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.

Monday, January 30, 2006

The Revolution has to be Televised


The revolution has to be televised or most Black people will miss it.
The revolution has to be televised in High Definition with a slamming soundtrack or it will be completely missed.
The revolution has to be televised
The revolution must be on BET, right after Comic View and right before Rap City for anyone to take notice.
The revolution will be a pay per view event with watered down politically correct messages or Black folks will not have a clue the revolution has begun.

The so-called revolution will be little more than sound bites that can be played back on Fox news for faux reporters to spin
The revolution will be scheduled opposite American Idol
The revolution has to be televised
The revolution must be downloadable as a ring tone on peoples phone
Text “Fight the Power” to 2012 now for your daily dose of insurgency
The revolution will be prime time media fodder for high ratings.

Expensive cars that destroy the environment will bring the revolution to you.
The revolution will be sponsored by Viagra and Budweiser
The revolution has to be televised
The revolution will have a half time show with Janet Jackson showing off her boobie.
Don’t worry, if you miss the revolution, it will be re-aired on the WB, right after the other minstrel shows
The Revolution has to be televised because Black people don’t want to really get out in the streets and revolt
They want to pause the revolution and rewind it in the comfort of their own home.

The revolution will be released on DVD at Wal-Mart, Best Buy, and Blockbuster Video
The revolution gots to be downloadable for AOL broadband subscribers
The revolution has to be televised
The revolution will be hosted by 50cent and Snoop Dog with special performances by Beyonce’
The revolution has to be watered down and degrading before anyone will pay attention.

The generals of the revolution will have to say the word niggah a couple dozen times before anyone listens.
The revolution will be in special release at Magic Johnson Theaters
The revolution has to be televised
The revolution will be waged at IMAX theaters with complimentary apple martinis on the first Friday of the month
Who has time for a revolution?
Download the revolution to your I-pod to listen to on your way to the corporate plantation.

The revolution will be produced and directed by Quentin Tarantino
It will star Flava Flav as Sambo and Omorosa will get voted off the island
Without television, there will be no revolution
Casting for the revolution will be by the GOP
HBO will air the revolution as a mini series
The revolution will be nominated for an Emmy as “Best Comedy of the Year”

The revolution will be a telethon with an 800 number to call in and pledge
“Hey, what happened to all that money donated for that Revolution thing?”
The revolution is dead.
The revolution died long ago
The revolution has to be televised
The revolution has to be televised
The revolution has to be televised

Copyright 2006 Scottie Lowe. All rights reserved. You can not reproduce, copy, or redistribute without the express written consent of the author.

Sunday, January 08, 2006

Color Blind


Every day is a beautiful day when you have piece of mind. The sun shines brighter, the birds sing louder, and every step is more assured. Well, theoretically, every step is supposed to be more assured. As luck would have it, Tim Mentira tripped on a patch of broken sidewalk and had to go to the hospital to get an x-ray for his wrist. They put one of those Plexiglas casts on it and gave him instructions to go to physical therapy to make an appointment when the cast was removed. As is the case in most hospitals, they make you sit and wait and wait and wait and after hours of endless waiting, they make you sit and wait some more. The Tim of old would have been frustrated and annoying, driving every doctor, nurse, orderly, and candy striper in the place crazy with incessant demands and infuriating rants of how his time was too precious to wait. The new and improved Tim, the calm and self-assured Tim, was content to read decade-old issues of Sports Illustrated about Jordan and an unstoppable new golf phenom named Tiger.

So engrossed was he in some obscure article, he barely looked up to see a young lady sitting across from him in the waiting room. Tim gave her the ubiquitous silent nod and a wave but it was returned with a blank stare. A twinge of insecurity crept up on him for a brief second and, taking a deep breath, he went back to minding his business reading his magazine, waiting for the physical therapy nurse to come with his release papers.

“Hello, is anyone there? Can someone help me please?” Tim looked up. “I’m sorry. Someone was supposed to come get me and take me back to my room but I think they forgot about me. Do you think it would be possible for you to find a nurse for me?”

Tim looked very closely again. She was a very lovely Black woman with a complexion the color of cocoa and her hair neatly done in goddess braids. Her thin legs hung limply down in her wheelchair. The woman seemed to be staring at one particular spot; there was no dance in her eyes, no eye contact. “Sure, let me check at the nurses station for you,” Tim said, as he made his way to see if he could find some assistance for her. He returned only moments later with bad news that someone said that they would be there shortly which meant that they would be there at a quarter to never. “I’ve been sitting here over an hour waiting for my release papers myself, reading really old magazines. Would you care for one?”

She laughed. “I’m afraid a magazine wouldn’t do me much good. I have a rare neurological disorder that renders me temporarily blind and at times paralyzed from the waist down and now happens to be one of those times when I’m blessed with both.”

Tim stumbled all over himself apologizing. He had sort of figured that she might have been unable to see but he didn’t want to assume. Now, he had wished he had erred on the side of safety and not said anything at all. He sat in silence again, embarrassed by his faux pas. He studied her more intently now, knowing she didn’t know he was looking at her. He took in her delicate features, tried to put a story behind her façade.

There was a rather recent copy of Essence magazine in the piles, perhaps left behind by someone. Tim picked it up and commented on the cover. “Terry McMillan sure seems to be getting a lot of press from her situation. Couldn’t have come at a better time with her new book out. I don’t know, I think she knew he was gay all along. I mean . . . come on.”

She grunted, “Terry McMillan needs any publicity stunt she can to cover up the fact that she’s an addict. It shows in her public appearances and it shows in her already mediocre writing.” The pair laughed and exchanged names. It seems Dr. Gloria Crowder was a professor of African American Literature at Xavier University in Louisiana and she was pretty unapologetic in her critique. Tim introduced himself and the two began discussing favorite passages from Black classics and metaphors for obscure poetry that most people hadn’t heard of. The pair was really hitting it off when the nurse finally came to take Gloria back to her room.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Tim, you really made the time fly.” She held out her hand and Tim placed his hardened cast to her small hand. They laughed and said their goodbyes.

Tim couldn’t get her out of his mind however. They had shared so much in common, the conversation was so effortless. It was no surprise that before 24 hours was over; Tim was back at the hospital, paying a visit to his new friend. He brought a portable CD player and a stack of audio books along with some of his own poetry he had written. He tapped tentatively on the door, afraid that he would be perceived as a stalker, and cleared his throat. Gloria was lying quietly in bed, her face turned towards the sun, looking rather angelic. Ramsey Lewis would have been inspired. “I thought maybe you could . . .”

He was cut off before he could finish. “Tim! It’s so good to see you. I was hoping you would come.” Her face seemed to light up, show expression. Tim beamed with joy. He showed her how to use her new presents and arranged them for her so she could get to them without any help in her top drawer. He felt rather heroic, saving the queen from the horrid fate of boredom. He also felt rather confident. To his new friend, he could be tall and handsome, even black. She couldn’t see what he looked like so Tim was free to be who he thought she wanted him to be. He didn’t lie to her; he just wasn’t very truthful either. He reasoned that as long as he didn’t really say he was black it wasn’t really a lie. It was a sort of don’t ask, don’t tell policy, one he thought he needed to overcome his insecurities with approaching black women.

