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.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

AfroerotiK vs. Zane


AfroerotiK vs. Zane

Or for those who aren’t literarily challenged “Intelligent Discussion of Sexuality vs. A Ghetto Hot Mess” 

First off, let me say that the only reason I selected this specific title for this discussion is that I know it pisses off an extraordinary amount of Zane followers.  I have nothing against Ms. Roberts personally.  I don’t know her and I’m sure she is a very nice person.  I give her nothing but credit for opening doors and starting discussions about sexuality.  That, unfortunately, is where my praise for her has to end.  I find her content stereotypical, degrading, and overall unhealthy.  I’m not “hating” on her, I’m not jealous, I am not trying to start a war or anything of the sort.  I can’t, in good consciousness, ignore the fact that she has done a tremendous disservice to the African American literary community with her brand of erotica that reduces Black women to nothing more than materialistic nymphomaniacs and Black men to nothing more than dick-slinging dogs. 

Black people, love to throw the term “hater” to anyone who critiques anyone with money.  That shows our immaturity as a people.  Money should not be the magic insulator that buffers people from critique.  My critique of Zane is not because of the wealth she has amassed over the last decade, it’s because of the detrimental effects, the cumulative ripple effects it has created in the Black community.  She writes, very poorly as a matter of fact, about sexuality in ways that perpetuate all that is wrong with Black sexuality.  She glorifies, celebrates, champions, and promotes the most dysfunctional behaviors possible and people buy it as entertainment.  It is my very strong belief that her singular influence has created a greater divide between Black men and women than any other outside force.  It is my very opinionated belief that Black women (and unfortunately girls) have become accustomed to the storylines she writes about and they have internalized all the dysfunctional behaviors illustrated in her books.  Women considering themselves pimps and players and dogging men out and using them for money and manipulating them with threats of withholding sex and promises of “high octane pussy” (a term I use to describe a product, not unlike gasoline, that does the exact same thing as the cheaper priced version but it is perceived to have more value, thus, making the user feel more important) is all too common these days due to Zane’s popularity and the fact that her brand “urban” literature has sold millions and millions of copies. 

Conversely, I write about healthy Black relationships.  I write about couples who are partnered, in love, making healthy choices, who are intelligent and multi-dimensional.  I have NEVER written about a woman going after a man just for his money; I have never once written a story that glamorizes cheating; you will never see an AfroerotiK story about a man who has casual sex without regard to the feelings of his partner.  My storylines are complex and different.  My readers are, for the most part, more intellectual.  I don’t say that to disparage anyone but if one were to read the comments on one of my stories, they most often wouldn’t find someone responding with caps lock on, misspelling their words phonetically, and reiterating banal clichés.  There is a difference in our readers and fans.  While I have lots of fans who like and appreciate her work and I’m sure if her readers and fans read my work, they would find it appealing to some degree. 

Here’s where my question arises.  How do I, as someone who wants to be the instigator of more intelligent discussions, speak to a nation of people who only want to show off their body parts and ask silly questions like, “Who got hit off dis weekend?”  I want people to discuss their relationships, their sexual identity, I want people to question what they’ve been taught.  How do I bridge that divide?  How do I get people who get aroused at any mere mention of the words dick, pussy, fuck, and suck to actually engage in discussions that are deeper, that cause them to reflect on their relationships and their sexual partnerships?  Do I dumb down my writing?  Do I do the ole’ bait and switch and write a typical urban story and when I get those readers, do I then hit them with my more nuanced writing?  Will they understand it if I do?  Do I continue to preach to the choir meaning continue to write and engage the people who get what I’m trying to do and not worry about the people who find Zane (and the thousands of writers just like her) appealing?  Is there any reason for me to even waste my time in trying to reach out to people to get them to have more intelligent discussions of sexuality? 

What are your thoughts? 

Thursday, February 16, 2012

My Arms are “Too Short” to Box with the Devil



My Arms are “Too Short” to Box with the Devil

Young man—
Young man—
Your arm’s too short to box with God.
Young man—
Young man—
Smooth and easy is the road
That leads to hell and destruction.
Down grade all the way,
The further you travel, the faster you go.
No need to trudge and sweat and toil,
Just slip and slide and slip and slide
Till you bang up against hell’s iron gate.

From James Weldon Johnson’s poem The Prodigal Son

Everyone has been talking about the rapper Too Short in the past few days.  It seems the genius creative minds at XXL magazine decided that he should be featured in a series of videos talking to young boys, giving advice I guess as to how to “keep it real” or whatever the popular saying of the day is.  Well, keep it real he did and Mr. Short prepared and presented a step by step guide to adolescent and pre-pubescent young Black boys on how to “go for the hole.”  He laid out archaic and violent instructions on how to seemingly find her clitoris and make her orgasm although he wasn’t clinical in any way.  Rather, he simply suggested that these young boys molest young girls, ramming their hands between their legs in search of some mythical “spot” that will be the prize.  The response to the video from Black women has been tempered but disturbed.  The overwhelming response from Black men has been, “Hey, what do you expect from Too Short?” 

