This Woman's Worth 08/02 by AfroerotiK | Blog Talk Radio

This Woman's Worth 08/02 by AfroerotiK | Blog Talk Radio

What value does a Black woman have?  Is she little more than a “thing” a man chooses to cater to his ego and sense of masculinity and his sexual desires?  What makes a Black woman have merit and worth?  Is her value dependent upon her number of past lovers, the size of her behind or how to make it clap?  Is she only to be judged based on her ability to cook, clean, or her propensity to allow men to lie, cheat and be emotionally immature without complaint?  Is the Black woman a really a slut, a whore, and a bitch, is she nothing more than a gold-digger and manipulator?  How have we gone from demanding respect for ourselves to placing our value as women in our ability to fuck?

Join with me as I discuss the true value of a Black woman, where we’ve gone wrong, and how to heal our misperceptions.  This show is required listening for all Black men and women.  Celebrate the Black woman, rejoice in the divine feminine, and restore the Black woman to her true place as Queen and Goddess.  Joining me for this discussion will be Jawanza Amennun, a yogi, activist, erotic artist, musician, esoteric poet, and emotional healer.  The self-proclaimed “Unapologetic Goddess Worshipper” will be enlightening us with his thoughts and perceptions poetry, on how to create a larger community of men of good will towards women, and so much more. 

Society told me a secret.

Society told me a secret that a white woman’s pussy tastes better than mine.  That’s exactly what society wants me to believe.  There is this rumor going around that white woman is prettier, no, no, she’s HOT.  She’s sexier, she’s better in bed; she’s more sophisticated and less sassy.  Everyone, and I do mean everyone, desires a white woman; she’s the epitome of beauty and lust.  The white woman is a sign of status, she lets Black men know that they have arrived when they can have her on his arm; she’s the trophy to be put on display.  She sure is beautiful, flawless even up there on that pedestal, the ultimate object of desire.

I have to wonder though, is a Latina woman’s sex really that much better than mine?  Ay caramba, it must be, society told me so.  She’s got more sazon, she’s spicier, she’s muy caliente and fine.  Her Spanish and African blood makes her just right mixture of all things sensual, not an ugly savage like me.  You see, that’s what I’m led to believe by the whispers of the slaves who are no longer beaten by the massa’s whips and tethered by steel and iron chains but by the ones who drive expensive whips and wear gold chains around their necks.  They tell me that Carmen is sooo, soooo very fine.  Who am I to compare?  Just a regular ole Black chick, not sexy in any way, ghetto and unwanted. 

Wait, what’s that you say?  Oh damn, not the Asian chick too!  She’s submissive and demure and her coochie is tighter.  Man, a sista can’t win.  OK, that’s it, there’s no one else in line before me.  Wait, biracial women too?  Alright, I can see that.  They are only half black so I’ll take a step back.  Two steps you say?  Oh, got it.  Light skinned women, damn, I forgot. 

Well, I’ve got news for you society, you’ve got it all wrong.  You see, I am the original woman, all life comes from me.  I will not let you dictate my self esteem and sense of worth based on your lies.  You may have forgotten, you may have been misled.  But I’m here to tell you that I Am beautiful, I am sensual, I desirable and you’re just plain wrong. 

My black as midnight skin is like satin and silk to touch.  You see, Black don’t crack and it absorbs the sun.  Feel the heat of my spirit rise as you experience a true Goddess.   My eyes are deep and dark and they’ve seen a lot of pain but they reflect my inner light that shines so bright, unafraid to be Black, proud to be sexy. My sensual lips are full and made for kissing, my full, round hips sway and swerve in rhythmic time.  You tell me my features are too full, not refined.  I say kiss my entire Black ass.  You told me to cover my thick, natural, nappy, African, wooly hair, that I should be ashamed.  I can create more styles with my mane of glory than any white woman ever could and make them all look good.  My breasts are full and heavy and my milk flows like the river Nile.  My nipples stand proud like Kilimanjaro, hard like a diamond mined, my sacred blood nourishes the generations.  I am mother earth, I am Africa.  I am Egypt and Ghana and Timbuktu. I am the Sahara and Sudan and Madagascar.  I am the starry night sky and dessert plains.  I am Cleopatra and Sheba and Venus Hottentot too.  I am the antelope and the cheetah simultaneously; I am the hunter and the hunted.  I am the gentle waves of an unforgiving dark ocean lapping at the hull of the slave ship. 

