Breaking Bread at the Table of Reconciliation

Black Relationships are failing. Black relationships are in danger of becoming extinct. As a Black woman, searching for a Black man for a partner, I’m constantly accused of male bashing if I say ANYTHING at all about the unfavorable behaviors of Black men. I’m attacked for having standards that are too high and barraged with rhetoric. I can point out the issues Black women have and Black men are all too quick to jump on the bandwagon and blame Black women for everything wrong in the universe.

Well, if we are ever going to heal, if we are ever going to come together, we need to start having the discussions that are tough. Sadly, the vast majority of Black men who are the most outspoken are the ones that are the most dysfunctional. I’m putting out a call for Black men who can take constructive criticism and who can voice their concerns in a way that is conducive of communication. Let’s take off the gloves, let’s truly converse.

Black men can be:
Afraid of commitment
Irrationally Defensive
Distrustful
Untrustworthy
Deceptive
Physically intimidating
Passive Aggressive
Sexually promiscuous
Emotionally unavailable
Hardened by their role in society
Unsure of how to express their real feelings
Searching for identity

DO NOT GET ME WRONG! I’m not saying all Black men are all those things, but let’s not sugar coat things either. Every Black man has to deal with some, if not all, of those issues to some degree, regardless of socio-economic status. Black men have been socialized to be emotionally immature and they expect the world to revolve around their dysfunction. Ain’t no relationship going to heal if that’s the case. Black mothers, almost categorically, don’t raise their sons to be good partners in relationships; they coddle them and don’t hold them accountable for their actions. All too often, they make their sons responsible for their own emotional happiness while blaming them for the absence of their fathers. Even the most exceptional models of Black men have issues with some facet those things. And let me address the issue that I know is going to be brought up. Yes, white men and other races deal with those exact same things. But I don’t give a damn about those other races. My concern, my priority is my own race.

I’m not dissin the brothas. I’m simply pointing out that their model of was left somewhere on the Gold Coast 500 years ago. Any descendant of slaves is going to have to deal with issues to some degree because that is our legacy. Simply because we are sick does not mean we should pull the plug. Yes, we have healing to do. Yes, we as Black women have our own baggage too. The state of affairs between Black women and men is not a stagnate one. It can change and evolve if we take the time to nurture ourselves to regain our true position of grace and dignity.

My personal preference is a Black man. I can’t imagine anything finer. I love the way they smell when they sweat. I love the way I feel safe inside their strong arms. I love the feel of those thick, hot, juicy lips pressed against mine. I adore being penetrated by that harder than steel Black love. (Oh shit, I better stop cause I think I am having a hot flash) Where was I? I lost my train of thought. Even with my love of Black men, I’m not going to say that they are without flaw. Talk therapy is the only way I know to get to the heart of the matter. Let’s get the ball rolling.

Waiting for Godot

Or for the existentially illiterate, “Waiting for Mr. Right”

Act 1, Black man, In his 30s or 40s, convinced he’s flawless, goes after women who are superficial and materialistic, convinced that all women are like that and that he is righteous on his path of lies and manipulation because he has never once examined own role in drawing unhealthy relationships to him. He goes from woman to woman to woman and becomes more arrogant, continues to lie more, to treat women poorly because he is manifesting women in his life that reflect his own level of dysfunction. He trash talks Black women and waves the banner of “good black man” because he is employed and not incarcerated.

Act 2, Intelligent, attractive, genuinely introspective Black woman sits at home alone, reading self-help books, writing affirmations, analyzing ways in which to make her next attempt at a relationship better, trying to find ways to fill her time without the company of a partner. She visualizes a man in her life who has integrity, compassion, who is emotionally mature, who is ready and willing to commit himself to a monogamous, healthy, equally loving relationship. She waits.

For a great many Black women, a growing population, this isn’t thespian flair, it’s reality. For far too many of us, we are relinquishing the one night stands, the booty calls, the homie lover friends and we are setting our standards higher. We are saying that we deserve more, that we are going to save ourselves until we find a man who is deserving of our time and company. In a perfect world, Act 3 of this tragedy would be the Black man in his 30s or 40s would take evaluation of his life, he would make steps to heal the past hurts that shaped his worldview, he would strive to be a man of character, integrity, and a good partner in a relationship. Sadly, he arrogantly expects his needs to be met without being willing to make sacrifices and he stamps his feet and screams that he is being unfairly critiqued or male bashed any time someone tries to hold him accountable for his actions. He wants the gorgeous video vixen who doesn’t ask him for money, who doesn’t ask questions about his whereabouts, who will forgive him straying, and who doesn’t demand any emotional commitment. Those are the delusions of a child however. And without a male role model to tell him that those are immature and irresponsible objectives, he becomes louder and louder, saying that there are no good women.

She waits.

Zane: Queen of Black Erotica

We, as Black people, believe in scarcity. We believe that there is a finite amount of success/fame/wealth and that we have to prevent other people from getting our piece of the pie or else we won't get any.

I write erotica. Every day, people compare me to Zane. Not once, has anyone ever compared me to Jaid Black, the leading white erotic writer or even Sage Vivant, the only other person who writes personalized or customized erotic stories. I appreciate that Zane has opened the door for Black erotica but I don't think by any stretch of the imagination that Zane is the end all be all of Black erotic literature. Zane's position in the market is established and I can do nothing to diminish her standing NOR do I believe that she can diminish mine. I strongly believe that there is more than enough room in the erotic world for AfroerotiK and Zane.

Zane is not a good writer. In my humble and possibly worthless opinion, Zane does not possess the ability to create a complex storyline nor can she deviate from urban format where every woman is a materialistic, cheating, and without integrity or depth and men are little more than place holders for extra large genitalia. Granted, I've only read a half dozen of her stories but the ones I did read . . . I thought were comical. The story about the Barber Shop was just downright gross. Negropectate was classic, it's just so ghetto it's laughable. The other story I still laugh about to this day was in Sex Chronicles and it was about a woman who was a Madame with a twist, her job was to have her whores sleep with men to test run their abilities for high powered female executives who were too busy with their careers to have sex with men themselves. Yeah, that's realistic. I know a least a half dozen black women who have careers that are so time consuming that they need other women to sleep with potential mates. The part that made me want to blow big chunks was the whole assertion that this Madame was so gorgeous and wealthy that she was too good to wear clothes off the rack, it was only haute couture for her. She even had to be made ugly by a makeup artist. Give me a fat fucking break. I read her attempt at writing horror. While I will admit that it was more grammatically correct than any of the other stories I've read, it was simple, like it was written by an eight grader. The plot was stupid, not scary at all. Zane is coming out with TV shows and she's got her cruises and plays and any book she writes is going to be on the NY Times Best Seller List.

Here's the deal. I am an exponentially and phenomenally better writer than Zane. I bring more to the table because my writing is socially relevant, uplifting, doesn't fit any overly simplistic format and deals with vitally important issues that facilitate the healing of Black relationships. All of my stories are realistic and describe facets of Black life beyond the one where Prada and Alize reign supreme. I've never met a person who only buys CDs from one recording artist, only goes to movies with one actor in them NOR have I ever met a person who only buys books from one author. I'm finding it hard to wrap my head around the concept that Jackie Collins is sitting at home biting her acrylics because Danielle Steele is releasing a book. I would be hard pressed to believe that Andrea Bocelli is losing sleep that Pavarotti is releasing s box set. I'll be damned if I'm going to panic that Zane is releasing a new book or producing a play.

I release fear, jealousy, envy, and competition. I respect that Zane has done a tremendous job in creating her fame and fortune but it certainly doesn't detract from my talent. It's a big enough universe for me, Zane, Sally, Suzie, and Shemica to all shine. My book of erotica, when it is finally published, will not be the last book of erotica people will ever buy. I doubt that Zane fans will forsake her and run to form an allegiance with me.

Writing Black erotica is a lot like rapping. Anybody who can come up with three words that rhyme can call themselves a rapper. Sadly, there is a whole entertainment industry that has convinced a lot of people that the crappiest music has merit. And the masses eat it up, not expecting or demanding more. Anybody can write a story with the words dick and pussy. Publishers realized that the same people that buy crappy music will buy crappy . . . books, I can't use the word literature when describing the majority of what's out now. Even with the proliferation of crappy music and books and the mediocrity, there are still those that appreciate the melodies and harmonies of jazz, who feel the angst of Morrison’s Beloved and the beauty of the Eleone Dance Theater. The universe gave me a voice and a vision and I'm quite sure Zane or anyone else can't keep me from my destiny.

How do you feel about Zane and her writing? What’s your opinion, good or bad, about her and what she has to offer? More importantly, how do we rid ourselves of this belief that there’s only enough room at the top for one person?

Peace and Plenty

Disclaimers

The following story is completely fictional. Any similarities between any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. HIV, the virus that causes the deadly disease AIDS, can be prevented with the practice of abstinence or monogamous relations with a partner that has been tested and proven to be negative. The use of latex condoms greatly reduces the risk of infection for HIV. Please practice safe sex when having intercourse, refrain from behaviors that could put you at risk for getting the virus and get tested often. All content is the exclusive copyright content of AfroerotiK. No part shall be duplicated or redistributed without the express written consent of AfroerotiK.