It was a sound policy that lasted the better part of six weeks. Tim became a regular fixture at the hospital. Every day he would bring more books and read to Gloria and they would debate until well after visiting hours about the dialect poetry of Paul Lawrence Dunbar and the writings of Ralph Ellison and about the absolutely horrific crop of new writers passing as authors. She would dictate notes to him from a novel she was working on and he would become her eyes. He would be waiting for her to return to her room when she got back from physical therapy, help her back to bed, and even take over for the regular nurses in her care.

Good news came for both of them at the same time. Tim’s cast was going to be removed and Gloria was going to be released from the hospital at the same time. FEMA has made arrangements for her to have a furnished apartment locally while her apartment in New Orleans was being renovated. Of course, Tim was there to offer his assistance in whatever way he could and offered to get the place ready for her homecoming. The apartment was shabby, a little short on the chic. He went all out, cleaning and painting and buying furnishings to make it nice for his friend. As much as he wanted to call her his girlfriend, he couldn’t. Not with the secret between them. He was pretty sure that she knew. He’d been honest with her about everything else. He’d shared secrets with her that he’d only told one other person. She was a very intelligent woman, she had to know. As long as it wasn’t said, Tim felt like he had a security blanket. In his mind, Gloria was infatuated with a black man and if he told her the truth, she wouldn’t like him any more. He wasn’t sure how long he was going to live with the lie but he wasn’t about to ruin the best relationship he’d ever had before.

The day she was released from the hospital, Tim helped her make it up the three little stairs to her temporary home. She went in first and he went back to the car to get her bags and finish parking the car. When he returned, her face was lit up. “Oh Tim, it’s beautiful! I can’t believe what you did with the place. It’s lovely.”

Tim was beaming with joy. He’d made her happy and that was a feeling like none other. It was almost a full minute before he realized what it meant. His heart dropped. “How . . . how long have you been able to see?”

“Oh, goodness, it comes and goes. Why?” She’d never imagined that Tim was trying to hide his identity from her; she’d known almost from the beginning he was white so she just assumed he was expressing apprehension over his appearance. It had never occurred to her that he was trying to hide his race. That seemed too incomprehensible to even fathom. She wanted to reassure him that her attraction to him was real but she just waited for his response. She was equally as confused as he was distraught.

Tim went to the wine cellar, well actually the refrigerator, and got out the bottle of white wine he had bought to celebrate. He poured her a glass and poured out his heart. He admitted that he was hiding behind the truth, that he was afraid that not only would she not be attracted to him if she knew he was white but also that he would never be able to satisfy her sexually, to be able to be the man she needed. She represented everything he wanted in a woman and everything he was afraid he couldn’t have. She was strong, beautiful, and self-assured and she was Black. She was a demure and vulnerable woman who was his intellectual match and who was confident in her identity. She seemed so strong willed yet so fragile.

His emotions ran the gamut from shame to hurt and confusion. All sorts of insecurities flooded him and he began to retreat back into hostile, lying, attack-mode in anticipation of her rejection of him. He accused her of being deceitful, of pretending to be helpless in order to use him. He was ready for the other shoe to drop, for Gloria to say, “How could you think that I would ever want you?” In that moment, Tim was blinded by his own dysfunction and he did the only thing he knew how to do, hurt, himself, and those he cared about.

Gloria was dumbfounded. Never had she expected such a revelation nor had she expected the vicious attack that had followed. Tears filled her eyes as she tried to regain her composure and she politely asked him to leave. She was devastated by his attack on her and she had no intention of continuing to be the object of his unfounded assault, no matter how much she had grown to care for him.

Tim knew the moment he stepped outside the door and heard it close behind him that he’d fucked up big time. He sat in his car for over an hour, talking to himself, yelling at himself for being so stupid and trying to figure out a way to fix things. He knew that if he was ever going to be free, he had to go back and fix things. He knocked on the door and waited.

Gloria opened the door wearing a satin robe that she’d changed into. It was apparent she’d been crying. He walked in without any words being said and sat on the sofa. He began pouring out his heart and soul, confessing his sins and repenting. Before he knew what was happening, he was crying uncontrollable tears. He was releasing pain from a lifetime of dysfunction. Gloria held him close and cradled him in her arms. Exhausted and drained, Tim lay quietly as she stroked his hair and sang softly to him. Her soothing voice comforted him.

Tim was at peace, finally free. He opened his eyes and looked at the face of his beloved. It was as if he was seeing her for the very first time, his blinders of dysfunction had been removed.

It was now Gloria’s time to speak. “Tim, I’m not real sure what just happened here today. I can only speak for myself. It seems like you convinced yourself that I would never be attracted to you if you were white and you created some sort of reality where you ignored the evidence that I could see you. The person I’m attracted to can quote Marimba Ani and John Henrick Clarke. The person I’m attracted to has the same taste in music as I do, from Earth Wind and Fire and Stevie Wonder to Kem and Jill Scott. The person I’m attracted to took such good care of me and made me feel special every day. I’m not sure where this relationship is going to go but I’m sure I’m interested in letting it play out its natural course. As for your other concerns, about . . . you know, not satisfying me sexually, that’s ridiculous.”

“But I’m not hung like black guys and I can’t last very long. I’m sure I can’t satisfy you in bed,” Tim blurted out, freeing himself from his shame.

Gloria took him by the hand and led him to her bedroom. They sat on the foot of the bed and she tilted his face towards hers. She leaned forward and she kissed him softly and Tim felt a warmth overcome his body. “As long as you care about me as a person and are willing to be honest with me, we can work out the details in the bedroom.” She took his hand and placed it inside her robe. Tim froze momentarily, the fullness of her breast filling his hand. He was afraid to move but instinct took over and he began caressing her soft brown flesh. Gloria closed her eyes and told him it felt good. His touch was soft and tentative. He was watching her responses intently, seeing her squirm and hearing her soft moans. It was almost surreal. It was like a dream come true. He wasn’t even sure this was happening.

She opened her robe and let if fall off her shoulders. Tim was in a state of disbelief. Gloria laid back on the small twin bed and Tim took everything in. Her cream colored satin and lace panties were the only thing she was wearing. He looked at her again and he lowered his mouth her nipple. He could feel the soft flesh in his mouth and the hard nipple against his tongue. He sucked softly, causing Gloria to arch her back and moan. He cupped her breast in his hands and nursed gently, his tongue flicking over the pebble like nipple and his lips tenderly sucking the tender flesh. His dick was throbbing in his pants and he was desperate to stroke it but he remained in his completely dressed state, afraid to do anything to break the magic spell.

Gloria took his hand and slid it past her soft tummy and past the waistband of her panties. He could feel the heat emanating from her core and he slid his fingers between her lips to find her clit already protruding and aroused. She was breathing harder now as she was encouraging him to finger fuck her. Tentatively, Tim began circling her hard clit with his finger. His touch seemed to be driving Gloria insane and she was thrashing about on the bed telling him explicitly how much she loved his soft touch. Tim was lightheaded. He was drunk with intoxication at the thought of giving pleasure to this woman he’d grown to know and love so intimately. He reacted to her responses. Every time she would moan or bite her lip or beg him not to stop, he would make note of what he was doing that caused her to respond. He was confident that what he was doing was really turning her on because her juices were flowing freely. He slid his fingers further down and inside her tight pussy and they both moaned out from pleasure.