So, I invite you to experience sex the way it was meant to be, with the original woman, and you will see that I’m not the lowly thing you’ve tried to convince me I am.  Do you smell that, that intoxicating scent?  That’s my beautiful black pussy, deliciously pink hot wet and sweet.  Taste that sacred space, that holy temple.  My juices taste like honey so sweet.  I will give you my surrender, my uncontrolled cries of passion.  Fill your hands with my thick ass, lose yourself  inside me.  Join with me and as you feel my silky wet walls envelop you, surround you, bathe you in dark divinity.  Make love to me, pleasure me.  Fill me with your seed. Society knows that I am beautiful, sexy, and erotic.   I will ascend to take my rightful place as coveted and desired, the Black woman, compared to none. 

Copyright 2012 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved

Race and Sexuality w/Tristan Taormino & Cherie Ann Turpin 07/26 by AfroerotiK | Blog Talk Radio

Race and Sexuality w/Tristan Taormino & Cherie Ann Turpin 07/26 by AfroerotiK | Blog Talk Radio

Call in and listen.  (347) 945-6538.  It's going down in less than an hour.  

Erotica For You

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Order your very own CUSTOMIZED, personalized erotic story, written just for you, about you, with details specific to you and only you. I will create a story especially for you, it will explore your most intimate secrets, your greatest desires, it will arouse you in ways you’ve never imagined you could be. This won’t be just a story with your name in it; the details will be so accurate, so real, and so precise, you’ll wonder I wasn’t watching you in your most private moments, if there’s some way that I could read you innermost thoughts. It will be something you will enjoy over and over and over again. After a 45 minute personal interview where you open up and share your secrets, I will begin the process of creating a story that will fit you like a glove, like nothing else you’ve ever experienced before. This will be a one of a kind, exclusive story written in such a way that it will leave your heart racing and your body drained.

Race and Sexuality w/Tristan Taormino & Cherie Ann Turpin 07/26 by AfroerotiK | Blog Talk Radio

Race and Sexuality w/Tristan Taormino & Cherie Ann Turpin 07/26 by AfroerotiK | Blog Talk Radio

In the adult industry, white women are “Hot,” Latina women are “Exotic,” Asian women are “Dolls,” and black women are   "Bitchez." Black men are “Mandingos,” and  "Niggaz," and white men run the entire show.  Join us for an in-depth conversation about race and sexuality where we talk about the implications and effects of continued stereotypes and racism in the adult industry and the how it affects perceptions in society.  In the house will be two dynamic ladies helping to peel back the layers of how race and sexuality impact culture.

Tristan Taormino is an award-winning writer, sex educator, speaker, radio host and feminist pornographer. She is the editor of 25 anthologies and author of seven books, including The Secrets of Female Ejaculation and Great G-Spot Orgasms and her latest, The Ultimate Guide to Kink: BDSM, Role Play and the Erotic Edge. She writes an advice column for Taboo Magazine. Check out her radio show, Sex Out Loud, on the Voice America Variety Channel.

Cherie Ann Turpin is an Associate Professor in the Department of English at the University of the District of Columbia. Dr. Turpin's research areas include African Diaspora Studies, Gender and Sexuality Studies, World Literature, Multicultural American Literature, and Film. She recently published How Three Black Women Writers Combined Spiritual and Sensual Love: Rhetorically Transcending the Boundaries of Language.  She's also host to an online radio show on BlogTalkRadio: At the Edge: An Afrofuturist Salon.  

AfroerotiK is . . .

All the Way to Heaven | AfroerotiK

All the Way to Heaven


At the precise moment of our birth, each and every person who has been blessed enough to take just one, single breath of life is given a special gift from the Most High God.  It’s a gift so special, so sacred, that it can only be given once.  It belongs entirely and completely to that individual and the exact moment that gift is given and all the details surrounding that event will be FOREVER remembered by them.  Sharing one’s virginity, an act symbolic of entry into adulthood, the awakening of one’s sexuality, is something that should ONLY be gifted to someone deserving of such an honor, someone who will treat it as the sacred and holy sacrament that it is.  Aaron Waters was the man who had been chosen to receive Taisha Dixon’s most precious gift and it was an honor and a responsibility he was not going to take lightly.