Every relationship undergoes key pivotal points in its evolution. Casual dating transitions to an exclusive arrangement. Exclusivity begets genuine feelings of love. Love ushers in cohabitation: a combining of lifestyles and possessions, a bold declaration that the pairing has a sense of permanence, and a testing ground for matrimony. Of course, there are sexual acts as well that serve as major milestones in a relationship. The exploration of fantasy and sharing a “first” builds trust and intimacy and signals a stronger, more tangible bond.



For Jamie and Shawn, their two-year relationship was about to turn the corner into un-chartered territory. The plans were made, the date was set, the cable had been cut off . . . all the details were in place for Shawn to make the move from Ohio to Delaware to create a new home for himself under the same roof as his beautiful queen and soulmate. He was nervous about what the big change might bring but completely confident in his decision. In anticipation of the big move and as a special gift to Jamie, he planned a surprise get-away, week-long vacation to Exuma, Bahamas Grand Isle Villas. It was a luxury resort that had every amenity one could ever want or hope for: a free form pool with a swim-up bar, a private chef for in-villa dining and most importantly, a crescent-shaped white sand beach that was created by God for the sole purpose of rest and relaxation and soaking up the sun. It was his way of saying, “Jamie . . . I’m so in love with you. Thank you for completing me,” and to set a peaceful, relaxing stage before movers, boxes, and disorganization reigned supreme. They had seven whole days with none of the pressures and stresses of work, obligations, or commitments. In their Caribbean hide-a-way, they could let their hair down and be uninhibited.



From the moment their plane landed, they soaked up every decadent and hedonistic experience they could. There wasn’t a massage, spa treatment, or alcoholic beverage they didn’t sample. Shawn went horseback riding, parasailing, snorkeling and deep sea fishing while Jamie didn’t leave the lounge chair and her novel. One day, opting to do a little bit of nude sunbathing, Jamie was more than happy to give Shawn a special show when applying suntan oil. She did a sexy little lap dance for him, pouring oil all over her body and rubbing it in to her smooth, bronze skin. Bending over in front of him, she spread the cheeks of her ass and gave him a breathtaking view that wasn’t on any of the brochures the travel agent had shown him. She slid his swimming trunks off and Jamie slid down on his dick. She rode him hard, bouncing up and down, using his dick to get herself off. They were in full view of several passengers on a sailboat that was anchored slightly off-shore. There was no shame or embarrassment to be felt, they were a couple taking advantage of paradise and living with no regrets.



By day four, Jamie was ready to venture out to do some shopping. They combed the tiny streets of Exuma, in search of the perfect gifts to take home to friends and family. The Peace and Plenty Gift Shop had such an inviting name, it was virtually impossible not to go in. It was indicative of the bountiful things that Shawn and Jamie shared, a metaphor for their love.



“Welcome, is there something in particular that you are looking for today?” The voice came from the shop owner as she came out from behind the counter to greet the pair face to face. She was breathtaking—and quite willing to share lots of intimate details about her life in a very short period of time. Raised in Brazil, her name was Kia and it seems her mother was half French and Spanish and her father was half Kenyan and Indian. She ended up on the island after having gone on vacation with an ex-boyfriend and falling in love with the place and making the decision never to leave. She purchased the shop for a steal after Hurricane Andrew and never looked back.



Jamie began moving around the shop in complete ease and comfort. Shawn was content to just watch the two chat and browse. It was more than apparent that the ladies were getting along like long lost friends who’d been reunited. Kia proclaimed, “Here, you absolutely must try on this bikini, it will look fabulous on you.” She pulled Jamie behind a small partition that was cordoned off to create a make shift fitting room. Hidden behind the silk curtain, Kia undressed Jamie and dressed her like a mannequin, talking her time. They seemed to be in there for an inordinately long period of time and Shawn wondered what could be happening. As the curtain was pulled back and Jamie emerged, he saw the signs of her arousal. Her nipples were hardened and poking out from the thin material, her breathing was shallow, and her eyes were glazed over with a look of pure lust. Shawn could feel his dick stiffen with unspoken excitement. Kia emerged, equally as radiant and supercharged with sexuality. All Shawn could do was say, “WOW, you look fantastic. We’ll take it.”



Back at the villa, Shawn was anxious for details of what had happened in the fitting room but he knew Jamie well enough to be patient and that she would share at the perfect time. He didn’t have to wait long because shortly after they’d unpacked and repacked all their souvenirs, there was a knock at the door. “In your haste, you forgot your old clothes. Lucky for me, you mentioned where you were staying so I could return them to you.”



“Oh, thank you so much, do come in,” Jamie said as she closed the door. Did it really matter that the premise of returning the clothes was a thinly-veiled rouse coordinated by Jamie? As soon as she was safely inside, Kia turned and the ladies began kissing, making out really, while Shawn stood staring in disbelief. Jamie broke the kiss long enough to come over to him and whisper in his ear, “This is my way of saying, ‘Thank you for completing me, sit back, relax, and enjoy. I love you.’”



Shawn almost couldn’t believe his eyes. It was like a dream. The incredibly sexy woman he loved more than anyone or anything was about to make love to another incredibly sexy woman for his enjoyment. He sat back in a comfortable chair, pulled out his dick, and watched the seduction begin. Jamie was amazing, expressive, uninhibited in her actions. Her movements were fluid as she gave into passion like she’d never known before. Their sun-kissed, brown limbs were a blur of sensual tangles. Not once did Jamie hesitate or have second thoughts as she devoured every inch of Kia’s body with her mouth. Their kisses were soft and tender and Shawn was amazed at the passion the two women shared. In all of the times they had shared the fantasy in the privacy of their bedroom, Shawn never expected Jamie to be so creative when making love to another woman. He took notes as she spread Jamie’s pussy lips and licked and sucked her hard clit. Ramming her tongue deep inside Kia’s hole, Jamie used her tongue to fuck her like a dick. In a million years, he never would have thought that Jamie would be so bold as to get into anal play with a total stranger but she didn’t have a problem probing Kia’s tender backdoor with her finger and making her go into orgasmic overdrive. Even her dialogue was that of a seasoned expert. “Mmm, I love your sweet, juicy pussy, I love the way it tastes. Cum in my mouth you sexy thing. I’m going to lick my man’s hot cum from your pussy after he fucks you senseless.”



Kia, no stranger to being with another woman, was equally as talented and brought Jamie to several orgasms with her mouth and fingers. She took special pleasure in sucking on Jamie’s gorgeous breasts. Intertwining their legs, they rubbed their clits against one another, mixing their juices and aromas like a special blend of intoxicating perfume.



Shawn was stroking himself, crazy with lust. Just when he thought things couldn’t get any better, couldn’t get any hotter, he felt the tender caress of soft lips against his own. Almost at the same time, a set of lips began sucking his erection. Jamie was sharing her man out of love, out of connection and there was no jealousy or competition to be found between the three of them. Both ladies knelt between his legs and began licking his dick at the same time. One licked, one sucked, they kissed it together. It seemed that whenever Jamie was swallowing him deep, Kia was licking his nuts. They were fingering each other and Shawn had four breasts to caress and fondle.



They all moved to the bed and made themselves more comfortable. Shawn was almost too nervous to know what to do. He looked at Jamie for direction and approval. She was the most important person in his life and he needed to know that she was still okay with everything, he needed to let her know that if she wanted to pull the plug on anything that it was okay with him. Jamie kissed him softly, letting him taste Kia’s pussy for the first time. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, getting harder from knowing that the women he wanted to share his life with was “Dining at the Y” only minutes earlier. Kia felt a little out of the loop. The chemistry between the couple was intense. Jaime loved the power she had in that moment. She took Kia’s hand and guided her over Shawn. She held his dick in her hand. Shawn felt the warmth of her soft fingers surround his shaft and the heat of Kia’s pussy on the head of his johnson. Jamie jerked him off and masturbated Kia at the same time. She used the tip of Shawn’s dick and slid it between the fat, wet lips of Kia’s cunt, rubbing her hard clit. Kia was chanting and moaning. Jamie gently twisted her nipples which sent her body down, enveloping every inch of Shawn’s dick deep inside her.



Shawn gasped. Kia’s pussy was different, he fit her differently, he felt his balls tighten to his body. Before he could gather his thoughts, Jamie settled in on his face, lowering her own salty sweet pussy to his mouth. The two women were kissing and sucking each other’s hard nipples, fucking themselves on Shawn. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. All he could do was lay there as two sexy women got off on him. At one point, they switched positions and he tasted Kia’s pussy from the source. Jamie decided to step things up a notch and lowered her asshole onto Shawn’s dick. She rode him like a bucking bronco. Kia reached around and spread Jamie’s cheeks, played with Shawn’s dick. She whispered in Jamie’s ear, “I thought you were going to lick his cum out of my pussy. I don’t think he can last another minute with you fucking him like that. Shawn drove his tongue deep in Kia, the way Jamie had done earlier. Jamie started screaming and yelling, turned on more than she’d ever been in her life. Shawn came first, Jamie wasn’t too far behind. Kia was the last to cross the finish line, flooding Shawn’s mouth with her cream.



The remainder of the three days were spent making, erotic, exotic love; Shawn, Jamie and Kia. It was a stepping stone for the couple, a portal through which they traveled in order to become closer. There were no regrets to be had. Back in the States, they would consummate their combined lives with renewed vigor and the knowledge that they could look forward to the next major milestone in their relationship with eager anticipation.



Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK

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Making Passion a Priority

All too often, we let the stresses and strains of day to day living consume us. Work becomes number one in our lives; we let our responsibilities become our identity. It’s almost as if we’ve forgotten the things that are most important to us; we forget to give importance to the things that will sustain us most. When it’s all said and done, and we are on our dying bed, will we really say that we are most proud of how organized our day calendar was or will we regret not stopping to smell the roses? Will we mourn the relationships that we could have nourished along the way?

Fred and Alicia were on a path of self-destruction. Were they dinking and drugging and living a life of sinful debauchery? No, far from it. Were they lying and cheating on one another? Hardly. They were focusing their attention on everyone and everything OTHER than themselves. You name a social commitment, and they had several hours a week carved out to volunteer for it. Everything had its allotted timeslot during the week, even romance. Penciled in, right after caring for Alicia’s convalescent mother, driving the van for the senior citizens at church or planning for the Home Owner’s Assoc. Annual Cookout . . . and work of course, was alone time. There were bills to be paid and 50 hours a week was nothing for this “successful” couple to put in for the job. Sex always found itself at the bottom of a very long list of things to do.

It wasn’t as if Fred and Alicia were in a loveless marriage either. No, that was far from the case. They had a deep-abiding love, one that had grown since those first days on the campus of Morgan State University, when Fred was a jock on the swim team and Alicia was studying accounting. Over the years, their romance blossomed and grew and they cemented an honest, loving bond that seemingly could not be broken. They found a true love that most people long for, that most people would give their right arm to experience. In all their travels, however, no one had ever told either of them how important it was to fan the flames of passion in a marriage FIRST in order to be better prepared to face life’s challenges. They were going about it all wrong. They were putting everything else under the sun above themselves. They were making time for generating heat in their lives the very last thing that they gave time and energy to developing. Sex for the couple, while still mind-blowing when they had it, was almost an afterthought-- or at least something to be fit into the weekend amidst all the other chores.

What Fred and Alicia needed was a jolt to their sex lives. They needed a reminder that communication and intimacy, that passion and pleasure should come first and foremost in their lives. The Creator has a way of teaching us lessons, even when we least expect it. Every relationship pays the price for unspoken truths and denied pleasure. In their roles of conservative duty, Fred and Alicia had learned to suppress their true desires and were content to let their fantasies and desires be implied. It was fate that served as the spark that reignited the smoldering embers that held the key to a long-lasting, sensual and loving relationship.
Alicia was spending Saturday morning at home alone. Fred was out with a car wash to benefit juvenile diabetes research and she decided to forego laundry for some “me” time. What was different about that particular morning was how incredibly horny she was. It was all she could do to concentrate on anything other than her throbbing pussy and the visions of untamed sex that filled her thoughts. Taking advantage of the solitude, Alicia decided to indulge in a little decadent indulgence. She went through their collection of porn looking for something that would really get her juices flowing, and she ripped open the packaging on her brand new dildo, one she’d kept secret from her hubby. She decided on a lesbian flick because it always got her incredibly hot thinking about being with another woman. She would often fantasize that she would be seduced by one of the women that on the minority outreach committee for the local community college. Fred knew of her desires and it was arousing to him but they never discussed it. As open-minded and as liberal as they both were about their sexuality, there seemed to be a disconnect in communicating it to each other because they had adopted these roles of conservatism and didn’t know how to take them off anymore.

Alicia was laying back, her eyes shut tightly, and she was fucking herself slowly, intentionally, the way Fred would do it. The television filled the room with sounds of pure, hedonistic fucking. She was moaning softly, lost in fantasy of things she wouldn’t tell the one man she loved more than anyone else in the world. Her mind was racing, filled with thoughts and visions of untamed sex. Her body was filled with lust, well, lust and six inches of hard dildo. She was muttering, moaning, babbling incoherently about things she would never say to her husband in real life. “ Oh baby, I love the feel of your breasts in my mouth. Mmmm, let me taste that sweet pussy of yours. Oh fuck, you know only another woman could make me feel that way., YESSS, of yeah, strapon that dildo and FUCK me hard.”

What she didn’t know was that she was revealing all her secrets to Fred. Storm clouds put the kabash on the car wash and Fred had nothing else planned for the morning. He was thrown off when he arrived home because he didn’t see Alicia’s car parked in the driveway. He had totally forgotten that his brother-in-law had borrowed the car for a road trip and that his lovely wife would be at home. He entered, expecting to be able to have some alone time for erotic release to himself.

He heard the sounds coming from the bedroom and he moved toward them, almost afraid of what he might discover. His fears were for naught because as he peeked in the room, he saw a vision that made him instantly erect. Alicia was in the middle of ecstasy and uninhibited in her declarations. She was like a wild woman, right before his eyes, and he was instantly reminded of the reason why he craved her body so much. Her breasts were glowing with perspiration, heaving up and down as she fucked herself. He looked intensely at the TV screen, seeing the images that gave him a special thrill. He knew Alicia was stimulated by “alternative” desires but he was insecure that they meant that he wasn’t man enough to satisfy her. As if in a trance, he unzipped his fly and pulled out his hard dick. He was stroking it and watching Alicia masturbate. In that moment, in that erotic instant, Alicia and Fred were connected in a way that almost seemed to defy the odds.

Alicia was lost in her self-love and hadn’t heard Fred come in. What she felt was his hands spreading her thighs. She sat up, startled by the intrusion momentarily, and immediately gave way to the moment, the erotic potential. Fred knelt between her legs, staring at her new toy as it plunged in and out of her tight, wet pussy. He replaced her hand with his own and started fucking her. Alicia practically screamed out as Fred alternated licking her hard clit and ramming her full of dildo. She grabbed her breasts and started playing with her nipples, watching the images on the TV screen, looking down at her husband, feeling her body overcome with pleasurable sensations. She was in the zone, she was turned on more than she’d been in a very long time. There was something in the air that was different and she was going to take advantage of every second of it.

Grabbing hold of the dildo, Alicia pulled it out, covered with her sexy juices and began licking it seductively. She would have ordinarily never done anything like that because she was afraid that she would offend him or that she would seem too vulgar. Somehow, she felt like she was released from a prison of unspoken truths, free to share with her true soul mate the things in her heart. There was no one she trusted more, there was no one else who filled her with desire; she wanted to be able to let go and divulge all her secrets.

Fred was aroused, not offended. He watched his wife intently, tasting her cream. She sensually licked all her sweet honey from the toy and made sure she knew that she was enjoying it. Alicia was out of control, her pussy was flowing. She grabbed the back of her husband’s head and pushed him down between her legs. She was lost in fantasy of having a women go down on her but it was her man who was doing the job and doing it quite well. Fred, content to be a surrogate in his wife’s fantasies, swallowed every drop of her cum without missing a beat and licked his lips when he came up for air.

Alicia was beside herself. She was positive she’d never experienced anything sexier in her entire life. There was something about the intimacy of it all, the fact that only her husband could be with her in that moment, in that way. Fred started stroking his own dick harder, sucking harder, turned on by Alicia’s unapologetic openness. Whatever was making her so hot, he wanted more. He took off the rest of his clothes and got on the bed with his wife. He kissed her deeply, allowing her to taste her own pussy on his lips. Alicia was outdone by his kisses, igniting her flames that much more in a way that rivaled the first kiss they had shared so many years ago that still made her toes curl.

Fred began his usual seduction, enveloping her body with tender kisses in a slow, methodical manner. Alicia wanted to change the tempo, add some spice into things so she took charge of things and controlled the action. She wanted him to feel the heavenly sensations that he’d given her so many times. She began using her mouth on him in the most decadent ways: licking his nipples to drive him insane and saying things she only previously would have thought but never spoken aloud. “You know I want to fuck you, right? No, I want you to fuck me, I need you to fuck me senseless until I pass out. I want to feel you pound your hard dick in me and ram it hard, use my pussy, FUCK me.” The more she revealed, the hotter she got. She’d been afraid to admit to him that she wanted to him to take her in that way, that she wanted things a little more . . . intense, because, again, she didn’t want to offend him. Neither of them were skilled in how to communicate their sexual desires so they had just fallen into a rut of satisfying but predictable sex. This was far from predictable. Both Fred and Alicia were more expressive, more free with their wants and needs than they had ever been in their lives. It was as if they were experiencing a sexual rebirth.

She knelt between his thighs and began blowing his mind. Her mouth was like hot velvet, consuming every inch of his dick in sensual delight. The intensity of their unbridled lust and her dripping wet blowjob had Fred out of his mind. Inspired by his wife’s insatiable appetite, Fred was leaking precum and horny for more. Unable to take any more without exploding, Fred grabbed Alicia and flipped her over on her back. He threw her legs in the air and took careful aim. “Tell me you want this,” he said.

All Alicia could do was speak her truth. “Fuck me,” she said, her eyes glazed over, panting like an animal.

Fred took the head of his dick and slid it into the wet, warm, moist folds of Alicia’s pussy. He started working her slowly, hitting the right spots, making her beg for more. “FRED, fuck me. Fuck me like you need it. Fuck me like you want it. Fuck me like your life depends on it.”

The invitation had been made and Fred responded with enthusiasm. He began pounding her like he was a man driven by lust. It was clear he was treating her like a fuck doll and Alicia was loving every minute of it. In fact, she couldn’t get enough. The harder he pounded, the more she screamed for more. Her cries were primal, carnal even. The more pleasure he gave his wife, the more inspired he was to give her more.

