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.

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

A Dead End



The system of white supremacy has crippled and crushed the Black community.  We are living in the end times.  Not in terms of some mythological savior coming back and sweeping up all the good Christians to go to heaven but we have now reached the end of hope, the end of advancement, the end of the struggle towards freedom, education, and enlightenment as a people. 

White people, with their racist agendas and their control of the legislative and educational systems have created a nation of Black people who are tragically educationally handicapped.   It’s been a multi-pronged, very intentional process that has been in place for four decades or more.  Kudos to them, their foresight, their dedication to keeping Black people stupid.  I give “them,” those with true power, those pulling the strings behind the scenes have restructured the educational system to the point of annihilation, all the credit in the world.  Along with the music industry, the illuminati or whomever pulls the read strings in this country have handicapped Black people to the point we wallow in stupidity and celebrate it. 

Black students no longer learn.  They don’t develop academically.   They regurgitate meaningless information and fill in circles with #2 pencils on tests but they don’t learn to reason, use logic, they don’t hone their discernment skills.  They repeat what they hear in soundbites.  They don’t read, explore, or research, they tweet.  They don’t watch the news, they don’t expand their consciousness beyond their dismal ghetto mentality reality.  And ghetto mentality has now metastasized into every socio-economic strata; it’s no longer a designation of income but of a mentality of stagnation, stupidity, and conformity.  If someone says it, “it’s the gospel truth” as long as the majority agree with it. 

The media has shaped our consciousness.  We don’t know Black history.  We don’t have a historical context to understand nor do we have the skills to understand how things connect to one another and create outcomes and consequences.  The educational system has done a great job in making sure the Black people only think linearly and don’t have the ability to question what they are told, read (if they read at all), complex concepts are foreign to Black people now.   The educational standards are dramatically and drastically lower.  What is an A in today’s public school system wouldn’t even be a C in the educational system of my day.  What passed for an A in my day wouldn’t have been a C a half a century earlier.  Students don’t do homework, don’t do projects, they don’t read books.  They don’t play musical instruments, they don’t create art, they don’t do anything but play video games and watch TV.  We rely on technology to the point of stupidity.  We wouldn’t know how to survive without wifi and we are quite proud of that.  Our educations are one dimensional.

Kudos to the elite whites who saw the potential dangers of integrating the educational system.  Sure, some white students have slipped through the cracks, a decent percentage of white students have been educationally handicapped by the lowered standards of the public school system but they have whiteness on their side.  When they graduate from college, they are more likely to get a job.  Hell, they don’t even have to graduate from college.  White men with a criminal record are more likely to get a job than a Black man with a degree.  You can rest assured that the rich white students, the ones in private schools and in public schools where there is hardly a black face in the student body are getting the best education possible.  You can bet your bottom dollar that what white students in affluent neighborhoods are learning in the fourth and fifth grades Black students aren’t “learning” at all.  They might not be taking advantage of that education.  They might be letting their privilege and the fallacy of white supremacy convince them that they don’t have to learn but KNOW that they are being taught things that Black students who graduate have never been expose to. 

“But they are learning European education.  They are learning the white man’s history,” you say.  Well, at least they are learning that.  Black students aren’t learning anything.  They aren’t learning European history or Black history.  It’s your job as a parent to teach them their history but you aren’t teaching your children anything.  Largely because you weren’t taught anything.  And here’s the rub.  Tell a Black student that they are the best of the best, tell them that they are on the honor roll and that they smart when they have been under and mis-educated and you will have an adult who believes that they know everything, that they don’t have to read or learn or research or study in life.  Combine that with the cheating, “get over” mentality that consumes Black people and you have a league of idiots who are going to wallow in mediocrity and dysfunction. 

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

“I’m not a victim!”





You hear it all the time.  It’s supposed to be a rallying cry, an anthem of empowerment.  It boldly declares, “I am not weak, I’m not subject to anyone else’s behavior that makes me feel bad about myself, I’m going to rise up like a phoenix from the ashes to survive!”  Yeah! 

But let’s think about that for a minute.  Who really benefits from this, “I’m not a victim,” narrative?  Being a victim means someone has committed a crime against you.  Someone has stolen something from you, someone has hurt you, someone has behaved in a way that hurtful, criminal, evil, and reprehensible and you were the object of their deleterious and nefarious behavior.  Wait . . . what?  I’m confused.  How on earth did the definition of someone who is a victim become that of someone who is weak, who invites mistreatment, someone who is responsible for their abuse inflicted upon them?  A victim is innocent.  Those perpetrators are the evils ones, they are the ones that should have the onus of becoming a better person on their shoulders. 

