and you will see one.  They are blue collar, white collar, single, married, educated, degreed, high-school drop outs, middle management cogs, entrepreneurs, law enforcement, those under the law, jocks, nerds, run-of-the-mill Joes, Republican and Democrat and even Tea Partiers, American and European, rich, poor, short, tall, fat, skinny, straight, gay, and in the closet bisexual, muscular, 98 pound weaklings, young and old, ugly and attractive, and the guy next door.  The very guy you think of and you say, “Oh, he would NEVER be one of those guys,” is the same guy who has shared with me filthy secrets about how he wants to be a slut for black cock or a toilet for a group of Black women.  The very person you say is too (fill in the blank) good looking – successful – racist – normal – average – macho – creepy – mousey - conservative to be submissive to Blacks is the exact type who is.   On an almost daily basis, I have men who identify as Dominants in the BDSM world send me messages that say, “I’m a Dom to white women but I secretly dream of being sub to a Black woman, would you train me?”  Am I suggesting that every white man is submissive?  By all means no.  I am suggesting that every type of white man is.  There is no type.  While their behaviors and words are eerily similar, they come from every different background conceivable. 

Are white women equally as motivated by their interracial submission?  I have no idea.  Luckily for me, the white women in my circle of friends are sane, healthy, balanced, exceptional women.  Do I think the white women I call sisters are reflective of the majority of white women?  As much as I would like to believe that, I know in my heart that is not the case.  I do know that there are legions of white women who identify as sluts for Black cock, Black only whores, and those who are sexually aroused by the concept of getting “bred Black.”  I know there are interracial cuckold sites galore with white women who are being joined by their submissive white husbands in their worship and adoration of the mythical big, black cock.  White women are not inclined to seek out my advice or counsel so I have no ideas of their numbers or pathologies.  I can say that Black women are not nearly as motivated dominate as white men are to submit.  I can say that Black men are FAR less likely to be interested in dominating white males than they are white females.  Perhaps because white women have so many outlets for their desires and white men have so few, perhaps white women are more . . . shall we say adjusted . . . with their interracial fantasies.  I wouldn’t even hazard a guess because, again, I don’t communicate with them on any meaningful level so my knowledge of the drives and motivations of white women, submissive or not, is limited.  If the number of interracial porn sites on the internet is any indication, I would say that the numbers must equal or surpass those of submissive white men. 

I wouldn’t be exaggerating in the slightest if I said that I got no less than 50 forms of communication a day from submissive white men.  The actual number is probably twice that and it can go even higher than that on days I post stories or essays I’ve written about the topic.  I remember when I wrote the first article discussing the phenomenon, I would get death threats, literal death threats, from white men who were OUTRAGED that I would suggest that the numbers of white men who were sexually submissive was so high.  It was imperative for them to dismantle my logic by using numbers.  They would come up with these extensive calculations as to why there couldn’t have been thousands of white men who had confessed their secrets to me over the course of several years.  I think there was something reassuring and comforting for them to know that they could assert that there was no way I could have had conversations with 3.2 submissive white men a day (or whatever number they came up with), every day for 365 days a year for three years so there was no way that I could have spoken with thousands of submissives therefore everything I said was false.  White men apparently need to quantify everything empirically for it to have validity and if they can’t, it means their reality is safe.  They would go on to tell me that they were going to kill me and call me every racist nigger bitch in the book.  I threatened their sense of entitlement so completely that they had no issue with threatening to take my life. 