He flipped her over on her stomach and pulled her to her knees. He was more rough with her than he usually would be but the wet, frothy juices on his dick told him that his wife was loving every second of the treatment. She put her hands on the headboard and looked back with lust in her eyes. “FUCK ME NOW!”

Fred took careful aim and lined up the head of his dick with her tight hole. The heat was intense and he shoved himself in in one full stroke. Alicia braced herself for the ride of a lifetime. Fred could go for a long time and she was going to take full advantage of the situation. She was like a bucking bronco and Fred was breaking her in. He gripped her hips tightly and punctuated his thrusts by smacking her ass hard. Alicia loved every second of the rough treatment. The more she came, the harder he fucked her. The pounding became more intense, he was smacking her ass and driving her crazy, giving her a string of multiple orgasms.

Alicia was exhausted, drained of energy. Fred wasn’t finished yet, however. When she collapsed on the bed, a mass of quivering and sensitive flesh, he flipped her over on her back and put her legs on his shoulders. The fact that he was being so aggressive, so sexual gave her new life and aroused her that much more. Fred’ dick was hitting her spot and making her cum even more. The sheets were on the floor and they were fucking on the bare mattress. Looking up into his face, Alicia could see the look of pure lust on her husband’s face and she felt more love for him in that moment than she’d felt in a long time. He rammed, fucked, and pounded her without mercy.

When he was ready to cum, he pulled out and started jerking off over Alicia’s stomach. She loved watching him cum but on this day, it was like torture . . . sweet, erotic torture. He spilled his seed on her slippery flesh and they collapsed on together, exhausted from such a strenuous experience.

Things began to fall in place after that. Alicia and Fred took more time to be together, to make sure that passion had a place front and center in their lives. All in all, they learned that in order to accomplish all the other things that they had to do in their lives, the most important thing was to take the time to be open and available for honest, intimate communication and make passion a priority.

Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK

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My sexuality is broken

I came last night. Last night, to the glow of the computer screen, I came. I masturbated for the first time in months. It’s been at least three months, maybe more, since I last masturbated. I wish I could say that I pleasured myself but it wasn’t in the least bit pleasurable. It was disappointing to say the least. I’m not even sure why I decided to do it, I didn’t feel particularly horny. It wasn’t very satisfying. It took much longer than I expected it to take. I thought I would be able to bust a nut so to speak in a relatively short period of time but it just dragged on and on and on and it got annoying. I tried to fantasize about having sex but I don’t have a single solitary person in my life that I am attracted to on a sexual level right now. I couldn’t form the images of my dream lover, he’s fading fast. I read some mediocre erotica and rubbed my clit until I came. I couldn’t even get wet. I tried not to think about the last person I had sex with because he was so warped, our relationship was so fucked up, that it’s unhealthy for me to even conjure up ANY memories of him, let alone sexual ones. The last time I had sex before that was almost two years ago and it wasn’t good sex. The last time I had sex more than three times a year was 1999 I think.

I forget what it’s like to have sex. I forget what it’s supposed to feel like. I can look at movies and see people kissing but I don’t have a memory of what it’s like anymore. I remember kissing people but I can’t remember what it feels like. I remember what it was like to make out on my sofa with a guy I really liked but I can’t remember what it feels like. It’s like I’m watching myself in a movie but I don’t feel the sensations.

I forget what it’s like to have someone eat my pussy or finger my ass. I forget what it’s like to suck a dick and make a man cum in my mouth. I really think my sexuality is broken. I haven’t used it in so long I think it’s no good anymore. I know that I used to LOVE having my nipples sucked but they don’t seem to give me pleasure anymore when I touch them. I know how to have sex but I don’t remember how it felt. I know in my head that I used to love that feeling, the first time you have sex with someone, and he penetrates you for the very first time and it just takes your breath away but when I close my eyes, I don’t feel anything. The panting, the sweating, the moaning and groaning. . . . It’s all a vague memory, like a faded photograph where you can barely make out the images.

My sexuality doesn’t work anymore. It’s dried up like a raisin in the sun.

Celebrating our Enslavement

Another Juneteenth has come and gone. Every year, I'm horrified by the perpetuation of the day as a holiday Black people should celebrate. If there was ever a day that we should NOT celebrate, it's June 19th. For those how don't know the history of the day, Juneteenth is the oldest known celebration commemorating the ending of slavery in the United States. Dating back to 1865, it was on June 19th that the Union soldiers, led by Major General Gordon Granger, landed at Galveston, Texas with news that the war had ended and that the enslaved were now free. Note that this was two and a half years after President Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation - which had become official January 1, 1863. Later attempts to explain this two and a half year delay in the receipt of this important news have yielded several versions that have been handed down through the years. Often told is the story of a messenger who was murdered on his way to Texas with the news of freedom. Another, is that the news was deliberately withheld by the enslavers to maintain the labor force on the plantations. And still another, is that federal troops actually waited for the slave owners to reap the benefits of one last cotton harvest before going to Texas to enforce the Emancipation Proclamation. All or none of them could be true. For whatever the reason, conditions in Texas remained status quo well beyond what was statutory.

I'm not stupid enough to believe that there was no form of communication to Texas for two and a half years. I'm not stupid enough to celebrate a "holiday" just because slaves rejoiced in being freed. We should be fighting for legal restitution. If one white person were falsely imprisoned and then freed but no one told them about it for TWO AND A HALF YEARS, there would be a lawsuit the size of Texas on his behalf. Hell, he would own half of Texas after he got finished suing. Yes, I'm sure he would rejoice when he was freed but turning it into a holiday? Hell no. Rather than point out the injustice, we want to make it a national holiday. The insanity of it all is what confuses me.

I've spoken to Black people from Texas, who are the people who seem to celebrate it the most, and they insist that they celebrate it because that's what they were taught. Isn't this the same thing I hear every Thanksgiving when I bring up the fact that celebrating Thanksgiving is really celebrating the holocaust of 15 million Natives? Where's the common sense? The movement should be for reparations for every second of every day that Black people were enslaved past Jan 1st, 1963. The US government should be held accountable for its illegal actions. Texas landholders should be held accountable. The monies should go to education, housing, small business loans, and health care for Black Texans.

Can you imagine Jews celebrating the fact that people were left in concentration camps for two and a half years after they were freed? Can you imagine white people trying to deny Jews legal justice for anyone who was in that situation? Not only do we not want to hold the people who were responsible accountable, we want to have a party on top of it. It's so sinful it's a shame.

My Desires

I desire a love that defies definition, all-encompassing, passionate, deeply-abiding love with an African-centered, metaphysical, brilliant, beautiful Black man

I desire three beautiful children, more enlightened, more intelligent, and healthier than I

I desire a life of transcendence, of the highest possible consciousness I can achieve in human form.

I desire to see the enlightenment of my people and to see the chains of mental slavery that still enslave us broken like shattered glass

I desire my words to be healing agents that dismantle the fallacy of white supremacy that infects the world

I desire the ability to levitate, to be an alchemist, to create reality with my mind

I desire a book, In Loving Color, to be a NY Times Bestseller and stimulate the conversations that usher in healing

I desire the opportunity to produce my erotic CD and have it begin the momentum to replace the offensive and degrading images of Black sexuality with healthy ones

I desire the stories from In Loving Color to be made into BEAUTIFUL videos images and shown on HBO and on DVD

I desire a radio talk show that offers an alternative to the dysfunctional messages that are perpetuated

I desire the opportunity to produce events, workshops, and retreats that help people heal their relationships

I desire my PhD and a lifetime of learning

I desire the ability to produce the initiatives that will heal the collective consciousness of my people

I desire to live a life of healthy eating, fasting, prayer, meditation, and physical activity

I desire three beautiful homes, one in an urban setting, one is a rural setting, and one in the motherland

I desire to live in harmony with nature, ecologically friendly and a life free from materialism and capitalistic greed

I desire a library of books that hold secrets within them and music that moves the soul

I desire a collection of art that rivals the best African/African American collections

Her name was Jenny Kitchen.

She'd been infected by her addict boyfriend for over 10 years. She'd lived a hard life, an inhabitant of the housing projects in the Bronx and dependent on the state for her survival for her entire life. Her daughter is one of the most beautiful and amazing women, both inside and outside, in the world. Jenny was determined to see her child graduate from college so she willed herself to live. The universe masterfully orchestrated events so that I was there with Jenny the day she died. Less than 24 hours earlier, Jenny was her usual, sickly but fiercely independent self. She spoke her last words to me, I fed her her last meal. I covered her naked body after the doctors and nurses left her lying like a piece of trash. The doctor didn't even tell us that she had died. He said, Oh, are you here for Jenny Kitchen? You can pick up her personal belongings with the nurse." They are so much more sympathetic on ER.

Last year, almost to the day, I was the "houseguest" of someone with whom I've had sex with for many many years. We used condoms twice, eight years ago and haven't used one since. I KNOW him to be a pathological liar. I KNOW that he was having unprotected sex with multiple partners when I was sleeping with him. I KNOW for a fact that he was engaged in high risk behaviors with people were potentially infected. He would tell me that he loved me, that he wanted to be inside me, and he wanted to give me a baby and I would spread my legs and invite him to my sacred space without a condom. The year before that, I met a younger man, substantially younger who was altogether brilliant and who has an entire matching set of baggage due to sexual molestation as a child. We waited a month before we slept together. He told me he loved me. He told me that the wanted to be my man. I craved the connection and the intimacy. No condom.