He slid her panties down her legs and settled down on the bed between her thighs. He was in control now and he lowered his mouth to her clit, replicating the actions of his fingers with his tongue. The taste of her slippery juices, the feel of her soft lips against his mouth were more intoxicating than any wine and a gift from the gods for sure. The beautiful way her lips opened up to reveal her crimson core made the great works from the world’s most famous painters look like amateurish paint by numbers. Gloria wasn’t one to hold back her encouragement. “Oh Tim, don’t stop, you make my pussy feel so good. Yessss, lick me just like that. Oh fuck, you’re going to make me cum in your mouth.”

A man possessed, Tim licked and sucked and fingered his way to his lover’s heart. She was climbing out of her skin, on the verge of orgasm. She grabbed Tim’s hand and intertwined his fingers in hers. Tim felt like the most special man in the world. Gloria cried out, “I’m going to cum.”

Tim freed his dick from his pants and began stroking it furiously; pounding it in the rhythm of his oral assault. He was swallowing the free flowing juices that filled his mouth. He was lost between the gorgeous brown thighs of an amazing woman who was grabbing his head and holding it tightly to the place where all life began, Ile Ife, the Garden of Eden. They were both headed to the point of no return. Gloria wrapped her legs tightly around Tim’s head and spasmed hard against his mouth as he fisted his dick, spraying cum all over the new bedspread.

The afterglow was particularly rewarding for Tim as he cradled Gloria in his arms. He’d freed himself from his feelings of insecurity and he’d opened himself up to a wonderful relationship. He and Gloria were ready to explore all their options together with 20/20 vision and clear sailing ahead.

Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK


Order your very own customized and personalized erotic story TODAY.

Saturday, January 07, 2006

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

The Christmas Present


Things had been strained lately between Derrick and Tynesha; they’d been arguing about small little things but it was wearing on both of their nerves. Derrick was going to go all out to make this Christmas special. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t made mistakes in the past, been untruthful, let her down. This year, Derrick had planned a special present that would show his devotion and love and cement his relationship to Tynesha. Derrick had purchased a customized erotic story from AfroerotiK for Tynesha that was intended to make her feel special and to let her know exactly how much he appreciated her for all that she had put up with, to be a symbol of how far they had come as a couple.

The story arrived in a priority envelope and Derrick hesitated as to what to do with it. He held it in his hands, studying it, reading it in private, waiting for the perfect time to present it to his beloved. He was bursting with anticipation, wanting to give the present to her but he knew that this would be a present that she would never forget, so he planned, he waited, he prepared for a night like none other. It was going to be a night so erotic, so sensuous, and so charged with electricity that he was convinced it would take their relationship to a higher plane, move them to a new level of communication.

Armed with the security of having the gift safely in his hands, having read it and seen the potential for the story to open doors of exploration, Derrick approached Tynesha with the special red envelope that held the story. He taunted her with it, telling her that her present was within her grasp but she had to wait. Tynesha wanted to open it immediately but she could see the look on Derrick’s face that let her know that she should trust him completely. All week long at work, Derrick was distracted with thoughts of the weekend to come. How would she react? He wondered if Tynesha would be willing to take a leap and explore her sensuality in new ways. He was nervous and aroused at the same time. There were several times he would find himself thinking about the hot and steamy sex that he was going to have with his beautiful lady and he would have to hide his erection from his coworkers. All he wanted was for Tynesha to let down her guard and express herself the way she wanted; to give herself up to complete erotic abandon. He thought about how Tynesha would tell all her friends and coworkers about the personalized story she had gotten and the hours upon hours of erotic bliss that she’d experienced and how he would be forgiven, lifted even, to status of a hero for his special and unique gift.

Christmas eve arrived; it was do or die for Derrick. He made arrangements to get home early from work and set the stage for what he hoped was a very special evening. He ordered Tynesha’s very favorite take-out rather than try to make an attempt to cook and have an opportunity for things to go wrong. He had gone to Victoria Secrets to find something sexy for Tynesha to wear that would compliment her fine hips, thighs, and ass that he loved so much.

The anticipation was killing him. By the time Tynesha walked through the door on Saturday night, she knew she was in for a special treat. All the frustration she had with their petty arguments immediately disappeared as she realized that her man had done for her what other women only dream of having their men do for them. There were candles lit and the table was set. She could see the red package sitting neatly on the plate where she was to be seated but Derrick had other plans in mind. He poured her a glass of wine and they sat quietly on the sofa while he took her shoes off and massaged her feet. Tynesha let the wine warm her up a little bit and she made a silent vow to herself to let go of all her inhibitions and just enjoy whatever was to come.

Desperate with anticipation, Tynesha wanted to open her present. He gave her the first of the two presents, the lingerie, and told her to make herself comfortable. She emerged from the bathroom, looking like an erotic goddess, and Derrick almost forgot his entire game plan. He made her wait until after the food was served to open her very special gift. They ate and laughed without a care like when they had first met. It was almost as if they had been transported back to a time when they were carefree and passion was the only thing on their minds.

After dinner, a tiny bit tipsy from the wine, Derrick presented Tynesha with her very special gift. She opened the small book carefully and studied it, wanting to understand exactly what was happening, exactly what was going on. She read the words on the page slowly and looked around, sort of confused at what she was reading but more and more curious with every word. Derrick had apparently ordered a customized erotic story for her, but it was so lifelike it was eerie. The story before her described her relationship with Derrick and a really sexy and steaming description of how she seduced him, something she normally wouldn’t do. She read on, the words on the page going into greater detail about how Derrick wanted her to take the initiative with sex and get really wild in bed. It was more than apparent that Derrick was sexually aroused by his girlfriend and she was seeing his most intense sexual fantasies about her in black and white.

The more she read, the wetter she became. She started to squirm in the chair reading about this couple that was having an intensely erotic experience . . . but she was reading about herself. She glanced up at Derrick and his expression spoke volumes. He couldn’t wait for her to finish reading so he could make love right the on the table if need be. The more explicit the story got, the more her breathing became a task. She slid her fingers between her legs and massaged her clit a little. Derrick wanted to watch as she touched herself so he moved around to kneel in front of her and spread her legs.

“Read it out loud to me,” he instructed.

Tynesha’s voice cracked as she began reading the words on the pages in front of her. It was difficult to stay focused because Derrick had spread her thighs and started licking her wet pussy. She couldn’t concentrate on the story with that hot, wet tongue licking her and getting her more aroused. She pushed his face away and he moaned in desperation to taste her more. Tynesha took her finger, pushed it deep inside herself, and brought her lips to her mouth. She looked Derrick in the eye as she began to seductively lick the juices from her finger like she was sucking a dick.

Derrick had no more control and he unzipped his pants and started stroking his hard dick right there in front of her. Intoxicated with lust, Tynesha handed the individualized book to Derrick and said, “Here, now it’s time you read to me.”

