AfroerotiK

Erotic provocateur, racially-influenced humanist, relentless champion for the oppressed, and facilitator for social change, Scottie Lowe is the brain child, creative genius and the blood, sweat, and tears behind AfroerotiK. Intended to be part academic, part educational, and part sensual, she, yes SHE gave birth to the website to provide people of African descent a place to escape the narrow-mined, stereotypical, limiting and oft-times degrading beliefs that abound about our sexuality. No, not all Black men are driven by lust by white flesh or to create babies and walk away. No, not all Black women are promiscuous welfare queens. And as hard as it may be to believe, no, not all gay Black men are feminine, down low, or HIV positive. Scottie is putting everything on the table to discuss, debate, and dismantle stereotypes in a healthy exchange of ideas. She hopes to provide a more holistic, informed, and enlightened discussion of Black sexuality and dreams of helping couples be more open, honest, and adventurous in their relationships.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

A Twist of Fate

A  Twist of Fate

It’s funny how, in an instant, one’s entire programming can be shifted.  Given the right circumstances, everything that you’ve ever believed, everything that you’ve fought, feared, and resisted can be twisted and morphed into the thing you crave the most.  Such was the case with Taja Crawford, who took a frightening journey that would leave her breathless, satisfied in ways she didn’t know existed, and craving much more.

It all started innocently enough, when Taja arrived home late one night from shopping.  She dragged her bags through the front door and dropped them at her feet as she reached around to hit the light switch.  She’d been out shopping as usual.  It had become her hobby of late in an ongoing effort to make herself feel valuable and beautiful.  As soon as the door closed behind her, she knew something was wrong.  It was pitch black!  She remembered pulling into the subdivision and none of the other houses were dark so she figured that there must be a blown fuse somewhere.  Her husband had been working around the house for a few days so she thought that he might have accidentally knocked something out. 

“Phillip, are you here?”  She called out to her husband again and there was no answer.  “It just figures that dumb ass wouldn’t be here to fix the mess he made,” she mumbled half under her breath and half aloud.  Taja’s anger at her husband was typical, even if he hadn’t done anything specifically wrong; she was going to find a way to blame him for something.  Philip was a model husband but Taja’s irrational standards were impossible to meet.  She took pleasure in degrading him every chance she got and knowing full well that he would take it.  She thought it was nothing less than an honor and a privilege for any man to be with her, that men had an obligation to take anything that she dished out and not say a word.  The more she could degrade him, the better she would feel about herself. 

Disoriented by the darkness Taja fumbled to find her purse to get her cell phone.  Just her luck, the battery had died.  That just made her angrier and curse Phillip more, even though he clearly had nothing to do with her phone.  Luckily for her, she’d just purchased some brand new candles so all she had to do was let her eyes adjust for a second and find the lighter, which was right on top of the fireplace in the living room.   

Before she even had a chance to get her bearings  . . . the unimaginable happened.  It was every woman’s worst nightmare and it was happening in her own home.  She felt the hands, the pressure, the pain, the fear overcome her body in a split second.  Taja was grabbed and immobilized, her arms pulled around behind her as she cried out, “Nooooooooo.  STOP,” but her cries were muffled by a black leather gloved hand over her mouth.  She was pushed against the front door and she felt the air being forced out of her lungs.  She fought, struggling with her assailant, trying to resist him but she was quickly overpowered.  Her mind was racing, she was praying, she was planning a strategy for escape all at the same time.  She was in a panic.  Her fear was soon displaced by rage as she hated this person for invading her home and was filled with the desire to exact revenge, even in her current helpless state.  She fought with all her might but she was overpowered as her limbs began to fatigue.  She was no match for her assailant. 

In a matter of seconds, she had calmed down enough to know that she was going to have to use her wits to get out of this situation.  With his hand still firmly against her mouth, she tried to get some image of what this person looked like.  Could it be someone that she knew?  Was it a total stranger?  Fear coursed through every vein in her body as she imagined it was one of her cyber lovers.  She’d spent many late nights cheating online, chatting with men in explicit sexual language in an attempt to add some spice to her life, to taunt Phillip and prove to him that she could have any man she wanted.  She’d been careless, sharing exaggerated, intimate details about her life in order to make herself seem more affluent than she really was.  Maybe one of those men had come to do unspeakable sexual acts on her.  Tears were burning in her eyes and a lump formed in her throat, making it nearly impossible to swallow.  The adrenaline pumping in her body was causing her to sweat and her legs felt like gelatin.

Her attacker leaned in close and whispered, “Shhhhhhh,” and Taja nodded very calmly to indicate that she understood.  As soon as he removed his hand, something was stuffed in her mouth and then a handkerchief or scarf of some sort was tied in place.  Her first reaction was to try to scream to get a gauge of how much sound she could make through the material but she held off.  She didn’t know if this person had a gun or a knife and what his intentions were so she played it cool until she could devise a plan.  He placed a silk blindfold over her eyes and she was struck by his gentle touch.  She noticed how he gently lifted her hair to secure the blindfold and the soft lingering touches he gave to her face.    She felt the cold metal of a pair of handcuffs being put on her wrists.  She needed to know what he wanted to do so she would have to gain his confidence enough to let her speak so she played the part of a scared victim but she was actually using her skills as an actress to make him think that she was incapable of escape. 