From the moment he met Taisha, Aaron knew that she was special.  There was something about her, something about the way she thought and believed and, just something about how she carried herself that made her vastly different than the other young ladies her age.  First and foremost, she had chosen to remain a virgin until the ripe old age of 20.  These days, both guys and girls are becoming sexually active in their early teens and by the time most girls are 20, they have seen and experienced all things sexual from A to Z, a few times in fact.  Her faith in God was strong, it was the primary reason she had chosen to remain chaste for so long in fact, but it was not a blind, unquestioning faith.  Taisha was informed; she possessed a unique ability to separate the myths and oppressive dogma of the church from the joy that can only come from having a personal relationship with the Creator of All.  She was also smart enough and savvy enough to understand that sensuality, sexuality, and carnal pleasure were birthrights to all human beings and that our emotional and spiritual health depended upon our connection, our touch, our moments of ecstatic bliss when two bodies are joined together which was a meditation and a communion with God that can only be shared with another human being during the joining of two bodies.


To Aaron, Taisha was a perfect mix of beauty, femininity, intellect, spirituality, and sensuality.   She was down-to-earth and grounded but she was cool and sweet as well.  The choice to share her most precious gift with him was not a decision that they came to haphazardly or randomly.  It was a choice they came to together, based largely on their physical attraction to one another but primarily because of their similar core values, beliefs, and interests.  Taisha cared for him deeply and she loved his spirit.  She was convinced that he was a good man with the potential to be a great man and that he possessed all the traits and characteristics of a man with whom she could build something really, really astounding.  He possessed integrity and honor and she was quite convinced that sharing her virginity with him was the next, most important step to forming an even more important bond that could potentially lead to a deeper, more significant long-term relationship.  Very much to her credit, Taisha understood that in order to form a healthy, emotionally-mature, long-term relationship, she knew in her heart and soul that it had to be based on sexual chemistry and compatibility as well as all the other things they already had in common.  She was incredibly unique in that she understood that in order for her to fully mature and be ready to handle the responsibility of an adult relationship, to become a REAL woman, not just in age but in spirit and heart as well, that she was going to have to gift her virginity and explore her sensual side.


Taisha was ready.  Aaron . . . not so much.  They had discussed it time and time again, sharing open, deep communication about what it meant, the ramifications and implications thereof, even down to what form of birth control to use.  Aaron wasn’t a virgin and he knew that Taisha was going to remember her first time until the end of time.  He wanted it to be special for her, to share this experience with her, but the good guy in him was  . . . well scared really that he was going to hurt her, emotionally and/or physically; he just wasn’t sure he was up for the responsibility of being someone’s first.  He thought that was for fairy tales and Prince Charming type dudes and he was afraid he wasn’t up to the task. 


Oddly enough it was Taisha who comforted his fears.  She did so by just being an exceptional woman.  She listened when he was frustrated with work and wanting something more.  She didn’t judge him or berate him, she communicated well and she just had a light that emanated from her that seemed to make her glow.  She was radiant from the inside out and he didn’t want to dirty that.  He hadn’t quite come to the same level of comfort about sex and sexuality as Taisha had even though he had much more experience.  He was an attractive black man with a sexy body in a society that told him he had to be a sexual predator, stalking his victims, using them, throwing them away for the next “piece.”  He was also raised by a strict, religious family in the church where he was taught that sex was for marriage only and that he was a wretched sinner if he even thought about pleasures of the flesh.  With all these messages and influences, sex for Aaron was something that usually just happened and he felt a lot of pleasure in the moment and modicum of guilt afterwards.   He wasn’t sure he was up to the task of making someone’s first time memorable and special but he made the decision in his heart and in his mind that he wanted to share this with Taisha and he was going to do what he needed to do.


Aaron had made plans to “take the trip all the way to heaven” (as he had begun calling it) without Taisha knowing the exact particulars.  He didn’t like the term losing her virginity because you lose your keys, you lose your mind.  Virginity, to Aaron, was not something to be lost or found or stolen; and it certainly was not something to be taken.  Luckily for him his best friend Jose was out of town for the weekend and he had left them the keys to his place so they could have no interruptions from roommates or parents.  Aaron had taken all the necessary precautions to prepare for the evening.  He’d done all the typical stuff, like making reservations for dinner and ensuring the sheets were clean and the apartment tidy but he had also gone to get tested for STDs because he wanted Taisha to feel safe and secure in his arms in every way possible.