Derrick took Tynesha by the hand and said, “Let’s finish reading this in the bedroom.”

As they made their way to the bedroom, the tension was building. He slowly undressed in front of her, revealing the body that had given her so much intense pleasure in the past, which was surely going to satisfy her every desire tonight. Naked and aroused, he lay back on the bed with the red book in his hand. He began reading the words on the page that described Tynesha giving him the most incredible head in the world. Tynesha, taking her cue, climbed on the bed and began mimicking the words she heard Derrick read.

Derrick couldn’t take the pleasure he was getting from Tynesha’s soft, wet lips so he tossed the book to the side to be finished at a later date and time. Right now, he wanted to get into the sensual sensations he was getting for the sexy woman that was licking, sucking, and swallowing his hard dick. Tynesha was like a woman possessed. She was giving him head better than she had ever done before; turned on by how special her man had made her feel. He knew she loved Zane’s stories but her own personal story was 1000 times better than reading a story about someone else. She wanted Derrick to feel as special as he had made her feel and she was proving it with her oral skills.

“No, wait baby, slow down. That feels too good,” he said, not wanting the celebration to be over before it started. Derrick wanted to get back to tasting that sticky sweetness he loved so much.

He laid his beloved Tynesha back on the bed and spread her sexy thighs. She was actually moaning in anticipation of feeling his soft wet mouth suck her aroused pussy. Derrick took two fingers and pushed them inside Tynesha and she moaned out as his lips encircled her clit. He was using his tongue to drive her crazy: licking, sucking, and tonguing her to tremendous pleasure.

Feeling bold, Tynesha pushed his head away, got up on her knees, and presented Derrick with the most perfect ass he had ever seen. She teased him, wiggling it in his face and taunting him to eat her out from behind. She spread the lips to her pussy with her fingers and told him in no uncertain terms, “Make me cum in your mouth.”

Tynesha was overcome with lust. She put her face down on the bed and let herself go to the pleasure. Derrick wrapped his lips around her clit, began smacking her ass and fingering her pussy at the same time. She was moaning and talking dirty, telling Derrick to not stop, of how good he was making her pussy feel.

Just as she was about to reach her special moment, Derrick stopped. He wanted to tease her just a bit. Take her to that place right before orgasm and then make her wait. However, Tynesha couldn’t be denied any more. She took matters into her own hands and made Derrick lay back on the bed. She climbed on top of him and held his dick at the entrance to her pussy. He could feel the heat from her body and her lips were soaked with her juices.

She looked him dead in his eye and said, “I’m going to use your dick to pleasure myself. I’m going to use it like a dildo to make myself cum tonight and all you can do is lie there and enjoy the ride.” Derrick’s eyes rolled back in his head. He’d waited for a long time to see his woman take control of her pleasure, to know that he aroused her so much that she just wanted to use him for her enjoyment.

He felt the head of his dick penetrate her and it was more intense than he had ever felt before. For some odd reason, this time, it felt like she was wetter, tighter, and hotter than she had ever been. Tynesha rocked back and forth; making his dick hit places in her that drove her to insane heights of pleasure. She began whispering in his ear as she was riding to orgasm.

“From here on out, things are going to be a little different. I want to show you exactly how much you turn me on so we are going to step things up a notch.” Derrick grabbed her breast and put it in his mouth, as she described all the naught fantasies that she wanted to fulfill with him. They were both moaning loudly, grunting and groaning from the intense pleasure. Tynesha could feel her orgasm about to hit her. It was coming fast as she began bouncing up and down on Derrick’s dick and using it to get herself off.

Dre had to concentrate on not losing it as he felt Tynesha’s juices cover him. She was cumming all over him, convulsing with pleasure. As much as he wanted her to feel enjoy her orgasm, he wanted to fuck the shit out of her, to make her feel him pounding her, thrusting himself inside her.

Still not finished with her first orgasm, Derrick flipped Tynesha over and put her on her back. He stared deep in her eyes and held her legs up in the air as he was about to penetrate her. “Do you forgive me,” he asked?

She mouthed the words, “fuck me,” to let him know that he had done a good thing and she wasn’t mad any more. Derrick shoved his dick deep inside Tynesha and began pumping with a steady rhythm. Tynesha wrapped her legs around Derrick, pulling him closer and closer, deeper and deeper. He could feel his nut about to explode and Derrick closed his eyes and surrendered to the feeling of pleasure

They drifted off to sleep together but the weekend was far from over. For the next two days, Tynesha and Derrick made use of every minute of the weekend until they were drained and exhausted. It was a memorable gift that set the stage for some intense lovemaking. Derrick could hardly wait for the Valentine’s story to arrive.


Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK

Saturday, December 24, 2005

Long Distance Love

You have to work really hard to maintain the delicate equilibrium of a long distance relationship in order to make it work. The time apart, the distance, the lack of stability can wear on anyone’s nerves. Even under the best of conditions, fragile long distance relationships can disintegrate, even if both parties want it to work. Add to the mix the pressures of an interracial relationship and it would seem virtually impossible for a couple to make it under those circumstances. Chris Henderson and Michelle Givens seemed to be the exception to the rule.

They met quite by happenstance. Chris was in Atlanta on a business trip. While he was checking into the Hyatt, minding his own business, he noticed a woman carrying a rather large painting, trying to navigate the heavy glass revolving door of the lobby with the large canvas. He ran to her assistance, holding the side handicap door for her like a gentleman would do, his midwestern manners integrating well into his temporary southern residence.

As she passed, sparks of electricity singed his very soul, igniting a chemical reaction that could have caused an explosion. She maneuvered her heavenly body through the door, positioning the painting as a barrier between them. For a brief moment, they both froze, maintaining intense eye contact. Chris took in every detail. Her butterscotch colored skin was flawless and her naturally curly hair was pulled tightly on top of her head and exploded in a poof of curly q’s. Her full, sensual lips looked so inviting, her smoky eyes were captivating, and her fragrance smelled like a delicious blend of fruit and flowers. The stood eye to eye, taking in details of one another, held captive by an immovable force of attraction. As she eased her way past Chris, she whispered the words, “Thank you,” softly. Chris watched her lips part and he was captivated by the way her pink tongue seemed to sensually caress her ruby colored lips and sort of make love to her words.

“Whoooo was that? Do you know who that woman is? She’s breathtaking,” Chris asked the desk manager, staring back at the doors, watching the captivating woman delicately arranging paintings in the back of a plain white van.

“Oh, that’s Michelle Givens. She’s the director of the Apex Museum here in Atlanta. They lend us paintings for the lobby every February for Black History Month. I have her business card and a brochure here if you want to check it out.” Chris fingered the card, distracted as he watched her drive off. The manager added, “Yeah, she is pretty hot,” as the two men shared a moment of appreciation for her beauty.

Barely able to concentrate, Chris couldn’t wait to pay a visit to the Apex later that afternoon. He was trying not to look conspicuous as he browsed around, trying to run into her again.

“Did you see something you were interested in today,” Michelle queried as she approached him?