A great many submissive white men are suffering from some form of mental illness.  I’m sure it stems from the fact that they compartmentalize their sexuality so much, being sluts for black cock, servants, and open admirers of Black beauty in front of their computer screens and telling racist jokes in front of their friends and coworkers and never really working to dissolve themselves of the racist mindsets all white people have inherited in this country.  It’s not enough to just say, “My parents didn’t raise me to be racist.”  Your parents might not have but society certainly did.  To divorce yourself from the racist mindsets that lurk behind every facet of society, white people have to do real hard work.  Work that most of them don’t want to do or even acknowledge.  They have been socialized to believe that white men are superior for 30, 40, or 50 years or more of their lives and behind closed doors, they crave degradation, humiliation, they want to do unspeakable things to and for Black people and that fucks with their sense of security, their identity.  This “white guilt” they have for being privileged fucks with their heads.  They want to be punished for their whiteness.  Why?  I have no idea.  But the fact that their lives are these fractured, Add to that a great many submissive white men STILL think that they are the only white male on the planet with their fantasies.  Overwhelmingly, submissive white men cannot conceive of another white man craving to do what they dream of doing, to the extent they crave it, regardless of how many websites they join, how many pictures they look at, videos they masturbate to, or how many stories they read.    If I had a million dollars to burn, I would bet every penny that the white police officers involved in the Skip Gates fiasco and the hoards of white men who rallied in their behalf have volumes of interracial porn on their hard drives and a bajillion interracial porn sites in their browser history.  Why can I say that with such conviction?  That’s how their disconnect manifests itself, their lust for Black sexuality behind doors, their insistence that they are the ONLY white men with such fantasies has to come out in public as, “I hate Blacks and I’m not going to let them get away with being uppity, I’ll show them who is still in charge and put them in their place.” 

There is a magic force, driving, propelling, COMPELLING white men to be sluts and depraved whores for Black sexuality.  It’s true.  There is some force, greater than gravity, greater than centrifugal force and atomic power that is making white men want to behave in such unspeakable ways.  Not only that, but I alone have a magic crystal ball or some sort of magical powers that can explain this strange phenomenon so it makes sense to them.  I know it must be true because on a daily basis, white men come to me, telling me that they are amazed that I understand the mind of the submissive white man so well (as if it’s really difficult and I’ve cracked some sort of secret and ancient code) and they ask me to tell them why they have such submissive inclinations.  I don’t care how many times I’ve said that I don’t have a fucking clue as to why there are so many submissive white men, the only answer that they are prepared to hear  is that there is some cosmic force making them have these sorts of fantasies.  In fact, quite a few submissive white men are quite intent on telling me that there is some Divine motivation behind their fantasies. It seems they NEED to believe that their fantasies are beyond their control because to admit that they find Black women more attractive than the blond-haired, blue-eyed, size 2 model of the week, to admit that they are bisexual and attracted to Black men, is a reality they can’t comprehend.  For it to make sense to them, ordinarily rational, logical white men start ascribing some sort of spiritual/karmic power to blame for their interracial desires.  I don’t think I’m going out on a limb to suggest that until white men start taking responsibility for their desires, owning them, not trying to assert that their lust for Black flesh is because of some alignment of the stars, they will forever be dysfunctional. 

On more than a few occasions, I get letters of admiration from individuals, praising me with my keen insight on race and pledging their undying devotion to the Black race and our superior sexuality, offering to do ANYTHING disgusting they can think of and when I don’t respond the way they want, I get vicious attacks, denigrating not only myself but the entire black race. They call me sick and racist and tell me I need help.  If I ignore them or don’t play their game, then all Black men are illiterate criminals who just want to fuck white women and make babies.  After Obama was elected, the 180 degree switch from singing my praises to hating me would inevitably include some reference to how stupid he really is, how he has destroyed the country, how his wife is a monkey, and how undeserving he is of the office of the Commander in Chief because, of course, he was only elected because “the Blacks” voted for him.  Let a few months pass and those same individuals will be on the AfroerotiK bandwagon again, proclaiming to me privately that my stories touch them in ways no other story has ever done and that I am a Nubian Goddess worthy of only the highest praise.  The flip flop from one extreme to the other is never accompanied by an apology or acknowledgment of their wrong doing.  No, that, as my grandmother used to say, would be too much like right.  They don’t feel they have to apologize for their racist rants or childish behavior because to them, I am nothing more than an imaginary figure in their fantasies.  I’m not a real person who demands the basic tenets of common courtesy. 

I maintain profiles on most of the major Femdom or BDSM related sites.  Almost hourly, I will get some sort of correspondence from a submissive pouring out his little heart to me, telling me how he has dedicated his life to serving the Black race.  When I go to his profile, there is NOTHING there that indicates this devotion and all of his friends are white women or other white submissive men.  When I inquire as to why that is, they usually dismiss my concerns by saying that they have another profile, just for Blacks.  It seems white men don’t even want other submissive white men to know that they are submissive to Blacks.  That’s denial to the second power times delusion. 