Taisha had had a terrible week, an absolutely dreadful, awful, horrible week at work and she was looking forward to getting away and enjoying some time alone with Aaron.  He told her he would pick her up Friday night at 7 pm sharp for their date.  When he arrived, she looked like an African Goddess.  She was wearing a cinnamon colored skirt that hung low on her hips and a v-neck t-shirt that fit close enough to show off all her assets but wasn’t at all vulgar.  Aaron couldn’t take his eyes off her lips.  They seemed so sensuous and full and shimmery with her lip gloss shining.


“Hey, where are we going?” Taisha inquired, as they drove through a neighborhood that seems a little more gentrified than they were accustomed to frequenting.


“It’s a place called Bastianelli’s.  I read the reviews for it in the paper and it’s supposed to be really nice. I got a little side hustle going doing some house painting and I put a little money away for a special occasion and I thought I would treat you to a really nice dinner.”


Taisha was humbled.  She welled up with emotion; she thought it was such a sweet gesture, that Aaron was such a sweet guy.  Dinner was wonderful, romantic even as the fed each other, laughed and just had a relaxed, stress-free evening.  After dinner, they sat outside and people-watched for a little while.  She could tell he was nervous about something but she didn’t have a clue what it could be.  When he suggested that they go home, she just assumed he meant he was going to take her back to her apartment.  She was even more confused when they pulled up in front of Jose’s place.


Unsure of what to say, Aaron didn’t say a word, he just let Taisha out his car and he led her to the front door, fumbling with the keys in the door.  Taisha, of course, was questioning what was going on but she was starting to put the pieces together.  She didn’t want to make any assumptions but she didn’t want to come out and ask directly either lest some spell be broken and they would be plunged back to reality.  If this was a dream she did not want to wake up.  She was teetering between being nervous and being excited at the same time so she just decided to see where things were going to go in silence.


Sitting nervously on the sofa, Taisha watched as Aaron lit some candles and turned on his slow jam Pandora station.  That was about it for his seduction techniques.  Beyond that, he didn’t have a clue what a guy was supposed to do to romance a woman so that would have to suffice.  What he did know was that he wanted her, craved her, that he desired her, sexually of course but more than just that.  He was starting to get aroused just thinking about it.  He wanted everything to go perfectly; he wanted it to be a night she would enjoy.  His game plan?  Go slow and let nature take its course.  That’s what he kept repeating to himself.  Go slow and let nature take its course.


They were like two teenagers sitting there, the soft glow of the candles illuminating them in a tension-filled room.  Both were unsure of what to do so they fidgeted, still not uttering a word.  Finally, Aaron took a deep breath.  If this was going to happen, he was going to have to make the first move.  He was going to have to make every move.  He reached across the sofa; the distance seemed liked miles, like light years.  He took her hand in his and he pulled her closer.  Taisha succumbed to his non-verbal direction and scooted down next to him.  He lifted her face to his and they kissed.  Lightly, he put his lips to hers.  He tasted her cherry flavored gloss, sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, and slid his hands down the slope of her soft, brown neck to her shoulders.  Taisha let out a gentle moan and twisted her body around so that she was at the edge of the sofa leaning into him.


Their kisses grew more passionate, more fevered as Taisha straddled his body, her thighs pressed tightly against his sides, his hands full with the curves of her backside.  She could feel the evidence of his erection and she was light-headed, giddy with the thought that she had done that to him, caused that reaction in him.  Every sensation for her was heightened and new and exciting and sexy.

Pure, natural, animalistic, primitive instinct took over Aaron and he knew that he had to make love to this woman and soon.  Maneuvering her around, he laid her back on the sofa and pressed his body into hers.  He started whispering in her ear, “I want you. I need you.”  He took her hand and directed it towards the steely erection that was desperate to break free from its confines.  Taisha marveled at the thickness and stiffness and tried to get a gauge as to its length to know what was in store.  Being so inexperienced, she couldn’t tell.  All she knew was that she was ready, that she wanted him, she wanted this.  Aaron had practically his entire weight pressed deeply into her and Taisha wanted and needed more.  He was taking her breath away but in that moment, she wanted him closer, she wanted them to be more connected.  In that moment, her primal, instinctual drives took over.  She was no longer a virgin in the typical sense of the word rather she was a woman preparing to share herself with her lover.