Here’s what I expect from Too Short.  An apology.  I expect him, or someone with a modicum of intelligence in his close proximity, to issue an apology that explains how he understands now that his words are going to put young girls at risk for being assaulted and how he never really understood until now that he had been socialized to see women as objects and not human beings.  I expect him to show he’s sorry by working diligently to alter his perceptions and grow and evolve as a man and to make sure NO girls are assaulted because of his misguided advice.   

Here’s what I expect from XXL Magazine:  The IMMEDIATE termination of Vanessa Satten, the white women who is the Editor-in-Chief at XXL who not only thought it was a good idea to have Too Short handing out fatherly advice to young Black boys but who authorized the publication of a video that taught them how to rape young girls.  I expect XXL to be held accountable by creating videos and articles that speak to the issues of violence against women and girls and to teach boys NOT to rape, molest, assault, or denigrate women solely as objects for their pleasure. 

Here’s what I expect from Black men.  I demand your outrage.  I demand that you not just dismiss this as “boys being boys” mentality and you speak up in horror and disgust that not only Too Short and XXL magazine but Black society as a whole has allowed women’s (and girls) bodies to be violated with no little or no repercussions.  I want you to empathize, to put yourself in the shoes of the young girl pushed against the wall with an aggressive and sexually immature stronger male pushing, prodding, and poking your private parts looking for “the spot”.  I want you to hurt for your daughters, sisters, nieces, and all young girls who have ever been subjected to such treatment. 

When I was in high school, I was SKINNY and unattractive and boys didn’t like me.  I craved attention from the opposite sex and one day after school when Greg Sheffield showed me attention, my heart sang.  I thought he wanted to be my boyfriend; I was that naïve.  He lured me to a laundry room in the apartments next to the school and within minutes, he was pushing me against the machines and pulling down my pants and ramming his fingers in me as hard as he could.  I ended up on the floor with him on top of me, hurting me, and wondering what I did to deserve this.  I don’t remember if I cried or yelled or asked him to stop.  Apparently, whatever I did, I didn’t respond the way he wanted me to and he got frustrated and called me names and left me there, lying on the floor, half-dressed, sore, and confused. 

I’m a woman.  In many ways, “I’m Every Woman,” as the recently departed Whitney Houston sang.  I’m a Black woman who loves Black men despite the fact that they might not love me the way they should at times.  I’m a woman who has been the victim of sexual violence and abuse; I’m a woman who wants to heal the rift that exists between the genders, and I’m a woman who is passionate about her struggle to address Black sexuality in a way that is healing, transformative, and enlightened.  I’m also a woman sickened by the patriarchy, sexism, and misogyny that persists in the Black community to the detriment of our beautiful, young Black girls and our Black boys.  Raising boys to be sexual perpetrators not only hurts the girls upon whom they inflict their violence and aggression, it stifles the boys and prevents them from ever fully becoming, whole, complete, fully integrated human beings capable of loving, sharing, and committing to a real relationship. 

The time to address the misogyny and sexism in hip-hop is about ten to twenty years too late.  Black men are so used to seeing women as things to acquire, not people with feelings that it doesn’t even bother them when things like this Too Short debacle occur.  They are accustomed to being socialized to think that their manhood is in their penis.  If we don’t take drastic measures to address this problem we are doomed as a subsection of society.  We cannot continue to have men believing that their manhood is measured in the number of women they bang and that women exist to satisfy their lusts.  I’m tired of fighting with Black men to show them that women ascribing to stereotypes of Black men being big-dicked sexual savages is not only detrimental to the women they violate, lie to, cheat on, and use, but to them and to our community as a whole.  It’s an exhausting fight to get men to see that they need to evolve past the notion that sex validates them.  I can’t fight anymore with men who don’t care that women are objectified and oppressed by a culture that doesn’t care if we are used up and spit out as long as they get a nut.  My arms are too short to box with the demon of sexism and misogyny that tells little boys that it’s okay to use little girls on laundry room floors and step over them like a piece of lint that can be swept away like insignificant trash. 

Copyright 2012 Scottie Lowe


Sunday, February 12, 2012

Anal Erotica




Click HERE to listen

This track is only for true anal enthusiasts.  It's explicit, it's hardcore, it's extreme.  At almost 6 minutes long, it's the soundtrack that will accompany you right up to your moment of explosion.  Be forewarned that this is only for those individuals who think that backdoor sex should be natural, raw, and primal. 

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Nigga What?




We embrace calling ourselves niggers, like that’s empowering, when in actuality, it’s disrespectful to our ancestors and just plain ignorant.  To believe yourself to be a nigger, to behave like you are an ignorant sub human (the true implied meaning of the word) has no benefit or value.  Defending the use of the word, trying to rationalize that it has been changed into something positive is insanity.  Nine times out of ten, the usage of the word is meant to be disparaging and degrading, EXACTLY the way white people intended it to be used, and on the tenth time, it’s an empty a sign of self-hatred masquerading itself as a term of endearment. 