On the rare occasion when someone sends me correspondence that’s literate and engaging, sometimes just plain sweet, there are times when I’m moved to take the conversations offline.  Sometimes the conversations are sexual in nature, at times, they are not.  In every instance, I reveal myself to be exactly who I am, a complex, intellectual, multi-faceted woman.  I’m not a character in my stories, calling them whitey and demanding that they suck a big black dick for me.  I’m not the sassy black Domme demanding that they refer to me as Mistress and pay tributes or bark like a dog.  I’m the same person I am when I talk to my friends, bill collectors, and men who are romantically interested in me.  Those men who are most invested in the concept of whiteness, meaning those who are the richest, who have benefitted the most by having a penis and pink skin, those who are the most distanced from any sort of Black peer are the ones who will make plans to meet and NEVER contact me again.  They will not text, email, or call to cancel.  They will not respond to text, email, phone call, instant message, carrier pigeon or smoke signal from me.  As one particularly introspective white male sub explained it to me in relation to this particular phenomenon, “I can be attracted to the idea of a high dive off of a cliff. When it comes to do the dive I can become fearful because the cliff is not the idealized cliff of my fantasy but a real cliff. Unless I can deal with real cliffs I will be unable to make my dive.”  I’m not sure if other Black Dommes deal with this particular issue to the same extent as I do or not.  I represent the most dangerous cliff they’ve ever encountered and a dive that puts their reality in danger.  I’m cool with them if I’m just a screen name on a computer screen but to think that an actual person, a human being, a sentient, complex woman is out there and who can get inside their heads with such ease is a leap they aren’t willing to take.    

White men tell me daily, “Oh Mistress, I believe in all that you believe.”  When I ask them what exactly it is that they think I believe, nine times out of ten they will respond by telling me that I’m a believer in Black and female supremacy.  Never, not once in all my writings, not in one single erotic story, article, essay, status update, or tweet have I said, intimated, hinted, or implied that I believe in Black or female supremacy.  I have said that I am Black, female, and outrageously superior but I do not ascribe the trait of superiority to everyone of my gender or race.  I do believe that indigenous Africans were questionably physically stronger and morally superior simply because the form of slavery they practiced was not dehumanizing.  It’s a hard argument for white people to make that they were superior with the knowledge that they treated African life, human life, like it was less than that of an animal’s.  But after two hundred and fifty years of enslavement, another hundred of racism and institutional racism, brainwashing by a set of morals and beliefs that are antithetical to African psychological health, and there is no way we can still be considered collectively superior.  Some of us, by the grace of God, have slipped through the cracks and have proven that even when the playing field isn’t level, we can still excel.  Do I wish that all of us could?  Hell yes.  Do I think that all of us are capable of an excellence that has been systematically kept from us?  I do, but there will need to be such a shift in consciousness, such a transition to a whole new way of thinking, that the possibility remains so remote and obscure as to have very little basis in reality.  I’ve explained that over and over again.  As many times as I can point to places where I’ve outlined exactly how I feel about the concept of Black and/or Female Supremacy, it’s like it goes in one ear and out the other for the white submissive male.  He hears what he wants to hear, he interprets it in a way that fits his worldview. 

I write stories of interracial domination not because I have a great stake in it emotionally but because I recognize the tremendous opportunity I have at my fingertips to educate and enlighten.  I asked the question recently of my white submissive followers and fans, what they liked most about my stories.  Almost without exception, they all lavished the same extensive praise about what a great writer I am.  “You paint such a vivid picture,” I can see every detail in my mind,” “You know the mind of the submissive male so well.”   ONE individual, one out of several dozen responses suggested that it was my unapologetic examination of race that made my stories so good.  That shows how much in denial and delusional white men continue to be about their own sexuality. 