 

Aaron knew it was time for the next step and he stood up.  Looking down, he could see Taisha in all her beauty.  Her breathing was labored and her chest was heaving up and down, betraying her arousal.  He scooped her up in his arms like it was nothing, like she belonged to him and carried her to the bedroom.  Taisha held on tight, her arms wrapped firmly around his neck, feeling like she was floating on air.  He laid her on the bed and stood back for a brief moment.  He pulled his t-shirt off over his head and kicked off his shoes and socks.  He wanted to ask, “Are you sure?  Are you ready for this,” but he didn’t have to ask.  The look of desire in Taisha’s eyes told him all he needed to know.


            He undressed her slowly, carefully removing each article of her clothing, leaving her only in her delicate waist beads that accentuated her tummy, hips, and adorable belly button.   She smelled delicious: like a combination of feminine arousal and patchouli.  Beautiful, brown, and bare, he took every delicious inch of her body in, savoring her with his eyes.  He stood at the foot of the bed for the last time for the evening and lowered his remaining garments: standing strong, proud, hard, and very ready in every way possible.


Climbing on the bed, he crawled between Taisha’s legs and spread them.  Taisha’s head was spinning.  She felt exposed and vulnerable and yet somehow she knew it was right.  Slowly, softly, and ever so gently, Aaron lowered his mouth to her center.  He kissed her delicately there and sent shivers up her spine.  He took his tongue and began to explore her further, tasting her sweetness, lapping up her juices.  Taisha was beside herself.  Nothing in life had ever felt so good.  She received his licks and kisses and met them with her gyrating hips.  It was only when he spread the lips of her femininity and he found her magic spot with his tongue that Taisha experienced pleasure untold.  Using his tongue like a sensual paint brush, circling, swirling, designing her with pleasure he gently coaxed her love button to hardness and began to swirl it with his tongue, suck it tenderly, and stimulate her like an artist creating a masterpiece with his mouth.


            Taisha felt the breath leave her lungs.  She was literally breathless.  Sounds, noises began escaping her lips.  She wanted to hold them back but they had a mind of their own.  She grunted and groaned.  Before she knew what was happening, she felt tremors happening in her lowering body.  Her legs were shaking and there was this strange, indescribable feeling of electricity coursing through her body.  Her breathing was coming in short, raspy breaths now and she grabbed his head and held it to her mound, uncertain of anything, uncertain of everything, except the fact that she didn’t want this feeling to stop.


            Aaron didn’t stop; he licked with all his might, faster now but still gently.  Pleasure was now consuming Taisha’s body and she was fighting a feeling she couldn’t name or understand.  It was like an itch somewhere in her body that couldn’t be scratched, an explosion that was self-contained within each and every cell of her body.  Her legs shook, trembled and she was holding on to Aaron’s head for dear life, demanding that he not move, not stop.  Not once did Aaron lick or suck too hard, never did he think of biting her.  He was affectionately, lovingly coaxing her orgasm out with his tongue and Taisha released her passion, exploding in orgasm.  She saw fireworks and stars and felt a release like she had never known before.


            Rather than being satisfied, Taisha was desperate for more.  She was ready to take the next step, the final step.  She was wet beyond her wildest dreams and she could no longer form words.  She was communicating with her eyes, her hands, her body.  Again, he pressed his body to hers, this time unencumbered by any clothing.  Taisha wrapped her legs around him, pulled him to her closer, tightly.  The moisture between her thighs provided the lubrication that drove her to distraction as he slid his penis between the folds of her beautiful, engorged, slippery lips.


“Make love to me!” she said.


Aaron didn’t need to be told twice.  He needed this more than she did at this point.  He pushed her legs back and took careful aim.  The heat was intense.  He was intoxicated with her scent.  She was giving herself to him and they were about to become one.  Taisha was fearless.  She had no second thoughts or doubts.  What she had was desire and passion for the man about to join with her like no man had ever done.


He pushed the head in and they both let out a guttural sound known only to lovers who experience that mind-blowing, heart stopping, sensation the very first time you join together as one.  It’s pleasure indescribable.  It’s connection and intimacy and truth.  He didn’t force himself in her, rather, he let her control the action.  There was a brief moment of resistance but she got acclimated to his size without any pain whatsoever.  It helped that she was so turned on, so relaxed from her orgasm.  Slowly, inch by inch, he went deeper until Taisha felt like she couldn’t breathe any more.  She felt like Aaron was her breath, that he was her life force.