Six months before that, I met a man who was a promoter for a Black swing club. There was no profession of love, there was no promise of a future together, there was no long history or extended courtship. I hadn't had sex in eighteen months prior to that and I was lonely and horny and the first time he kissed me I felt electricity course through my body. We slept together the very next time we saw each other and every step of the way I kept saying to myself, "I should tell him to use a condom." I didn't.

The truth of the matter is, sex without condoms feels incredible. For me, it's the key to having the baby I so desperately want, it's symbolic of the pure, unadulterated love I'm longing to share with someone. I have no doubt in my mind that my not having a child is a biological trigger for my poor and unhealthy risky behavior. If I, Ms. sexually aware and painfully celibate, is engaging in unsafe sex practices, when I've seen the effects of AIDS taking its toll on someone, then I'm quite sure that there are millions upon millions more who aren't as self aware, who aren't as educated, who making the same unhealthy choices.

Black women, especially the ones that are the most outwardly critical of bisexual men, are the most likely to engage in unsafe sex. They put the responsibility of their HIV status on their partners, they don't take ownership of their responsibility of keep themselves HIV negative. They are the women that are BEGGING men to not use condoms, telling them that they are offended if a man says he wants to use a condom with them. I've spoken to countless bisexual men who tell me that they were in the heat of the moment and they wanted to use condoms with women and the women insisted that they not use a condom.

I've seen condom use in swing clubs. I've spoken to many a married man who says that they love their wives too much to bring a disease home (I know, cheating is the ultimate disrespect but they rationalize it anyway) so they always use a condom. I'm convinced that men who are bisexual or men who engage in sex acts with other men (even if they refuse to identify themselves as bi) are in most cases in denial about what they want, about their desires, so they get in the zone, they are all hot and bothered, and they don't use condoms because it's surreal to them. They are outside of their own reality so they suspend reason for fantasy and unsafe sex.

I tested HIV negative last year. I haven't had sex since. I sometimes fantasize what it will be like the next time I have sex, imagining that it will be with the man that I spend the rest of my life with. Never once, in all of my visions of love, have I never imagined that he and I use a condom. I do imagine that we wait to have sex until we are both tested. I can consider myself pretty typical in my behaviors I'm sure, just a whole helluva lot more open and honest about my shortcomings and willing to take responsibility for my HIV status.

AfroerotiK is . . . Showered with Love

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Vanity is a Sin

As distorted by man (read males) as I know the bible to be and their oppressive agendas, I do believe that it holds within it some truths that the co-opters of the original text did not understand and thus remnants of truth can be found there. We, as a race of people, as human beings, have become so removed from our true natures, from our true divine selves, so superficial that our logic has been stunted. We no longer know how to extract the truths from spiritual texts because our minds no longer function at the level at which we were created to perform; we no longer are capable of comprehending anything more than our current state of diseased thinking. Because Black people specifically learned our religion at the end of a whip, at the base of enslavement, because we had no choice but to believe what the slave master told us was true, we are crippled that much more from our true spiritual selves. Ignorance is truly bliss, because when I lived like the masses, when I thought like the unconscious, I was happy to repeat clichés and never question the things I’d been told.

I remember when I was growing up that my grandmother used to tell me that vanity was a sin. I couldn’t wrap my mind around that concept because I couldn’t figure out how being vain could possibly offend God in any way. I could understand murder, I could understand adultery, but I figured that God created you, why would he be upset if you boasted about his work. Now, I know that there is no such thing as “sin” in the sense that God will punish us for our bad behavior. I now understand that “sin” is really that which prevents us from realizing our true God nature, that which keep us from realizing enlightenment and peace. Studying the mind, dedicating myself to the study of consciousness, I now realize that vanity, narcissism, and self-absorption are states of being that keep us dismembered from the body of the Creator and distort the balance of the universe.

The U.S. is funny in that we are the most dysfunctional nation and yet we parade ourselves the best. This over-inflated ego of the entire nation is an interesting phenomenon but it’s lead, in large part, by individuals who can not acknowledge flaw, who have an over-inflated sense of self, whose worlds don’t revolve around the sun, but their egos. It’s a crippling state of mind. The sicker we become, the more arrogant, the further we get from a state of consciousness that is as we were intended to be.

We have become a nation of people who only care about the very things that are spiritually debilitating. “I know I look good. What wo/man could resist me, because I am so hot.” Any time you hear those words you can be assured that the person uttering them is prone to drama, who can’t form healthy relationships, who isn’t capable of realizing how there are consequences to their actions beyond how it directly affects him or her. The obsession with looking good, with clothing, hair and makeup, cars, whatever accouterment is outside the Self, is a sign of death of the spirit. If Jesus is truly supposed to be our model, then the pre-occupation with our appearance, our obsession with proclaiming how we are better than everyone else is, is glaring indication that we are un-Christlike in our carriage.

Just look around at the people who are supposed to be our spiritual leaders. They are the flashiest, the most outwardly oriented people in our society. Turn on the TV and look at any reality show that is created around competition for affection of someone. People who can not admit flaw, people who are determined to be the most desirable, the best looking, the best dressed are the most shallow, superficial, insincere people and the ones that blame everyone else for the issues that they create.

This younger generation seems laser-like in their agenda to be self-absorbed. Relationships can’t be formed if the only person you are intent on pleasing is the reflection in the mirror. I used to think, when I was growing up, that men were more guilty of a distorted sense of self than women. I would meet the biggest, fattest, sloppiest, man who would be unappealing in every way and he would proclaim how great he was and I would scratch my head in wonder. A part of me thought that it was a good thing that people could find something attractive in themselves when the world around them didn’t. Women, to a much, much greater extent, seemed to have more low self-esteem and more humility and I always thought that there was something tragic about a beautiful woman who couldn’t see her own beauty. I can no longer say the same thing today. Brothas now demand that the world revolve around their distorted egos and women are socialized to think that their value is to be found in how sexy they are and how many people desire them. I can only imagine how distorted things will be in 20 years from now when this generation’s children are grown having been raised by parents whose only concern are themselves.

Now, before you respond and say, “Yeah, it’s really sad how other people are so vain today, I’m glad I’m not like that,” realize that you are guilty of it yourself. There is an absence of humility that has infected you if you feel you are somehow above anyone else’s behavior. Are there some individuals who have been able to transcend this trend? Yes, of course. Are they the individuals intent on proving to others that they are more enlightened than everyone else around them is? No.

Vanity is surely a sign of dysfunction. A growing cancer is spreading rapidly, killing our spirit, and keeping us from God. Vanity is a sin that is staring us in a very dirty, clouded, cracked mirror.

Review: Shine Annie by Betty Oglesby Payne

If you travel deep down south on a dusty road in Tobacco County, Georgia, you’ll come across a big farmhouse built in the 40s. Inside, up a set of creaky, old stairs, in a sweltering hot attic, there’s a fabric-covered box with a Victorian floral print shoved in a corner. Inside that box are the memories of days gone by. That antique box holds faded and torn black and white pictures, some cracked, some stuck together, others are moldy with hand-scribbled descriptions written in pencil on the back. The only people who remember the faces and places in the pictures have gone on to be with the lord a long time ago.

There’s a picture of young girl named Annie Ruth, with her smooth brown skin and the eyes of a dream deferred. Her eyes hide the pain of disappointment deep inside. Looking fondly at her are a baby, Patricia, with bright eyes and the innocence of youth, and Curtis, her husband. With his chest puffed out and the countenance of a man who loves being a husband and father, Curtis shows immense pride in his family and you can tell that the ground on which his feet are planted is his own.

Annie Ruth and Curtis weren’t real however. Tobacco County doesn’t really exist. The images however are very real; they are alive and in vivid color between the pages of Shine Annie. Betty Oglesby Payne has taken a snapshot in her mind and described it with exacting detail in her freshman novel. She expertly recollects the mindsets, pains, and the debilitating conditions of a racist Jim Crow reality. It’s more than a body of fiction to entertain; it’s a lesson in history, social consciousness, morality and exaltation of Black culture.

Shine Annie tells the coming-of-age tale of a young girl who is forced to grow up and accept responsibility for choices made in haste. Life goes on all around her and she makes adjustments to each of those challenges; sometimes making the right decision, other times opting for the easy route not the high road. Her first love almost loses his life at the hands of white men who are intent on teaching him that loves certainly does know color. Her cousin, conceived from rape, struggles with loving a man who loves himself more than he loves her. Her Daddy, Big Sid, provides a model of character and integrity when the forces around him are working to oppress and dehumanize him.

Anyone that remembers the pain of segregation, anyone who wants to understand the past to grasp an understanding of the present, anyone who is looking for a compelling read that conveys emotion and weaves a unique tale would do well to read Shine Annie. It stands out as a wonderful alternative to contemporary ghetto lit that recycles the same materialistic tale. This most certainly is a snapshot of days gone by that will touch your heart and make your heart shine.

Scottie Lowe, Owner of AfroerotiK

Demonizing the DL

I'm in a very unique position because of my profession to have men confess their desires to me. Married men, playboys, thugs, scholars, nerds, even ministers, every type of man has opened up to me and told me that they have the desire to experience sexual arousal with another man. These are men that would never ever ever tell the women in their lives that they have those desires. They go out of their way to tell the women in their lives that they hate fags, that they would never want to be with another man. They can't even accept within themselves that they have bisexual desires, they fight them, they try to deny them, and they most assuredly don't tell their partners that they have them.