Chris turned to face her and was again overwhelmed with her professionalism, sophistication, and sheer beauty. He took the flirtation ball and ran with it. “Very much so. In fact, I was so overwhelmed by the beauty of what I saw today, I had to make it my business to come and let you know personally.” He reached for her hand, held it to his lips, and kissed it softly. Michelle was overwhelmed by his charm in that moment and the rest, as they say, is history.

The two became rather inseparable from that moment on, at least every time Chris was in town for business. They would dine together, go hiking on the weekends; Chris would even attend all the events Michelle coordinated for the Apex. He was extremely proud of her and it became increasingly more difficult to return to Fargo after they would spend time together. North Dakota became bland in comparison his time in North Carolina and was losing its appeal the more Chris realized that Michelle was his soul mate.

It was their perfect, symbiotic relationship the fueled them. Neither of them had to compromise themselves or their identities to be with the other. Chris loved that Michelle was so unconditionally supportive of him and his endeavors. He felt like he could accomplish anything with Michelle by his side. She loved that she could be unapologetic in her blackness and not have to conform to an identity outside of her comfort zone. They just fit well together.

It was sexually, however, where their compatibility went off the charts. Never before in his life had Chris met a woman who understood his desires and matched them so perfectly. Every fantasy, every fetish, every kink, Michelle mirrored in delicious desire. It was as if they were created from the same erotic mold.

The time spent apart was becoming more unbearable. After nine months of long distance love and what was sure to be a tumor forming from endless hours of talking on the cell phone every night, Chris was contemplating ways in which he could make the relationship more permanent. He fingered the ring box in his pocket nervously as he deboarded the plane. Michelle was there to meet him, looking as stunning as ever, and her eyes lit up when she saw her man struggling with his two carryon bags. He took her in his arms and held her close. It never failed that every time he saw her, he felt the same jolt of electricity in his body as the first time he laid eyes on her. She kissed him rather sensually and every man in business class that was behind him felt a stab of lustful envy.

Michelle seemed to be particularly excited to see Chris and she was anxious to get home. She let him take the wheel and she sat in the passenger seat and wasted no time lowering her mouth to Chris’ lap and removing his hard cock from his pants, sucking him while he was doing 70 miles per hour on I-75. He was trying to concentrate on driving safely but it was damn hard to do that with his incredibly sexy girlfriend giving him the best head of his life.

He pulled the car into her garage and he was practically undressing before the ignition was off. Michelle had other plans and left Chris in the carport to get his belongings as she rushed inside with a mischievous smile on her face. Chris unloaded his bags, brought them inside, hung up his coat, and made his way to the kitchen, being led by the aromas of a fabulous seafood meal that was simmering on the stove. He was opening pots and inhaling delectable smells when Michelle approached him from behind. “Welcome home,” she said. Chris felt so at home, so at peace, she was reminded of the important question he wanted to ask Michelle.

He turned around and was caught off guard as he took in the full image of his ladylove. She was wearing black latex thigh-high boots and a matching latex bra. Completing her outfit was a black strapon dildo sticking out from her body. He felt a lump in his throat and instinctively dropped to his knees. He wrapped his lips around the hard black cock and looked up at his lover. She placed her hands on the back of his head and guided him to suck it. Turned on, she started pumping her full hips, fucking his mouth as Chris struggled to free his raging hard cock from his pants, stroking it in time to the pumping his mouth was getting.

They were both too turned on to make it to the bedroom so Michelle pulled his hair gently, signaling for Chris to stand up. She bent him over the kitchen counter and reached for a bottle of olive oil to pour on her strapon. There was something primal about fucking in the kitchen, with his pants around his ankles and his face pressed against the cold granite. Chris looked back at Michelle, pulled his asscheeks apart with both hands, and said, “What are you waiting for, girl, FUCK ME!”

Never one to disappoint, Michelle lined up the head of the Ebony strapon with his pink hole and pushed forward. She was slow but she was relentless, not stopping until every inch was buried deeply in Chris’ ass. He started grinding, squirming, and begging her to fuck him harder, deeper. They were grunting, groaning, moaning and fucking like animals. “Yeah, you like this hard cock in your slutty hole, don’t you baby? You love me fucking you like you’re my little bitch. Or would your prefer a real dick? Is that what you want? You want to get fucked by a real thick, stiff, hard dick? You want hot cum shooting deep in your asspussy?” Michelle clearly knew all the right buttons to push for her man to turn him on.

“Fuck me harder!”

“Take it deeper!”

“Fuck!”

“Shit!”

There was no stopping the endless string of profanity and the intense heat that the sexy black and white pair was giving off. Michelle was like a machine, pounding him with a steady rhythm, using his asshole for her pleasure. Chris was about to explode, in love with the sexy woman with whom he was so connected, literally and figuratively. He could smell her pussy, wet with excitement. He could feel her black hard cock deep inside him. They were both rushing to orgasm. Michelle was like a woman possessed and Chris was a like a crazed slut. He was fucking her back and begging her like a desperate slut for her to give it to him deeper. He stroked his cock; it was aching it was so hard. He shut his eyes tightly and reveled in the pleasure he was experiencing in every pore of his body as he felt the sensations overtake him.

Michelle kissed him softly and pulled him towards the bedroom for rounds two and three. They were sure to enjoy all sorts of sexy and loving encounters in the upcoming week. He scrambled to pull up his pants and check for the ring he would present to her later that evening, assured that he had found his perfect match and the end to his long distance love.



Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK

Order your very own customized and personalized erotic story written just for you. Valentine's Day is right around the corner. Place your order now.

Friday, December 23, 2005

Tantalizing Letter

The Tantalizing Letter is perfect way to find just the right words to let the person in your life know how you feel. Let us give you the words that you want to say but can't quite formulate. Consider it a tempting quickie for your lover. Printed on beautiful stationary, it will be a keepsake and a reminder of your intimate bond for a very long time. It's great for those that are deployed overseas.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

My Beloved AfroerotiK

I've created several tracks that I want to see made into a CD but I haven't gotten any feedback, comments, or criticism. I don't know if I'm wasting my time. I don't know if they suck or not. I know they aren't professionally done, but I get tired of putting work out there and not getting any feedback from people to let me know if I'm wasting my time or not.

Words copyright 2005 AfroerotiK Music copyright Rasa music

Saturday, December 17, 2005

The Ultimate Black Strapon Domme

Warning!!! This is NOT for the faint of heart. It explores hardcore interracial themes and intense sexuality. Listen to the story of a commanding Black Mistress control, use, and manipulate a submissive strapon slut. It's about the exchange of power and the dynamics of psychological domination. Enjoy!

Friday, December 16, 2005

The Admiration of Lovers


Sit back, open a bottle of wine, and enjoy this soothing track with your lover. Let your mind drift off and enjoy the soothing words and melodic sounds that speak to the desires of your soul. It's AfroerotiK . . . your passion and your pleasure. It's AfroerotiK . . . your ecstasy divine. Revel in the sumptuous gift that only lovers can share.
Music copyright from A Gift of Love - - Deepak & Friends Present Music Inspired by the Love Poems of Rumi. The album shows physician/author Deepak Chopra, MD and numerous guest artists (including Madonna, Demi Moore, Rosa Parks, Robert Thurman, and Goldie Hawn) reading poetry by the famed 13th century Persian poet Jalaleddin Rumi. Featuring new translations by Fereydoun Kia and Chopra - - as well as translations by Rumi scholar Coleman Barks - - musical backdrop composed and arranged by Adam Plack, Yaron Fuchs, Richard Horowitz and Sussan Deyhim.