So, who benefits from this “I’m not a victim,” narrative?  I’ll tell you who!   Slave traders, slave masters, slave profiteers benefit greatly because the focus is not on them and their heinous crimes, it’s on the victims of their crimes.  The INNOCENT victims of their crimes now have the responsibility for pulling themselves up by their bootstraps, it’s now their job to overcome, to rebound, to heal and make something of themselves.  The evil criminals get off scot-free.  They don’t have to pay reparations, they don’t have to address the legacy of their collective criminal behaviors.  There is no focus on them to . . . NOT COMMIT CRIMES, it’s now the victim’s responsibility to somehow be stronger so that no one else evil can come along and commit another crime against them?  Uhmmm, how does that make sense? 

You want to know who else benefits from this “I’m not a victim,” narrative?  Domestic abusers, rapists, pedophiles, and Wall Street criminals.  No one accuses someone who has had their car stolen of being weak, no one asserts that a victim of a home invasion is responsible for someone targeting them and stealing from them.  But if a person is violated, if they are molested, raped, kidnapped, tortured, drugged, deceived, or repeatedly emotionally, mentally, and physically beaten all of a sudden, it’s the victim’s fault, there is supposedly something inherent in them, in their identity that invites people to take advantage of them.  Fuck that bullshit. 

There is nothing wrong with being a victim.  There is nothing wrong with being in a relationship where you are trying your best to make it work and your partner is beating you and trying to make you dependent upon them.  There is nothing wrong with you being deceived by someone who sets out to steal your life savings.  Slaves were innocent.  It’s their evil captors who were the criminals.  Victims of domestic abuse are not responsible for their abuse, it’s it the insecure, immature partners who make the conscious decision to beat, to ridicule another human being, they are the mother fuckers who need to be hanging their heads in shame, they are the ones that need to make their anthem, “I violated an innocent person.” 
I am a victim!  I’m a victim of oppression.  I’m a daily victim of racism.  I was a victim of childhood mental, emotional, psychological, and physical abuse from my mother.   I’m a victim of manipulative, lying, cheating ex’s who took advantage of me.  I’m not ashamed of saying I’m a victim because I didn’t do a damn thing wrong.  They were the ones with malicious motives.  There is nothing inherently wrong with me.  There is nothing in me that invites others to take advantage of me.  I will not give my abusers, both personally and systemically, the benefit of taking the responsibility from them.  They are the ones who are flawed, they are the ones who are sick. 

I’m the descendent of slaves who did absolutely nothing wrong.  The descendants of slave owners are the ones who should feel pangs of guilty, humility, and remorse for benefitting from a system where their forefathers OWNED, tortured, bought, sold, traded, and profited from the lives of other human beings.  I was born with a vagina.  That doesn’t mean I invited men to violate me.   The men who raped me are the bastards who should feel ashamed for taking what was not theirs, I sure as hell didn’t do anything wrong.  My mother should be haunted by her actions, abusing a small, helpless, defenseless, innocent child repeatedly.  I’m a victim of their evil heinous behaviors but I’ll be damned if I’m going to take responsibility for their actions, I’ll be Black and damned if I’m going to be shamed into denying their crimes by claiming some weak, inferior status to soothe their egos.  If criminals, molesters, rapists, embezzlers, genociders (I know that’s not a word but it should be.  There needs to be a word that shames and places responsibility on the backs of people responsible for murdering millions of people.  Think about why there isn’t.  Who benefits from that?)  hadn’t decided to act to further their own twisted, selfish agendas, there would be no victims.   

I’m not ashamed of being a victim.  In fact, I’ll wear the t-shirt proudly.  “I AM a victim!” 

Copyright 2015 Scottie Lowe

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Sweet to Eat





Lots of women complain that they don’t like the taste of their man’s cum.  What seems funny about that to me is that they will take a load in their mouths but they won’t swallow.  Tastes buds are in your mouth, not your stomach.  Once you’ve got the cum on your tongue, it seems a bit ridiculous to spit it out; the damage has been done so to speak.  While I’m definitely not a fan of taking a load on my face and it seems sort of a waste to have it anywhere other than inside me, I’m here to say that I love the taste of my man’s cum. 

It’s not just some act of altruism that makes me love his cum; I haven’t been deluded by my immense love for him that his nut somehow tastes good, it’s a very concerted effort on his part to alter the taste of his jizz.  My baby works out, he doesn’t smoke, he eats a healthy diet with tons of organic fresh fruits and veggies, limits meats and dairy, and he drinks lots of water.  We both thought that the idea of drinking lots of pineapple juice was a myth until we tried it out.  It, does, in fact make him taste better.  But, that’s not the real secret to his tasty sperm. 