My stories are about race.  My stories examine race from the first paragraph, often times, the very first sentence.  “Scott Clair hated his whiteness.  He wasn’t able to articulate it exactly in that way; he claimed to be coming to terms with his submissive nature and his overwhelming desire to serve the Black race.”  “Did she have a hidden agenda?  Was her desire to dominate white men driven by some racial hatred or need to seek revenge for her enslaved ancestors?”  “For most white people, their knee-jerk, conditioned response at the mere mention of the word reparations is to scream, ‘My family never owned any slaves.  I’m not paying any reparations!  You Blacks need to just get over it, slavery was in the past, let it go for Christ’s sake.’”  Not to acknowledge that my stories are set apart from everyone else’s because of the way I handle race is denial of the highest order.  White writers are stereotypical and one dimensional in their portrayal of Black characters in their tales of interracial domination.  Even the best white writer doesn’t make their Black characters anything more than a tool for a white person to get off on their fantasy.  Their grammar, sentence structure, and story development might be good but they can’t, they aren’t capable of giving color, literally and figuratively, to Black characters they way I can.  In the best case scenario, white writers make the Black characters colorless with the exception of throwing around the N word and the black male always has a big, black cock.  In the worst case scenario, which sadly is the case more often than not, the Black characters are a replication of the very same ghetto dwelling, Ebonic-speaking, lust-driven savage who craves white flesh. 

I write interracial domination stories for white men to get an ugly picture of themselves.  I write interracial domination stories because every once in a while, a white man will write to me and express that he has been humbled and that he is learning to see Black people in a different light.  I write hardcore, explicit tales of Black people dominating white men because I know that if I arouse them with the erotica, if I push their buttons and stimulate their desires, that they will explore more, they will follow me and read my other works, see the pictures, they will be forced to see Black people in a different light.  No, I don’t back down off the subject matters that most people are repulsed by.  I write about heavy scat play, and bareback gangbangs, and make reference to bestiality not because I find any of those subjects particularly arousing, but because the number of white men who share their fantasies with me on a daily basis about those subjects is staggering. 

For submissive white men, several things have remained consistent.  Their submission is still largely sexual.  For them it is about what gives them sexual pleasure, what arouses and stimulates their libidos.  They SAY that their submission is more than sexual, they claim that it’s not about them, that it’s about their servitude to the Black race but their actions don’t match their words.  For them, there is still a disconnect.  They think that as long as they perceive themselves as being degraded and humiliated in acts that aren’t sexual, like housework and holding a door, or giving up their seat to a Black person on the train that means that they no longer have any racist beliefs and that they are somehow exempt from taking any action to rectify their unearned privilege in society.  The vast majority of submissive white men still refuse to accept that they have any unearned privilege and those who do aren’t willing to do anything more than give lip service to the idea that they might actually have to take a stand socially or politically for racial equality.  Most are content to say, “I voted for Obama” whether they did or not, and call it a day. 

Copyright 2011 Scottie Lowe of AfroerotiK




Monday, November 21, 2011

Letter from a white man




I received this email correspondence just minutes ago.  I asked permission to share it and he agreed.  I get correspondence from white men like this on a daily basis, multiple times a day.  Most are married, many are not.  They all seem to espouse the exact same sentiments, almost word for word.  I think we as Black people do ourselves a disservice not to address and acknowledge this trend and how it should best be handled.  I know I don't have many white female readers but I would love to hear from you and how you view this phenomenon.  Were you similarly conflicted in accepting yout attraction to Black men?  There is so much dysfunction wrapped up in this letter it's hard to know how to be address it. 

Date Mon, November 21, 2011 - 2:31 AM 

Subject Re: Black female superior

Nice to hear back from you. I have read more of your work it is very erotic.

I guess I need the phenomena explained to me by a member of the superior race and in particular a black woman as intelligent as you. It has become obvious that not only black men but black women are superior to white men. This is not the mystery but why is it that it has manifested itself sexually and why so much in the past 6 or 7 years? At first as a bisexual I had fantasies of having sex with men and women, occasionally a black man or black woman. However over time I have increasingly become attracted to black men. Even though this used to be a source of embarrassment and frustration it was also completely consuming. In addition I used to act disgusted by seeing so many white women with black men, but the truth was I was jealous of those white girls for being able to openly pursue black men. Now, years
into my transformation into a sissy slave, I have desires to not only submit sexually to black men but serve black women and assume a completely feminine role.

I would like to meet a strong and dominant black woman who can mentor me and guide me.

Is it our fate to become women, much like white women, to be used by the black man for sex but to never actually achieve respect? Or do we (white men) secretly desire to be somehow transformed into black women ourselves. That way we have some measure of respect as we know we cannot compete with the black man. Or are we to just be used by and serve the needs of the black race?

I am open to your comments as I respect all black women and am eager to learn from my true masters.