AfroerotiK Couple's Delight Story

Thursday, December 15, 2005

Talking Dirty

For many people, sex isn't hot unless they it's accompanied by dirty talk. The dirtier the better. What are your thoughts on hot talk in bed? What do you like to be called, what words do you like to use in bed? Share your steamy sex talk with us. Click on the audio and listen to a little hot audio erotica and share your feedback about what gets lead in your pencil and your juices flowing.
Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK

Sunday, December 11, 2005

AfroerotiK is . . . Podcast






You are invited to listen to the very first ever broadcast of AfroerotiK is . . . a titillating talk show that takes a peak into Black sexuality and discusses topics that dismantle offensive stereotypes and that provides a forum for the healthy expression of Ebony sensuality. This month, AfroerotiK is tackles a lot of myths and false perceptions about Black male sexuality and includes a VERY sexy erotic reading. It’s informative as well as entertaining and you are invited to listen and give your feedback.

It takes several minutes to download and your patience is appreciated.

Saturday, December 10, 2005

My dearest love


I was in deep reflection today, thinking about making love to you. For some reason, thoughts and metaphors and analogies kept floating around in my head like lyrics to a song. I couldn’t stop thinking about how when you are deep inside me, and our bodies are moving together, we are like an instrument. A guitar perhaps; your fingers gently strum my taut and tense places which elicits a sounds that serenade the angels. Perhaps we are more like artist and instrument; I am your harp, cradled gently between your legs as you play my body with artistic flair. More than an instrument, we are like magical music together. The staccato rhythm and pounding beat of our bodies making that hot sweaty passionate love is a concert to the senses. Your taste is the melody, your scent the rhyme, your moans of pleasure are a sensual harmony and the feel of your dick deep inside me keeps time. You are Marcus Miller laying the baseline for my Miles and miles of orgasmic bliss.

Damn, what have you done to me? I can’t stop thinking about how you make me feel. You hit my sweet spot and get my pussy soooo wet. I can’t decide which sensation I like the most. Your tongue is magical; licking me, literally, from head to toe. Your arms envelope me and make me feel like I’ve found home. Your hands grab my hips and let me know you are steering this ship of pleasure and I’m a passenger on the Lust Boat.

What do you say to the idea that we not let all this passion I have for you go to waste? I have a taste for your dick in my mouth and it’s not going to be satisfied by anything else. I want to hear you moan and tell me how good I make you feel. And if you are a good boy, there might be some other little surprises in store for you as well. I think I owe you a night of selfish pleasure for all the times you’ve made me cum so hard I couldn’t see straight. You like full body massages, right? If you’re feeling adventurous, maybe I’ll tie you up so you will have no choice but to let my hands and mouth pleasure you any way I see fit. Can you imagine, my love, me bringing you to the very verge of orgasm and stopping until you are more desperate to be inside me than you’ve ever been?
Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Funky Jazzy Cafe

Jason moved effortlessly around the Tabernacle, making sure everyone was being entertained, that everything was flowing smoothly. There were so many details, so many things that could go wrong but he managed to pull everything off and make it look like he didn’t break a sweat. Kemit was spinning, getting everyone’s juices pumping with old school house jams and the place was at capacity early on in the evening. He was stealth in his movements, he greeted people, and smiled did everything a host would do to make you feel welcome like it was his home, not a 20,000 square foot venue.

She was there by herself. She stood out from the crowd but there wasn’t one particular reason why, it was everything about her. There was something in her eyes and the moment Jason saw her, he was left . . . speechless. He approached her with caution, careful not to make too many sudden moves lest he reveal how anxious he was to meet her. She watched him, her eyes never leaving his, as he walked up to her. Without saying a word he extended his hand. She gently placed hers in his and they shared an electrical moment. The chemistry between the two of them could be felt from those that dared to peek at their intimate exchange.

She stepped close to him, pressing her smooth brown body against his and embracing him like they were long lost lovers. Jason’s knees buckled for a moment, he wasn’t used to a woman being so confident and so breathtaking. She cradled his face in her soft and delicate hands and they stood like that for what seemed an eternity. It was merely seconds but the way she held him created a glitch in the time and space continuum.

He regained his composure and pulled her to the dance floor. As fate would have it, Kemit started spinning reggae and the sexual tension between the two began to rise. He placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her to him with just enough pressure to let her know his intentions were more than that of gracious host. He whispered in her ear, “I’m Jason.”

“I know,” she whispered back. She continued with her sensual and seductive grind without missing a beat.

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” he said.

“Would you want me any more than you do know if I did?” she replied.

Jason was outdone. The smell of her fragrance was an intoxicating elixir. Her smooth bare shoulders looked like silk waiting to be tenderly kissed. He could detect the swell of her breasts against his chest, even through his white linen Moshood dashiki. He slid his hands down the small of her back and rested them on her full hips. She started grinding on him more, fully aware that her actions were getting him aroused. Her hands roamed his body freely, caressing his thighs, his arms, his neck, shoulders, and waist. The evidence of his arousal was more than apparent as they danced and the couple seemed to have a glow about them that emanated from the heat they shared.

She stepped up the pace and she started gently kissing his neck and earlobe. She began whispering naughty things in his ear. “Jason, my pussy is soooooo wet right now, and my clit is so hard it’s throbbing. I can just imagine what your mouth would feel like on me right now. Are you going to take me home tonight Jason? Are you going to fuck me senseless until we can’t do it any more?”

Jason was insane with lust. He grabbed her ass hard and thrust against her and her body moved with him like two well choreographed dancers. She lifted her leg and he held her thigh in his hand. She teased him even more with her words. “Jason, I want you inside me, I want to feel your dick inside me and make me scream with pleasure. I want to let you taste all that sweet and tasty treasure you are getting all worked up. I want to lick you from head to toe. Complete me Jason, I want to feel every drop of your cum inside me.”

“What’s your name?” he asked again, “who are you?”

She laughed playfully and turned her back to him. She made sure to rub her soft ass all around his erection. She closed her eyes, lay her head back on his shoulder and drifted off to a place where no one else was around. In her mind, they were alone and he was behind her, thrusting himself in her, making her scream, making her crave every ounce of his passion. She could feel her juices coating him, her muscles squeezing him, she could feel the steady rhythm of their transcendent love making. In that moment, she was his little girl, his mommy, his mistress and his lover. Jason was lost in his own intense fantasies. He needed to feel the softness of her breasts in his hands as he gently licked and kissed them. He wanted to feel her silky smooth lips as they licked and sucked him to the verge of orgasm. He was desperate to feel the soft, wet, hot folds of her tight pussy give way the very first time he penetrated her.