I was doing some shopping online one day, looking for some things to keep the flame burning in our relationship, and I found an herbal tea that claimed it would make your bodily fluids taste like a maple cookie.  I was extremely skeptical at first but I read the reviews and decided to give it a try.  Initially, I was too nervous to tell him about the tea so I just did a little experiment on my own.  I drank about three or four cups of tea in one day.  I didn’t know how much it was going to take so I did my best to overdose on it.  The tea tasted great and it made me aroused all day thinking about what might be the outcome.  When Khari showed up, I had on a white dress shirt and plain white panties.  It wasn’t anything overly sexy but he liked when I wore his shirts.  He immediately showed his admiration for my choice in attire by roaming his hands all over my curvy brown body and pulling me close.  His sweet kisses down my neck started my juices flowing and soaked my panties within minutes. 

Before I knew what was happening, we were in the bedroom tearing each other’s clothes off one another and things were getting hot and heavy.  Undressed, he started from the back, licking my ass and really making me squirm and moan.  I was so aroused I had all but forgotten about the tea and I was luxuriating in the feel of his soft tongue licking my butthole.  I was working my ass on his face and he started licking my pussy from behind, lapping my free flowing juices.  Almost imperceptibly, I heard him say, “What the hell,” and he flipped me over on my back and pulled my pussy to his mouth and made a feast of me.  I was out of control.  He was as well.  He drove his tongue deep in me and tongue fucked my hole.  He zeroed in on my clit and started circling it, alternately licking softly and sucking gently.    



“Baby, you taste so good,” I heard him say.  At least I thought that’s what I thought I heard him say.  He was eating my pussy like a man possessed.  Knowing precisely how to get me off, he worked his fingers inside me and he started rubbing my spot.  Now, I’m a strong woman.  I need to be in control most of the time.  In that moment, in that passionate exchange, I had no control over the orgasm that was threatening to overtake my entire being, to consume me from the inside out.  I exploded in his mouth, coating him with my juices. 

As I lay there in post-orgasmic bliss, catching my breath, Khari climbed on top of me, his face glistening with juices, and kissed me, sharing my flavor with him.  “Baby, what is that? You . . . taste like candy.  What did you do?”

I smiled and we cuddled together as I told him about the tea.  He told me he’d never experienced anything like it before he asked if the tea worked for men as well as women.  I told him that it did and he jumped up and ran to the kitchen and started boiling water.  He was yelling questions to me from the other room, asking me how long it took to work, how many bags of tea he had to drink, if he could drink it hot or cold.

Pulling myself together from my earth-shattering orgasm, I walked naked into the kitchen and I could see his eyes were bright with anticipation.  He pulled me to him and slid his fingers between the slippery folds of my pussy and held his fingers up.  They were glistening with my moisture.  He sucked and licked his fingers like she was savoring the finest, most delicious meal he’d ever had.  He pulled me close.  “Mami, I love the taste of you.  I love your natural scents and flavors.  I don’t need you to drink this tea for me because I want you just the way you are.  I want to drink this for you.  I want to make my cum taste like candy for you.” 

“Baby,” I replied, “You know I don’t have a problem swallowing your cum . . . “  He put his fingers to him lips and silenced me. 

“I know baby,” he said, “but I want to try.  Please?  For me?  I just want to see if it works the other way around.” 

How could I say no to such a request?  Especially after he just licked me like he did.  For the rest of the evening, he drank tea, iced and sweet.  He woke up especially early in the morning and before I could even stretch and yawn, he was making a hot cup of tea with honey.  We had some errands to do, some things to do around the house, so I jumped up and showered with him and we were on our way.  We were finished by noon and after I fixed us lunch we were sitting on the sofa, relaxing for the rest of the day with nothing much to do but think about what was to come, or cum rather. 

I knew it was on his mind, I could see his dick flexing in his pants.  He didn’t push the issue or make any moves but I was getting a little hot under the collar myself.  I grabbed the remote, shut off the TV, and pulled him by the hand into the bedroom.  Kneeling before him, I pulled the string to his sweats and let them fall to the floor.  He stepped out of them and kicked them to the side.  His dick was already starting to get engorged and throb. Softly, gently, I took it in my hands and brought the head to my mouth.  I felt his hands caress my head and shoulders as I surveyed my prize.  Teasingly, I let my tongue tenderly touch the slit, sending shivers down his spine.  I rolled his balls around in my fingers and began to explore his growing erection further with my tongue. 

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

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

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

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

Between breaths, he gasped, “So . . . how was it? How did it taste?”

Khari drinks a cup of that special herbal tea every day now and I have to say, I love the taste of my man’s cum.

Copyright 2012 AfroerotiK

Erotic provocateur, 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 www.AfroerotiK.com.  Intended to be part academic, part educational, and part sensual, she, yes SHE gave birth to the website and the company to provide people of African descent a place to escape the narrow-mined, stereotypical, limiting and oft-times degrading beliefs that abound about Black sexuality.  Be on the lookout for her upcoming release, Sensu-Soul, a video that explores Black eroticism in a way that has never been done before.