Fully inside her, Aaron looked for the sign that he could make love to her with abandon.  Taisha wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer.  With that, he knew it was time.  He thrust.  He withdrew himself almost completely and then he thrust again.  He was rhythmic and graceful, in and out, in and out, IN  . . . AND . . . . OUT.   Passion consumed them and they were meeting each other’s bodies, connected, joined.  He felt like a virgin unable to control himself, his arousal.  They were making love now, passionate, hot, sweaty love.  The muscles in his back, thighs, arms, and butt flexed and he cried out into the night, “Ohhhhhhhh God,” as he experienced his own personal heaven.


He collapsed onto her, breathless.  “Are you okay?” he asked, genuinely concerned for her well-being.

Taisha comforted him with her whispers and sweet, soft kisses on his face and lips.  They were lovers now.  Her womanly instincts to protect and nurture him took over and she caressed his beautiful brown skin and looked him deeply in the eye as she vowed with her heart that they would explore more intimacy and passion in the days, weeks, and months to come.


Copyright 2012 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved.

At the Edge: Talking Erotics & Afrofuturism with AfroerotiK 06/19 by At the Edge An Afrofuturist Salon | Blog Talk Radio

At the Edge: Talking Erotics & Afrofuturism with AfroerotiK 06/19 by At the Edge An Afrofuturist Salon | Blog Talk Radio

Black Dominance and White Submission Part 2 06/08 by HoneySoul | Blog Talk Radio

Black Dominance and White Submission Part 2 06/08 by HoneySoul | Blog Talk Radio

In episode one we revealed the white man's dirty secret concerning his desire for sexual humiliation and abuse at the hands of the Black Female concerning Dominance and white male submission.
Join HoneySoul Radio and our special guest Scottie Lowe of AfroerotiK, in this episode as we discuss Part 2 of Black Female Dominance and white male submission. We will explore the questions?

• Is using Black domination and sexual humiliation a means of social and racial reform for white men?
• Does Black women's involvement  in this  sexual dominant role exchange alter her characteristics and behavior?
• How has this sexual behavior contributed to Black Men's sexual psyche?
• and more....

Naked Black Justice

Naked Black Justice

Dark, Sweet Knight

Dear, delicious, sweet, chocolate warrior. One thing we need to work on is redefining how you function, operate, and communicate with me.  I don't need a sub to yes Ma'am me to death.  You are a Black man, you carry the weight and responsibility of being the most revered, feared person on the planet.  You are strong, wise, noble, altogether brilliant and beautiful.  That should come across in every word you utter, every minute of the day, in my presence and out.  I don't want a weak, sniveling submissive Black man who doesn't have a mind of his own, who can't answer a question, who wants to relinquish all his thoughts and preferences.  Your role on earth is of the mighty African warrior.  You can never forget that, you must never carry yourself as less than that. 

Rather than being my bitch or my submissive, perhaps you can be my knight.  A knight's responsibility and duty is to protect and serve his Queen.  A knight is strong, valiant, and chivalrous.  A knight considers it an honor to ensure that the Queen is pleased.  The queen doesn't look at the knight as lowly and worthless but as a trusted warrior, soldier, protector, and servant.  A knight follows all the commands he is given without question or hesitation but he is smart, witty, and resourceful.  Certainly, there are no limits to what he would do to please his Queen.  Behind closed doors, in the dark of night, he would bow to her, kiss her feet, show his devotion, and perform any task she desired.  I think you shall be my knight and I your queen.  That feels much better to me than being my submissive. 

Of course, behind closed door, I will use you in every delicious, nasty, perverted way possible.  Behind closed doors, I will be your Mistress and your Master, your Mommy and your Daddy.  I will be your teacher, your guide, your disciplinarian, and your lover.  I will keep you horny and aroused, I will allow you to be the filthy slut you long to be.  You will beg and plead with me for release, for more stimulation.  I will be the center of your universe and I will use you to please me, entertain me, and serve me in any way I see fit.  I will make you into my footstool, masseuse, dildo, and plaything.  You'll serve anyone I tell you to and do it with pride.  You'll BEG me to get fucked to satisfy your insatiable ass. 

In public you will open my door, pull out my chair, you will take my arm and lavish me with gifts and trinkets to show your devotion.  In private, you will bathe my body, anoint me with oils and lotions and lick me until I explode in your mouth.  You will provide me with endless hours of foreplay until I demand that you fuck me.  Your pussy will be mine to use and fuck any way I want, you will bend over, spread your legs or ride my strapon or the fake dicks of my friends when I say the word.  That's if you want to belong to me. 