Just then, someone called his name. There was a situation that needed to be dealt with. He let her go momentarily to get the details of what happened and when he looked up again. . . she was gone. He felt his heart drop for a brief second until he reached in his pocket and felt a card. He pulled it out and it was an invitation to continue in private from his mystery lover.


Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK


Custom Photography Session

Friends and Lovers

In my lifetime, the men that I’ve maintained substantial and meaningful friendships with have been men with whom I’ve had no physical relationship. Often times, my attraction to them grows because of the communication and intimacy that we share but it’s not based on an initial romantic attraction. Occasionally, Men that want to get me into bed and then realize that it’s not going to happen, they usually make a half hearted attempt at being a friend. That illusion doesn’t last for very long, a couple of months at best. Once it sets in that they aren’t going to get any pussy, they stop calling and aren’t available when I call.

There are exceptions to that rule. I have one amazing male friend with whom we were both immediately attracted to one another but our respect for each other’s intellect and individuality allowed us to set boundaries that we’ve never crossed. We’ve engaged in sexual play that has included everything but penetration. He’s one of the two men that I know that can sleep in the bed with me and will not try to have sex with me. There are times when I ask him to come over and snuggle and he lets me know up front that he won’t be able to do that because he can’t handle the temptation and I respect him tremendously for that honesty. On other occasions, he’s called me and asked if we can explore some of his fantasies and we share an evening of sensuality without intercourse. Once, we got together with another friend of mine and had a threesome, without penetration. Our friendship has lasted for years and even though we don’t see each other very often, we have a mutual respect that transcends our sexual relationship. He’s been there for me anytime I’ve needed him and I know without question that he respects me as a person above all else.

Women often have friendships with men with whom they are not physically attracted. The stereotype of the “faghag” is all too common. Women often seek friendships with men with whom they can share non-sexual male/female bonds. Men, not considered attractive by societal standards often relegate themselves to the role of buddy to attractive women because women overlook them as potential partners.

Men choose friendships with women based on physical attraction and the prospect of a sexual relationship. Men don’t have the same standards for their male friends; a guy can have a friend that is fat, sloppy, slovenly and they are still their boys. It’s extremely problematic for us as a people if we can’t form friendships unless they are based on sexual attraction.

Married women express objections when their husbands have friendships with women and I’m not at all convinced that married women pursue friendships with men unless there is some sort of romantic undertones. Friendships formed prior to marriage must, inherently shift and be redefined when a person gets married. I’m pessimistic enough to believe that the vast majority of intergender friendships within a marriage are unhealthy. Women afraid of their husbands having with women is problematic and I know personally that the married men that identify me as friends to their wives would all like a shot at my panties. The only platonic friendships I have with married men are those in which I am friends with the wife as well. I have had married men that attend church every week, good providers, the model of the perfect husband try to fuck me. Men that say they are perfectly happy in their marriages have tried to get the panties.

I have a friendship with a gentleman that has survived years of evolution. It started as an internet romance and has evolved into genuine love and respect for one another as individuals. We got together recently and we ended up in a pretty steamy situation and it has altered our relationship. Where we go from here is going to be based on our communication but it seems evident that we are both holding back now. I don’t see the potential for a relationship even though I was the one that had the stronger attraction when we first met. Sex fucks up friendships.

I’m not questioning if men and women can be friends; yes it’s possible. It’s possible for men and women to have friendships but under the current conditions it’s highly unlikely that male/female friendships are based on a solid, healthy foundation if attraction as the motivation for the friendship. I am well aware that the level of friendship between genders that exists now is dysfunctional but there has to be a shift. Men must decide to look at women as human beings, beyond the physical to form friendships. Friendships should be based on common interests, personalities and experiences, not on how attractive a woman is. Women must stop putting “men who are attractive on the inside” in the friends category and pursuing pretty boys as mates. We can get to the promised land but we have a lot of work to do to get there.

Raising Biracial Children

One of the stories I wrote for my upcoming book is a story about a biracial man that has to face the fact that he was raised by a white mother as Black a black man and has never once had to deal with the fact that he was half white. I intentionally created his character to be raised in a way that I think is atypical of the way that the vast majority of biracial children are raised to bring light to the numerous biracial children, raised by single white women, with no attempts whatsoever to expose them to any sort of authentic positive black experiences. The beauty of being Black is not going to a Klan rally to witness racism first hand. I’m not criticizing the effort; I’m just saying that seems to me to be a little reminiscent of showing the worst of being black and not having the exposure to the beauty of being black to balance it. The beauty of being Black is going to South Carolina for the summer and playing with cousins all day in the oppressive summer sun and getting blacker than coal and eating watermelon like it’s going out of style. It’s sitting next to your grandmother in church, with Vaseline on your Mary Jane’s, white tights, and $.55 cents, red and white peppermints, and an embroidered handkerchief in your little purse. It’s visiting the sick and shut with your parents in on a Saturday afternoon in a house that smells like liniment, lavender, and urine and not being able to wait to get outside to play. Being Black is sitting in the beauty parlor on a Saturday morning while your mother gets her hair done and getting that tingly feeling “down there” looking at the pictures of the Jet Beauty of the Week and then going straight for the Top Twenty Songs to see which ones you like and which ones suck.

The ugly question behind all of this is, how does a white person know how to raise a Black child? It’s not an easy answer. For generations, the foundation of our parenting was to teach our male children to assume a passive attitude with authorities in order to keep from being lynched, in order to keep your job, in order to avoid the constant racist behavior that was often a threat to life and limb. Now that racism has changed, now that it’s more stealth and institutionalized, how does a person who has never experienced that or who has no historical knowledge of what it is to be black raise a child to deal with it? Where’s the happy medium between teaching your child to internalize racism and to not acknowledge it at all? I don’t have that answer. You see, Black men not staying around to raise their children in not just a burden on the Black community, it’s creating a race of people that have no cultural identity to hold on to. Sadly, in far too many instances, when a brotha chooses to date and procreate (sorry, that sounds so gross but I can’t say in most instances they choose to be a parent) with white women, in a great many instances, his motivations to do so are based on self-hatred (although they don’t see it that way) and a strong desire to have children that aren’t Black. Those aren’t necessarily the best individuals to raise a child to understand the beauty of being Black and I’ve seen far too many instances (at every single one of my family reunions . . . the number of my male cousins with biracial children is staggering) Black men raising their children to be white, as if that is some sort of preferred status.

I do know that a lot of white people think that because they have a sexual or romantic preference for people of color they believe deep down in their heart that means the are not racist. While they may not be sheet-wearing Klansmen, it does not mean that person is totally devoid of racist beliefs. I’ve spoken with a lot of white women, my age and older, that tell me that their daughter has “Black” children and I’ve heard the most outrageously insensitive racially tinged statements come from their moths followed by, “I’m not racist.” Teaching your child that he or she is brown, or some amalgamation of black and other, seems to me to be the most offensive and damaging practice possible. Being Black is not a matter of skin tone its an identity. It’s like teaching light skinned African American children that they aren’t really Black. If you can’t raise a child to be proud of being Black, that being Black is more than a color in a crayon box, then you have failed as a parent to teach your child their true identity. They will never relate to the fact that they are descendents to the Black Africans who were the architects of civilization, who survived the single most horrific act of genocide known to man, and who have the blood of heroes coursing through their veins.