Even in my own personal life, I meet and date men that swear up and down that they are straight and then in the process of opening up, in the act of sharing fantasies and becoming intimate with me, they "confess" that they are curious about sex with other men. Once the comfort level is established, they can confess to me their desires to share intimacy with other men but they have this innate fear that I'm going to see them as being less than a man. Once they realize that I am not going to look down on them for their desires, when they see that I'm aroused by the idea, they then confess fantasies and desires that they've wanted to share with someone for a long time. The floodgates open up and they confess all sorts of emotional and sexual feelings to me at that point.

Society, and its rigid and dysfunctional definitions of what manhood is, is responsible for the perpetuation of the whole DL phenomenon. If a brotha came to a sista and said, "I have this desire to be penetrated by you, to experience role reversal and I like my ass stimulated," the neck rolling would commence immediately and she couldn't wait to get on the phone with all her friends and tell them that he was a fag. Being interested in a woman penetrating you does not mean that you are interested in a man penetrating you. Even if a man is interested in another man penetrating him, or even what it would be like to have the full sexual experience with a man does not mean he is going start wearing a purse and talking with a lisp. Manhood has absolutely nothing to do with wanting to suck a dick or even kissing another man. (It takes an act of heaven and earth to get a "straight" man to say that he wants to kiss another man. It is usually when he's aroused and he's let down his guard enough to know that I really am comfortable with the idea of him being with another man that he will say that he wants to feel loved and protected by another man sometimes and that he wants to kiss.) Manhood should be defined by the ability to be truthful, respectful, and emotionally mature. Physical pleasure, and the source from which one receives it, has nothing to do with being a man. The longer this society continues to have these debilitating beliefs about manhood, the more "DL" men you are going to have.

I recently had the experience of being in a living situation with a man that had desires to be with other men but his primary romantic interests were with women. He would spend great efforts telling them how he wasn't homophobic but how much he didn't like gay men getting in his space, how he didn't like gay men looking at him, he would tell women how to spot a DL man and counsel them on when they suspected a man who was. In bed with me, he would tell me how he wanted to suck a dick and get pounded by another man. His fascination was with a very dark skinned man with a big dick. That seemed to represent the embodiment of a real man to him in bed. In life, he would go out and be with a transsexual, taking on this thug persona that he normally didn't have in his every day dealings. It seems each role was tied to a definition of manhood. To women, he was the all around man, being sensitive and this shoulder to cry on yet still a manly man. With me, he wanted to be a bitch; he wanted to be fucked by this embodiment of what he thought a real man was. To the transsexual, he became the real man, the thug and the nigga.

It seems to me, if we lived in a society that allowed men to be feeling, complex, emotional human beings, we wouldn't have this dichotomy that creates the "DL" man.

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Dominant Black Tales and Submissive White Tails

Did she have a hidden agenda? Was her desire to dominate white men driven by some racial hatred or need to seek revenge for her enslaved ancestors? By all outward appearances, that would appear to be the case. Mistress Desire was far more complex than superficial appearances would allow. Black, strong, confident, and proud, there was no mistaking that the Domina was proud of her African heritage and took pleasure in reducing her white submissives to whatever it was that they feared the most. There was a certain subtlety she possessed that could not be defined by labels.

She chose to meet him in a very public bar. It was a gay bar in fact, and it was on the evening of the citywide famous drag show. Queens weren’t the only people in attendance, butches, studs, lipsticks, straights, bisexuals and everyone in between showed up to revel in the god damned decadence and defiance the night represented. Anyone who wanted to thumb their nose at the status quo and acknowledge that they couldn’t be defined sexually by the strict and puritanical morals of the Bible belt felt comfortable showing up. There was plenty of hootin’ and hollerin’ for the glammed up female impersonators doing yet another rendition of “Rollin on the River” and “It’s Raining Men.” Her date for the evening did not fit in that category. After hours of subtle interrogation, she had determined that his greatest fear was being seen for who he really is. He was an introvert, a social recluse of sorts that wanted to keep his desires hidden from everyone, including himself. Inside, he was a slut. Not just any slut, a slut of the most insatiable, perverted, depraved kind. He wanted someone to force him to bring out his dark fantasies and help him to become who he felt he really was inside.

She was taking a chance that he wouldn’t show but she was betting that the chemistry and the desperation he felt to fulfill his desires would be motivation enough for him to make the leap into the unknown. She positioned herself at the far end of the bar at a table where she could see him enter. If her assessment was wrong and he didn’t show up, she would entertain herself with the spectacle of others that wanted to exhibit their sexuality for the entire world to see. He hadn’t cum in over three weeks and he had been nightly aroused with descriptive tales of her fantasies and desires. The Internet and the phone were vastly different than the adventure he was about to go on however.

Stevie Wonder could have seen him walk through the front door. Nervous as hell, he looked around the place needing only the tiniest of excuses to turn around and leave. The promises of mind-blowing strapon anal assaults and wild, uninhibited sexual release propelled him to move forward. He spotted her immediately. She didn’t have to signal for him or make her presence known to him; she exuded the regal stature whereby he knew her immediately. He made his way to her table and she had his favorite drink waiting for him. He downed it with one gulp and nervously looked around taking in all the sights.

“Bryan, did you do as I instructed?” He lifted his arm that had been lying casually in his lap above the table and showed his baby smooth, hairless body; the only hair remaining on his body being under his arms and above the neck. She placed her hand under the table and felt for the evidence of his other command. Apparent through his clothes was a harder than steel erection and the telltale signs of a cock ring. He swallowed hard as she stroked him through his clothes, knowing full well that he couldn’t cum restrained as he was. They settled back and began to converse; controlling the flow of the exchange with her eyes and her will. He knew he was being dominated and it was more than sexual.

She draped her legs over his and he instinctively began to massage her silken calves. He swallowed hard as he glanced down and realized that her pussy was exposed just inches away from him under her short dress. “Listen, can we get out of here? I did what you asked and I’m just not comfortable here,” he stammered, his eyes darting around the room to make sure no one he knew was there. She laughed politely and ignored his comment, stroking his exposed arm and caressing his face with her soft fingertips.

As the lights dimmed and a slow song began to play to supplement the time between performances, they were interrupted by the most breathtaking Black man in the bar approaching the table. Dressed impeccably, not a bit shy of 6’2”, masculine, and looking like he stepped off the pages of a magazine, he extended his hand to the nervous submissive and said, “Would you care to dance?”

“No thanks, I’m not gay,” Bryan managed to eek out, looking like a dear caught in headlights more than unassuming business professional that wielded so much confidence at his place of work.

“He’d love to,” Desire answered, moving her legs and placing her submissive’s hand gently in that of his suitor’s.

He was in a state of shock. He had specifically told Mistress Desire that he wouldn’t do anything with another man. He was straight. The confusion in his eyes, the panic, the anger overwhelmed him. He had limits that were not negotiable. Being submissive and being gay were too different things. “He stood firm on his decision, “No thanks,” he said with determination, “I’m not gay.”

He reached for his keys in his pocket and began to stand. “Listen, I don’t know what sort of games you are playing but I’m not interested, Go fuck yourself bitch.”

Desire laughed at his defiance, placed her hand gently on his arm, and leaned in close. Her voice was sweet and gentle. “Bryan, you are standing on the verge of all of your dreams come true. Before you leave, think about everything that we’ve been through to get to this point, are you willing to throw it all away for a dance? Think of all the nights online where your heart felt like it was pounding out of your chest and you were begging me to use you in any way possible. Think about the things you went through to gain my favor. You know I’m the only woman that can push you past your fears. Are you ready to throw that all away for a silly little dance? If you leave, you’ll go home and jerk off in solitude dreaming of the things that could have been. Do you want to do that Bryan? Do you want to abandon the potential for your wildest fantasies to come true?”

Her voice never went above a whisper. “You can leave you little bitch but don’t you dare think of contacting me again. Think about trying to find another Mistress like me that will make you feel like the depraved dirty slut that I bring out in you. Haven’t you always wanted to be the submissive bitch boy to a superior Black domme? The night of indescribable sensation that you’ve waited for is there for you. All you have to do is dance. Go! I won’t think about you ever again, but can you say the same thing about me?”

The synapses in Bryan’s brain were misfiring. He was pissed and aroused. The gentleman waiting for the dance chimed in, tired of waiting and said, “Listen, don’t worry about it.” He turned to walk away.

“Wait,” Bryan said meekly. Desire leaned even closer, the warmth of her body penetrating Bryan’s aura. She whispered something in his ear and leaned back. Bryan stood, fighting back the tears, and said with defiance in his voice, “Wait, I’d love to dance.” He knew that the dance was not the not to be the end of his test.