Sweet to Eat

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Having a Pussy is NOT a Job

There seems to be this thought process, this commonly-held belief that being a woman, that having a pussy is some sort of form of employment, that a vagina is a commodity men must purchase in order to be able to enjoy it, that sex is a business.  I’m here to say that while that’s what a pussy might have become in this patriarchal, misogynist, sexist, oppressive society, I’m here to boldly declare that having a pussy is not a job. 

I’ve heard and witnessed several conversations, exchanges, diatribes, monologues, and debates as of late where this notion that women who are not “selling it” are disadvantaged.  Supposedly, the poor, unfortunate women who not selling pussy are bitter and angry because they are not getting paid for what other women are profiting from.  There seems to be this deluded notion that a woman’s role in life is to please a man and that he must pay for that right.  When you have a society based on the concept that God is a man and he created woman for man, you will forever had a warped perception of what a woman is supposed to be.  People will even tell you that selling pussy is the oldest profession, that women were selling pussy long before any other sorts of business transactions were being made.  That is absurd.  Sex was for procreation.  Sex was for recreation.  Sex was for meditative, transcendent pleasure.  Sex was not for purchase until men decided that they needed to find a way to control women, to harness women’s power, to deny them pleasure.  Let me tell you something here and now, as long as men and women believe this lie, as long as women are seeing their pussies as something of value that men can purchase, intimate, healthy relationships are going to suffer the consequences of such warped beliefs. 

A woman’s body was not ever intended to be something to be purchased.  I’m here to boldly declare that having a pussy is a privilege, an awesome responsibility, at times a burden, but it is not now, nor was it ever intended to be way to make money.  Women give birth; we are the victims of rape, molestation, and abuse. We are used for no other reason than we can provide men carnal pleasure. Capitalism, money, business are all man-made concepts, and rather warped concepts spiritually.  When you pay for something you own it and no man should ever be able to say that he owns a woman’s most sacred space.  Women who sell pussy are not empowered, they are pawns in the game that men control.  Ultimately, it’s men who determine their worth.  Women have to meet the impossibly high standards of men’s tiny definition of beauty and femininity to be considered valuable.  Women who sell pussy are dependent upon men for their sense of self worth.  When the men stop paying for it, where does she turn to find her value?  Caring for a man and pleasing him is not a woman’s responsibility in life, it’s her choice to do so when she finds a partner who values and pleases her. 

I’m here to say that as a woman who has NEVER sold her pussy, not once, not for a car note, not for a rent payment, not for any dollar amount, I don’t feel bitter or angry at the women who are selling it.  I have never had sex unless it was for love or lust and I’m perfectly fine with that.  I know that my mind and my heart are my greatest assets, that I don’t need a man to validate my worth.  I know that I’m not an object to be purchased and replaced by some man who is going to buy me like he buys the next woman who gets his dick hard.  I know that I was not created to serve a man, to cater to his whims, I know that my job as wife/lover is not to “make it hot for my husband.”  My job as a partner and lover and spouse is to support my husband as he supports me.  It’s not a one-sided transaction where he fills his lust because he’s been out all day making money and I’m supposed to be at home fixing dinner and cleaning the house to keep him happy.  Sex, either in marriage or without, should never be about money.  It cheapens the value of women when they sell it and it warps the minds of men who pay for it because they think that women are items to be bought and sold.  Sex should be about intimacy, passion, lust, pleasure, communication, prayer.  Sex should be about sharing time and energy with the person you love.  When sex becomes a bargaining chip, a service rendered for a payment, a chore or duty for which compensation is required, then sex itself becomes vulgar.  And as hard as it is for some men to believe, every woman does not sell her pussy, whether it’s for dinner or in marriage.  Many do.  Maybe most have been conditioned to think of their pussies as for sale. 

Women, empower yourself.  Redefine yourself.  You are not worth whatever a man will pay for you, you are priceless.  Your value is not in the number of designer shoes you own or the car you drive or being able to pay your bills because you can give great head.  You were not put on earth to be the mistress, maid, or cook for men.  Your role as a woman is not to stand behind a man but to stand beside him, to build with him, not do his bidding.  Ask yourself how much a man is willing to pay for your goods and services and then multiply that times a number so large you can’t comprehend it to know your true worth.  Men, you will forever be emotionally stunted and immature as long as you think pussy has a price tag.  See a woman’s value in her integrity, her character, her intellect, not in the fat, wetness between her legs.  You are perpetrators of the most heinous behavior when you pay for that which is supposed to be sacred and worshipped. 