White people expect us to behave like niggers, so calling ourselves that, ESPECIALLY in front of them, does nothing but reinforce to them that we are inferior.  To carry yourself like royalty, to walk with dignity, to boldly declare that you are not only equal to but better than white people with your speech, your actions, and your intellect is FAR more threatening to white people than calling yourself a nigga.  Want proof?  Write a blog calling yourself a nigga and talking about cars, drugs, guns, rap, sex, sports, and how much you love living in the ghetto.  You won’t get a private response or two from white people.  Well that’s not entirely true.  You might get a response or two asking you to fulfill their sexual fantasies.  Then, write a blog, grammatically correct and spell checked, that talks about the greatness of black people, our strength, and our ability to excel despite racism, oppression, and bigotry.  Write about how our true history of greatness has been distorted with white lies and deception.  Discuss academically articulated with footnoted and documented proof, advanced African civilizations and how white people re-wrote history to make themselves appear superior.  White people will crawl out of the woodworks to tell you that Black people are ignorant and that you are nothing but a nigger. 

You have to ask yourself, what would you rather be called, what benefit do you get from calling yourself a nigga?  If calling yourself that makes you feel connected to other black people, consider yourself a slave on the plantation.  If you do nothing else this year, decide to stop using the N word to describe yourself, to describe other black people you want to look down on, or as some sort of synonym supposedly meaning Black person.  It’s negative, unenlightened, and stupid. 

Copyright 2009 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved

Monday, January 23, 2012

I Love

I have an unnatural addiction to all things vanilla. That’s not a metaphor for white men, I just love the flavoring.  I love vanilla scented candles, Good Hope Vanilla Tea, smelling vanilla extract straight from the bottle, I love vanilla. I love to juice mangoes and pineapple in the summer and drink it for breakfast it on my balcony. I love salads with avocado and black olives and home grown, organic tomatoes. I love salsa music with a passion and a dance partner who is taller than me when I’m in heels.  I love going to a jazz club and sitting so close to the bass that I can feel the vibrations in my chest. I love cuddling on the sofa, spooning in bed, finding that perfect place on my lover's chest where I just fit, and waking up with him aroused and rubbing on my butt.  I love listening to the piano being played solo, the first day of spring when I can wear sandals outside, the look of my feet in high heels with clear polish on my toes, taking a hot bath and feeling my body temperature rise, rubbing my head after I just got my hair cut, sucking on a newborn baby’s perfect little toes, herbal tea with honey, pumpkin seed chili, and pear cobbler from Lush Life Café. I love when I sweat and it's that slippery kind of sweat.  I love my grandfather.  I love that he was a civil rights leader and taught me the importance of having integrity. I love that my grandmother gave me the love my mother never could.  I love that I have had the opportunity to help two wonderful loved ones transition peacefully.  I love raspberries, blueberries, cherries, and really juicy peaches and plums. I love the fact that I'm not average. I love organic gardening and making fresh pesto sauce from basil I grew on my porch. I love blasting Lewis Taylor in the car over and over again and singing it at the top of my lungs.  I love being in love and spoiling my partner and knowing that he appreciates it.  I love Cafe 290 on Sunday nights and a decadent picnic basket with gourmet foods. I love throwing dinner parties for friends and using my cloth napkins. I love all my ex's for teaching me how to love and making me a better woman.   I love Law & Order marathons when every episode has Jesse L. Martin, HGTV, documentaries about Black history, and Alvin Aliey’s Revelations make me cry every time I see it.  I adore making love to men with the same skin color as me, when I don’t know where he begins and I end.  I love writing a story and seeing the words come alive on the paper and realizing that I gave birth to transformative words.  I love playing games online that stimulate my brain and learning the words to amazing songs in different languages I don’t speak.  I love having my nipples sucked softly like a baby and the art of Woodrow Nash.  I love drinking coffee with amaretto creamer at night before I go to bed.  I love egg custard snow cones, unagi, learning things most people don’t know, women with thick, wooly, nappy afros and smooth dark skin.  I love late night phone sex with men with poetic hearts and radical minds.  I love the feeling of finishing a creative project, writing in my journal, chilled white wine, bone china, crisp, freshly laundered sheets, smoked salmon, making love in the candlelight, talking dirty during sex, white chocolate, dark chocolate, Stevie Wonder, I love telling people that Earth, Wing & Fire's September was written just for me because my birthday is the 21st night of September.  I love Ledisi's Feeling Orange CD even though it costs an arm and a leg and is more rare than a split atom, musicals from the 60s and 70s, and meditation.  I love conversation with deeply cerebral individuals who appreciate me for me and not my aesthetics and who don't judge me for my politics.  I love when people tell me that something that I've written has helped them, healed them, moved them, aroused them, or given them a new way to think about things.  I love wearing dresses and going out to dinner and knowing that I'm going to go home and make incredible, passionate, sensual, AfroerotiK love.

Where the Kisses are Hers, and Hers, and His