Is a Black woman more capable of raising a more well-rounded biracial child? I’m going to say that I’ve not seen many instances of healthy parenting in the Black community with Black children, I can’t imagine that somehow that adding another element to the mix somehow creates a better parenting skills. There are too many unresolved issues that need to be addressed before I can give us a clean bill of health. The said fact of the matter is we are raising our boys to become emotionally immature men, we are raising our girls to become women that think that their value is in their physical beauty, and creating a materialism that is pathological. If a Black woman isn’t comfortable with her own natural hair texture, then it’s not possible for her to raise a child that is going to love their inherent African-ness. One has to ask themselves, what exactly is the benefit of being an Oreo? Color issues, internalized racism, unprocessed emotions . . . all the things that are unresolved issues when raising a Black child don’t magically disappear when raising a biracial child. We as a people don’t even have a real grasp of our own history; it adds more complexity when raising children with two different histories in which one has historically oppressed the other.

I know my own two mentees feel that racism is over because they can see both black and white videos back to back on MTV. When I point out that their school system is under funded and they don’t have the same educational opportunities of white children in other school districts and that is racist, they tell me that Justin Timberlake is cute and tell me that racism ended back in the Martin Luther King days. Are any parents, of black, white, or other children, teaching their children about the Long March, the Trail of Tears, Blood Sunday, or why isn’t something to be ashamed of to be a descendent of slaves? Who will honor the enslaved African in all of us that fought to survive so that we might have breath in our lungs today? Who will keep that memory alive and honor them? I think this “browning of America” that everyone says is the saving grace of all of us and the signal that racism is over, will erode away Black identity and preserve whiteness. I don’t see that as being a good thing.

Soul Mates


At the beginning of time, the Creator split one soul into masculine and feminine energies. Those energies evolved over the course of many lifetimes, perfecting themselves so that they could be reunited in the physical plane as one. You, my love, are my twin flame, my divine right partner, the yin to my yang and I am now made whole again with you.

Making love to you is transcendent. Every breath you take I feel as my own. I can’t tell if I’m inside you or you are inside of me. My vibration rises and my senses become overwhelmed when I’m with you. I have nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. Your gentle moans of pleasure fill my ears when no one is around and your touch caresses me throughout the day.

My fears, dreams, hopes, and aspirations are wrapped up in you. Your fingertips hold my pleasure; your shoulders carry my insecurities and doubts for me. Your mouth speaks the words that soothe my savage soul. Your tears wash away my hurt and I am baptized in the sweetness of your nectar.

I want you to know that only you can fulfill me and there is no reason to for me to look elsewhere. I feel electricity and sparks every time I see your face, every time I look in your eyes. I want to kiss you for hours, losing track of time. I want to be late for work because we can't bear the thought of starting the day off without connecting. I want to bathe in your essence my soul mate.


Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

Ebony Latino Love

She held her breath as she waited amongst the masses in the terminal at Hartsfield Airport. After more than two years of loving and fighting and loving again, they were finally going to meet. Theirs was an Internet/interracial love that had gone through more stages of development than an unborn child. Metaphorically, if things went well, Chantal and Juan were about to give birth to a love that defied definition.

He ascended the escalator and a lump formed in his throat. All of his dreams were wrapped tightly in this encounter. Finally, he was to know deep within his heart if the love he had felt for her the minute they virtually met so long ago was real. I was her openness for learning Latino culture and his adoration of the strength and resilience of Black women that kept them together. It was their stubbornness that kept them apart.

Their eyes connected instantly, as if they were drawn together like two inseparable parts of a whole. He dropped his bag at her feet and took his Ebony beauty into his arms. She fit perfectly in his arms as she stood on tiptoe to find her spot in his arms. He became erect immediately, not because of lust but because he knew immediately that he belonged to her. He had found his spiritual home within her soul and he knew his search had ended. Her tears flowed steadily and he comforted her with his soothing, gentle voice and whispered his professions of love to her. The crowd around them disappeared as they melted into each other’s arms.

The ride to her home was made in silence. Juan had to adjust himself at times to accommodate the raging erection that he couldn’t control. Chantal was afraid to speak because she thought the magical spell would break. Juan was too busy staring at his wife to make idle conversation. Not his future wife, but his wife in the most spiritual sense. No license or ceremony in the world could validate the love that emanated from his very being for her at that moment. Nothing could keep them apart from this point on. He couldn’t help but stare at her beauty and poise and enchanting curves.

Chantal fumbled with the key to her apartment for a few seconds; afraid to open the threshold to what could possibly be her wildest dreams becoming a reality. Juan knew he was home the second he stepped in the door. He would have to call his job and take a leave of absence while he looked for a job in Atlanta because he knew there was no way in hell he was going back to Cali without her. The door was barely closed when he pulled her to him and showered her neck with kisses. She responded more passionately this time, uninhibited by the presence of weary travelers and Homeland Security personnel. Her nipples were hard and the moistness between her legs was only a tiny signal of the passion that was about to transpire.

They kissed and it cemented in both their minds that there was no turning back. Chantal pulled Juan to the floor on top of her as their lust consumed them. She was grabbing for his dick and he was ripping the blouse from her body as buttons flew everywhere. They were two passionate, lust-filled animals in heat writhing on the floor as they surrendered to the years of intellectual and emotional foreplay they had shared.

Their kisses fed their hunger for one another. They feasted on each other, drank of each other’s essence. Chantal spread her legs and awaited her moment of reckoning. He lowered his mouth to her sweet center. Her slippery and sweet juices were flowing freely. Her lips were parted slightly, exposing her silken and pink center. His tongue softly flicked at her clit, sending waves of pleasure throughout her entire body. Chantal’s body jerked and shook every time his lips sucked her sensitive button. The more he licked the wetter she became. Her moans and utterances of profane and graphic directions were music to his ears. “Baby, I love the way you lick my pussy . . . oh shit . . . fuck . . . yesssss. . . finger me. Oh Papi, it feels so good. Ay Dios mio. Mas duro, por favorrrrr. Ahora.” Juan cupped her ass in his hands and pulled her pussy to his mouth and drove his tongue deep inside her. I need you inside me now. NOW,” she screamed. Chantal was lost in so much pleasure her tears began to flow as freely as the cum that now coated Juan’ face.

Juan held back the tears in his own eyes as he prepared to take his final journey home. They moaned out in ecstasy as he penetrated her very soul. Juan was content that he had found his reason for living. Every trial, every pain and hurt that he had ever suffered, was washed away by the sweet juices that coated his raging hardon. He was so deep inside her, so completely enveloped in the core of her being, he got lost in her identity and they became one.

His orgasm hit him hard. More than just the physical sensation of pleasure overtook him; it was the realization that they could not be separated ever again. He had left his mark inside her; his seed would surely grow. He collapsed on top of her and she cradled him and comforted him in her sweet and loving embrace.

“Te quiero mucho,” she whispered, as they drifted off into a peaceful slumber—forever to be man and wife.



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1001 Nights Collection