Copyright 2012 Scottie Lowe AfroerotiK

The love I share is with a Black man.

The love I share is with a Black man.  A strong, beautiful, talented, intelligent, wonderful, Black man.  Not just as in the color of his skin, but Black in his heart: proud, confident, and secure.  A man that knows that keeping it real does not mean getting blunted or that he is a nigga.  He strives for excellence and looks to lift up and enlighten others along the way.  The Black man I love is my friend, my lover, my partner, my advocate and the father of my Black children. 

I believe in him and he believes in me.  I never have to ask, “Do you love me?” because the evidence is there is word and in deed.  Every morning we get up and share time with one another.  Sometimes we shower together, bathing in the closeness and love that we share.  Other times we make love until we are both late for work.  It’s passionate and fulfilling, not borne of a morning hard on, but of genuine passion and respect.  The time we spend together in the morning makes it easier to face the petty annoyances of the day.  I can reflect on his love and nothing seems to bother me.  I can face every challenge assured.  Assured that he will never call me a bitch or raise his hand to me.  Assured that the first woman with a big butt and no panties won’t lure him away.  Assured that our fights will not be with each other, but against racial and societal ills.  I’m assured that we are fighting for a future together. 

Do I love my Black man?  More than words can say.  When I speak of him, my eyes light up and I tell everybody about his talents, abilities and accomplishments.  (He gets so embarrassed sometimes.)  And I show him I love him every chance I get.  My love is there for the long haul, I’m down for whatever.  I’ll stand beside my man ready to face any challenge given to us. 

Why do I love my Black man?  When I’m afraid, he doesn’t make me feel inferior, he allows me to cry.  When I succeed, he doesn’t feel threatened, he rejoices in my accomplishments.  He deals with my faults and shortcomings.  I’m not perfect but he thinks I am perfect for him. He helps me to be a better person.  He doesn’t put undue pressure on me to be Superwoman: holding down a job, fixing dinner in high heels and a tight dress, ready to suck his dick and spread my legs, right after I do the laundry and put the kids to bed.  When I feel down, who do you think is my biggest cheerleader?  He stays awake through the entire ballet, and he only complains a little.  That’s OK, I make sandwiches and snacks for him during the game, cause that’s what makes him happy. 

Our time alone together is just that, alone.  Away from the pressures of a day to day existence.  Words are not necessary.  Our deepest communication is nonverbal.  Our dreams are the same, our hearts beat in the same rhythm.  It’s a good thing we get to spend time apart occasionally.  When I’m away on business or he’s having a boy’s weekend, we get a chance to reflect on how much we mean to one another.  There is never any insecurity or jealousy between us.  I smile when I see his head turn at the sight of a beautiful Black woman.  He jumps to the defense of sisters when they are being dissed by less enlightened men.  He takes the time to spend with young brothers, providing a positive role model for them to aspire to.  How could I not love this man?

And just when you think things can’t get any better.  He gives me that long, hard, hot, wet, sticky, Black love.  He eats my pussy till my eyes are rolling back in my head and I’m babbling incoherently. We have made love for days at a time, only stopping to open the door for the Chinese food deliveryman and wash off a healthy sheen of “love.”  I can share any erotic fantasy with him and know that I’m not going to be ridiculed or shamed.  He takes the time to make every time special: music, candlelight, poetry (his own).  I get wet just thinking about him. 

Sometimes problems do arise.  We face them as a challenge to greater heights of understanding.  We hardly fight, we playfully disagree, and if I have to pick up one more pair of dirty socks……Yeah, he works my nerves once in a while, but I never forget that I love him, nor that he loves me.  His family is mine, mine has become his.  Our children, planned and beautiful, created or adopted, are reflections of our love.  My eyes fill with tears sometimes when I see him reading them a bedtime story or giving them a bath.  Our sons, respecters of Black women, are political, street smart and fine.  Our daughters not dictated to by any stereotype, have beauty and charm as well as intellect and ambition.

Most importantly, I share my love of God with my Black man.  Every morning, every night, we thank God for the blessings we have received.  We worship, meditate and pray together. Our relationship to God defies traditional definition.  We make God first in our lives.  We face the world knowing that our love is a Divine gift from God.