Slightly shorter than this beautiful specimen of a man before him, he didn’t even know where to place his hands. His dance partner took control. He placed Bryan’s arms around his neck and pulled Bryan close. Bryan swallowed hard, his frustration showing in the color in his cheeks. The alcohol in his system allowed him to relax just enough, knowing that this humiliation would be over in less than three minutes. He shut out the people around him and danced, it was more like moved to the music; he was never really that good of a dancer. Bryan had to hold on to reality. He was getting confused. The arms around his waist made him feel sexy. A feeling of security and arousal enveloped him. The sexy black shoulder that he rested his head upon was comforting. He could feel full lips brush against his neck and he yielded to the temptation to moan ever so slightly at the sensation. Strong Black hands caressed his ass. He froze momentarily; his ass had always been a highly erogenous zone for him but he made sure that he only fantasized about women taking him there. However, behind the safety of his closed eyes, in the secure embrace of the beautiful man that held him, he erotically thrust his ass back and forth, fantasizing about being fucked by his Mistress later on. The hands grabbing his ass were forceful and he loved the sensation of being taken . . . forced, which only cause him to grind his ass harder and harder against his dance partner.

“Uhmmm, the song’s over. Would you like another dance?” Bryan was snapped back into reality.

“No . . . hell no! I was just dancing with you because . . . No.” Bryan knew his defensiveness was transparent but he had to maintain his façade of defiance if only for his own sense of well-being.

Back at the table, Mistress Desire chuckled as Bryan slid into the seat next to her. The Black gentleman slid into the booth across from them. “You were so right Desire, his little cock was hard the entire time. And the way he was grinding his ass on me, I can tell he’s going to be one hot fuck.”

“I told you his slutty side would come out, Derrick. When will you learn to trust me?” Their laughter burning his ears like acid would burn his flesh. They were sitting there causally discussing his little cock, his slutty nature, and the plans that they had made to in advance. Bryan was incensed. He fumed at the thought that this was all a set up and he mumbled something under his breath. He stood to rise and leave when the gentleman said, “Sit down, bitch. We didn’t tell you that you could leave.”

A lump formed in his throat as Bryan felt helpless to move. His cock had no such limitations. It was raging hard and hurting from being constrained as it was. The casual power that the Black man had over him at that moment made him feel like the submissive slut he had longed to feel like. He wondered momentarily if they had slipped something in his drink to make him have . . . you know, those kinds of thoughts.

“What’s going on here? I thought . . .” he was mumbling incoherently. Desire giggled and ignored him momentarily.

“Oh, forgive my manners. Bryan, I would like you to meet Derrick. He’s my lover. We like to play together. He’s the male version of me, don’t you think? Derrick . . . you’ve already met Bryan.” The rapid eye movement of Bryan indicated confusion. “You didn’t honestly think someone as breathtaking as him would actually be attracted to someone like you, did you?” She laughed even louder, Bryan afraid that her amusement would be draw attention to them. He felt unattractive with her comment but that somehow aroused him even more. He wondered what people would think, a white man sitting there with two Black people. He was sure everyone in the place could read his mind. Bryan couldn’t even discern his own thoughts at that moment. All sorts of thoughts ran through his mind about what the two of them had in mind for him. He feared the outcome if he decided to let them go through with their plans and he was terrified of letting the extreme sensation of arousal that he was experiencing go.

For years, his attraction to Black women had consumed his every fantasy. He loved their strength and their assuredness. He loved their comfort and sophistication. White women hadn’t aroused him in the better part of four years or more. They were insignificant to him except on the rare occasion he fantasized about having a white wife that would be a slut for black cock. Occasionally, he would dream of having a white wife that craved huge black cocks fucking her mouth, pussy and asshole unmercilessly while he served the Black wives of those men in whatever degrading or humiliating ways they saw fit. Those thoughts didn’t seem realistic, his conservative wife would never think of such things, so he dismissed them as a fleeting fantasy. He was comfy defining himself as submissive to Black women. A submissive of the most extreme proportions. If he were to allow himself to be honest and frank about his own desires, there had been many nights he has dreamt of being forced to be a cross-dressing sissy for Black cock, but he wanted to be “forced” so he could absolve himself of the guilt of desiring those yummy Black studs. He allowed himself to freely fantasize about Black women all the time, and all the things that he would do for them.

“Let’s go,” her directive was simple and to the point. Out into the night air, Bryan had more reservations. All the “ifs” and the “what ifs” and logistics were causing him to panic. He stood helpless, like a child, waiting for further instruction. They were in control.

Derrick and Mistress Desire kissed in the darkness and shadows of the parking lot. They held hands and ignored Bryan but they were ever aware of his presence behind them as they made out while he watched. They approached an SUV and opened the back door and Derrick turned momentarily to tell Bryan to get in. Other than that, they were ignoring him as if he was insignificant to their arousal. Bryan, on the other hand, was mesmerized watching them kiss. Their skin looked so . . . different. They seemed so . . . powerful. It was intoxicating to watch them together.

He stepped in the back seat and closed the door behind him as he regretted not telling someone whom he was going to meet, getting some significant contact information from this woman in case something went wrong. Derrick drove while he and Desire chatted and laughed and occasionally looked in the rear view mirror. He went to adjust his cock as it had been hard for hours before meeting her and the dull ache in his nuts was a sweet and painful reminder of that fact. He wanted those nuts to be kicked, slapped, and twisted at the hands of the gorgeous mistress that sat in the passenger side of the truck in front of him. His boypussy was throbbing thinking about being fucked savagely. The pair in front of him seemed so sensuous, so oblivious to his presence, he wondered if they would forget about him and leave him to stroke his hard cock while he watched them make love or if he would be allowed to cum at all.

His thoughts were about to be answered as they pulled into the driveway of a lovely home. It was secluded and well maintained and more fears crept into his mind. He had more fears and more fantasies of what was to come as well. Desire slid the door open and said, “Get out.” He complied eagerly, in a fog of lust at that stage from the hours of pent up arousal.

As he stepped into the night air again, Bryan felt more alive than he had ever felt in his life. Mistress Desire circled him, her body close without touching him. She ran her nails along the side of his face lightly, sending chills down his body. “Undress,” she said calmly.

Bryan looked around confused. Surely, she was not going to make him undress in the driveway. It was too early in the evening; people were awake, watching television, someone might see.

“Undress now!”

As if in a trance, Bryan began to undress in the middle of the driveway. Derrick had entered the house and was nowhere in sight. He wasn’t sure what to do with his clothes so he folded them as he undressed and placed them in a neat pile on the ground. He removed his shoes first, feeling more comfortable with that accessory than a major piece of clothing. He removed his shirt next. At that moment, he wished he had the smooth, rippling muscles that most black men seemed to have and he felt ashamed of his pale complexion. Next to go were his pants. His tightie whities bulged obscenely in the front from the erection he was sporting and the cock ring in place. He pulled his socks off and stood in anticipation of his next command. He felt even more naked because he was hairless. Somehow, it made him feel more vulnerable.

“I said undress.” Her voice was so damned soothing and melodic, he felt helpless to deny her anything.

He slid his underwear down, his erection bobbing in the night air. Even at full erection, he was barely six inches. He always told inevitable Internet lie that he was six inches erect but that was only in the most extreme state of arousal. Tonight, he was convinced he might be a little more than six even.

Mistress Desire stroked his cock in the cool night air. The sensation was indescribable. Her hands were so soft and silky, he was under her control, people could be watching, and he knew that he had planned a night to explore his wildest fantasies. He moaned out loud as she stroked him with skill.

“Tell me what you want, Bryan. Tell me why you are here.”

The words came tumbling out of his mouth as if they had been rehearsed. “I want to be used by you, my superior Black queen. I want you to put me in my place as the inferior white boy that I am. I want you to take out your frustrations on me and make me your bitch. Humiliate me, Mistress. Force me to do unspeakable things. I want you to show me that you have power over me. Use me any way you see fit, Mistress. I belong to you.”

The more he confessed his desires, the more she stroked him. This Black woman, fully dressed, masturbating a completely nude white male in, seemingly her front yard, making him spill his guts. If anyone were looking they would have gotten an eyeful.

“Put your clothes in the backseat and bend over with your hands on the floor of the truck. He did what he was instructed to do and waited even further instruction.

“Let’s see if this pussy is as slutty as you claim it is,” she mused.

She spread his ass cheeks and rubbed her fingertip over his hole. He let out a slight moan. His knees were shaking and he was glad that he could brace himself on the frame of the truck, his ass exposed for the entire world to see. Mistress Desire slid her finger in to his unlubricated hole. That was nothing to him, he had gotten so used to fucking himself he actually leaked “pussy juice” as he called it when he was horny. His ass was always ready to be penetrated by a huge, black dildo any time of the day or night. She began fingering him harder, driving him to maniacal fits of pleasure.

She was giving him more pleasure than he had ever imagined. Gone were all inhibitions and he was anxious for more. “Oh, yessssss, Mistress. Finger my pussy, pleaaase.” If her fingers were just a little longer, she could have reached his spot. She knew exactly what she was doing and she worked his pussy like a pro.

She pulled her fingers out of his ass abruptly, causing him to cry out, his moans echoing off the cul-de-sac serenity. “Get on your hands and knees and crawl to the front door. Wait there until you are allowed in.” With that, she walked away up the walkway and entered the home.

Bryan was lost. He stood shakily and closed the truck door quietly, hoping not to draw any more attention than his previous moans and display had garnered. He willingly got on his hands and knees and crawled on the walkway to the front door. His hands and knees ached from the concrete but he relished the pain in anticipation of his fate to come. He knelt submissively at the door and waited. He suspected that they were watching him so he posed like a prize animal at a show. He arched his back and thrust his ass high in the air, showing that he was ready for anything. He lowered his head in submission, to prove that he was lowly and insignificant. His erection couldn’t be seen in his kneeling position but it was red from arousal and restraint. He wanted to be beautiful to all the eyes watching him, to whomever they may have belonged. He didn’t care if the nosey neighbors saw him; in fact, he wanted them to see him for who he really was. He wanted to be on display as a submissive to Blacks and he was proud of that fact.

In an instant, the porch lights were turned on and he was flooded with light. He maintained his composure and pride, sticking his ass out even more and lowering his head to the ground. His asshole was throbbing and desperate for penetration and his soul craved humiliation. At that moment, the door opened and he heard his Mistress command him to come in. He crawled forward with confidence and agility.

She stroked him like a pet, running her hands through his hair and down his back. Bryan purred like a kitten and humped the air like a bitch in heat. She placed a collar around his neck but he was afraid to tell her it was a little too tight so he suffered in silence. It was a good discomfort, one he would gladly suffer for the Divine Mistress that stood above him. She put a leash on his collar and pulled him in the direction of a back room. The carpet under his knees felt good compared to the concrete but the pain in his nuts was ever present.

She opened the door to a playroom and pulled him in unceremoniously. The furnishings were sparse but there was no denying it was a room for hedonistic desires. Not quite a dungeon and far from a spare bedroom, there were toys and tables, and chairs that had been designed for play. Derrick was there, naked and erect, oiled and glistening, a vision of ebony perfection. She dropped the leash and commanded Bryan to stay, like a puppy being trained. Desire and Derrick conspired, whispering and planning what to do with their toy. Derrick assisted her in undressing, the way they interacted making them look like dancers more so than anything else. Her body was a work of art. Her skin looked like the smoothest velvet and her curves were a sculptor’s dream.

She walked over to a table and picked up a strapon. Derrick helped her put it in place as Bryan began to whimper unconsciously at the thought of what was to come. “Silence, bitch,” as she continued to secure her harness and what looked like a nine inch black dildo to her sleek frame. Bryan was dizzy with lust and confusion.

Desire sat in a chair and motioned for Bryan to come closer. “This, my pet, is going to be very simple. You are going to suck my dick until you prove that you are a cock craved whore and then you are going to get your slutty white boycunt pounded by the most formidable Black cock that you’ve ever seen. Does that sound okay with you?” 

Bryan nodded furiously as he was anxious to get underway. She leaned back in the chair casually and Bryan took in every inch of her beauty. Her face was a face that could launch a thousand ships; her body was athletic and toned. Her nipples were dark and puffy and Bryan longed to feel them in is mouth. Her legs were out of this world. They seemed to go on forever. She stroked her strapon like it was real flesh. He approached her with confidence. He had sucked his own toys enough to know exactly how to do it. He had prepared himself to deepthroat dildos that didn’t look humanly possible to swallow.

His assault was calculated. He wanted to show her a cocksucker like she had never seen before. He had often fantasized what it would be like to have such a huge dick and he had practiced sucking his toys the way he would want his cock sucked if he were a black man. He maintained eye contact with her as he began to lick sensuously up and down the shaft. He licked the head and circled it with his tongue and began stroking it with his hand methodically. He licked up and down the shaft, inching his mouth closer and closer to the sweet pussy that lay underneath, the scent of it making his little red cock leak profusely with precum. He placed his mouth over the head and began his descent. Barely more than half of it was in his mouth and it was already hitting the back of his throat. It was thicker than he had ever sucked before but he was determined to show her that he was a good slut for her.

Her words fueled his passion to do an even better job. “Come on you dirty white cocksucker, show me what a slut you are for my juicy black cock. Suck my beautiful black dick. Tell me you love it.”

He went into a cocksucking frenzy. “Yes, Mistress. I’m in love with your big, black cock. It tastes so good in my mouth. I love being your white cocksucker. Feed me your cum.” He was sucking harder and faster, taking it deeper and deeper. His spit was dripping down the side; he wanted to be like the white whores he saw in all the videos that gave messy blowjobs.

She grabbed the back of his head and forced him all the way down on her “cock.” He choked and gasped for air and he felt like he was going to pass out. The head of the black toy was deep in his throat and he felt like he was going to puke. He kept sucking. He sucked and she pumped until they were in a rhythm. He was taking every inch down his throat in every thrust. Every time she would let him up for air, she would ask him, “Do you want some more?” He nodded affirmatively but he eagerness was evidenced in the fact that he wouldn’t stop sucking and licking that sexy black strapon.

“You’re ready to get your pussy fucked, aren’t you?” He nodded uncontrollable, only stopping for a few seconds before he continued to lick and suck and swallow her strapon. “Derrick, get him ready for me, will you please?”

Bryan froze for a second. He was past the point of pretense or care and all he wanted was to be used. He arched his back as he felt lubricant being poured on his hole. Derrick’s fingers were longer, thicker, and penetrated him more completely than Desire’s fingers had previously done. He moaned in appreciation of the stimulation and sucked that much more. She kept taunting him with her words,” you want to get fucked by a big black cock, to be a white faggot whore to be used by the Superior Black race, don’t you?

He didn’t have time to answer. His mouth was crammed full of the strapon and he was sucking it like a whore. At that instant, he felt the head of Derrick’s dick at the entrance to his pussy. He reached his hand back to feel its size and to guide it in but he wasn’t prepared for what he encountered. It was as thick as a beer can and twice as long.

“Noooo,” he cried out, “I can’t take that, please no.” The words coming out of his mouth rang of fear but his heart told a different tale. He craved the pain of being used by Black people to rid him of his horrible guilt, to make him feel as inferior had he knew himself to be. He wanted to be fucked like a white rag doll and he wanted to earn his punishment. The head burned as it penetrated him and he turned back to suck the strapon to distract himself. Desire had unhooked the dildo and spread her legs wide and presented him with her wet slit.

Bryan was experiencing sensory overload. A Black man was about to fuck him with the biggest black cock he had ever seen and before him was a sexy Black woman shoving her pussy in his face. He cried out, “Fuck me. Fuck my mouth, Fuck my pussy. Use me. Fuck me!!!” Tears formed in his eyes. He was lowered to a mass of flesh and lust at the hands of these Ebony gods.

The cock in his ass pushed its way past his sphincter and deep into his bowels. It hurt. It was the kind of pain ushered in by the grandest pleasure. The sweet, sexy pussy in his face tasted like heaven. He felt what he previously thought was impossible . . . Derrick’s balls were firmly against his own. He was impaled on that massive meat.

He licked the clit in his face furiously as he wanted his Mistress to come in his mouth. “More . . . more . . . more,” he kept chanting.

Derrick began slapping his ass and calling him names and it sent Bryan into a lust-driven high. The pounding was harder now; he was being fucked without mercy. His guts ached, his prostate had never had that sort of stimulation and he was eating the wet musky cunt of his sexy Nubian Mistress. His tears were uncontrollable. His balls were aching. He started stroking his own cock uncontrollably as he unsnapped the cock ring and let out a cry. His cum exploded from his prick as Desire held his head to her spasming pussy and Derrick unloaded blast after thick blast of thick, hot cum in his well used pussy. He passed out from the pleasure and the pain.

It was early morning when they dropped him off at the parking lot of the gay bar where they met. They had used him in so many delicious and unspeakable ways he couldn’t remember them all. They were kinder to him then when they first met, treating him like a pet now more than a plaything. He was desperate for some sign that he had pleased them. “Will I see you again? Would you like to use me some more?” The longing in his eyes a telltale sign of the delight he had taken in being fucked so completely.

“Know that tonight was child’s play compared to what you will experience again,” Desire said. They drove off into the early morning, masters of dominant pleasure.

Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

Alternative Intimacy

Great sex doesn’t always have to fit narrow definitions. True pleasure can be achieved when partners allow themselves to experience passion without prejudice, sensuality without censor. Journey with me as I open the bedroom door on an Afrocentric couple who has chosen to shed the rules and regulations of classic conservatism and who has chosen to expand their boundaries and explore all that life has to offer.

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I am Black

What do you see when you see me? Do you see responsibility and dignity encoded in my DNA? Do you see generations of survival and struggle in my eyes? Open your third eye and see that I am Black. I am a black woman with the burdens, trials, and tribulations that come along with that honor. Don’t look at the color of my skin to see my blackness, that the sun has graced me with its kisses. See my blackness and my femininity as intricately intertwined and divinely gifted, see my blackness as my nature and my demeanor, not the way society has narrowly defined me. The realization of my true place as a black woman did not come until I let go of my insecurities and fears, my false beliefs that kept me separated from my other half. My soul was incomplete without the presence of my Nubian king. He waited patiently for me to grow and mature, she waited for me to wear the crown that had my name inscribed on it so that we could reign together. Now that I have found him, I will not forsake his love. My thoughts are filled with ways I can bring a smile to his lips, those sweet and seductive lips that make my knees weak and my palms sweaty when they gently touch my cheek . . . my brow. I am filled with the need to give him pleasure like he’s never known before, to bring him satisfaction until he passes out from sensory overload. Laying my head on his chest, finding that spot that belongs only to me fills me with a profound joy and peace like I’ve never known before. With his arms wrapped tightly around my brown curves, I know my challenge is to show him my emotional wounds and let him heal them with his compassion and his love. I’m humbled by the ways I’ve grown with him and his ability to see me as a complete human being, not just an object to acquire. She is the reason for me being and I’m made whole in his arms.

Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK

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