The strange attacker led Taja down the hall to the spare bedroom and closed the door and locked it behind them.  Her heart dropped when she thought about what had happened to her husband.  Phillip wasn’t just your average good guy; he was a great guy.  He owned his own handyman repair business, not glamorous but it paid the bills.  He bought Taja her dream house and he didn’t even complain when he had no say in picking out anything, nothing, not one single thing for the house.  He bent over backwards to be nice to Taja’s meddling sisters and her mother.  Phillip went to church every Sunday even when Taja felt like she had more important things to do, like shop.  He cooked, he cleaned, he even volunteered with disadvantaged youth, he would never cheat and he worked hard to provide for his wife.  His only flaw, to Taja, was not being edgy enough.  She saw the good qualities in Phillip but she wanted flash, she wanted a bad boy.  Certainly, Phillip would never allow anything to happen to her, she knew he loved her with all his heart.  She pushed the horrendous thought out of her mind about how her husband and the intruder might have struggled and fought, Phillip losing only to a bullet or knife wound, fighting to protect his wife.  She didn’t hate Phillip, she didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, she just wanted him not to take her shit all the time; she wanted to be the wife of someone dangerous.  It really wasn’t his fault that he was average.   

The adrenaline was pumping in Taja’s veins and she was acutely aware of everything going on around her.  Whatever happened, whatever was to happen, Taja maintained her senses and waited for her opportunity to escape.

The spare bedroom wasn’t even a room that she and Phillip usually used.  It was for guests when they came to spend the night; the only time it was ever really used was when Phillip slept there once in a while to keep from angering Taja with his presence.  The stranger led Taja to the middle of the room, and in a split second, Taja’s arms were hoisted above her head and attached to some sort of cable that was secured to the ceiling.  It was the most unbelievably painful and uncomfortable sensation she had ever experienced.  Taja was barely standing on her tiptoes and her arms were stretched to the point of excruciating pain.  She was trying to balance herself and she felt herself flailing about like a rag doll.  Her fight or flight instinct took over and she began crying uncontrollably.  She felt her tears stream down her cheeks only to be absorbed by the handkerchief around her mouth.  She tried to “feel” his presence in the room.  He had moved back and was just listening to her muffled cries.  She thought for a second that the end was near and everything would be over shortly.  In her mind, she said her goodbyes and repented for her sins and waited for her untimely demise.  What could have been seconds, what was probably minutes, but felt more like hours passed.  The pain in her arms was unbearable; her legs ached from trying to relieve the pressure but her feet could barely reach the floor.  Maybe he was going to leave her there to die, she thought; the victim of starvation, dehydration and torture. 

Unexpectedly, he released the cable that suspended her from the floor and let her stand.  Her arms were still above her head but the tension had been lessoned to the point where she could move them slightly.  Taja was grateful to him for sparing her such pain and she realized that he had won one battle; he had made her appreciative of his small act of kindness.

He moved around in front of her and she could feel his body heat close to her.  She felt his hands on her sides and run down to her full hips.  He began caressing her breasts and sheer terror shot through her.  Without notice, he ripped her blouse open, tearing it like it was nothing.  Her breathing was heavy, knowing he was probably standing before her, aroused, but she was helpless to do anything about it.  The telltale sign of the cold steel blade of a knife was pressed against her breasts as she froze.  He cut away her bra and the remaining portions of her blouse until she stood topless.  Having removed his gloves, he began caressing her neck, planting gentle, tender kisses on the nape of her neck and her collarbone.  He licked gently, he kissed softly; from her ears to her shoulders and not missing a spot in between.  His soft tongue licked up to her ear and he began blowing softly.  His fingers stroked her flesh as he sucked the tender spot that always made Taja wet. 

Rage coursed through Taja’s body.  The unspeakable was about to happen.  He was going to violate her, take from her something he had no right to take.  For years, she had fantasized about being “raped”.  Without regard for what the word actually meant, she fantasized that violent aggressive sex, that a man “taking” her, actually symbolized that she was more desirable than other women.  The reality was vastly different.  

Her mind was spinning, trying to reconcile the unadulterated fear coursing through her body and her arousal.   She was searching for some way to make sense of the fact that while she was angered and scared she was actually enjoying this man kissing her sweet spot.  He was making love to her neck with his mouth, licking and kissing and caressing her passionately.  She shook her head to shake the thought that here she was, standing bare breasted and restrained by a total stranger, and on some level she was enjoying it.  She was actually enjoying the sensation, it was giving her pleasure and it served to distract her from the pain in her arms that were still secured above her head and the anger of being assaulted.  She was desperate to move her arms; her restraint was painful, both physically and psychologically. 

In an act of kindness, her assailant unfastened the handkerchief around her face and removed the gag from her mouth.  Taja immediately began pleading for her life, trying to talk rationally with the man.  He didn’t say a word; he gently placed his fingers to her lips to indicate to her that he wanted her to be quiet.  Taja froze, and bargained.  “I’ll be quiet if you let my arms down a little, they hurt so badly.  Please.” 

He ignored her pleas as his fingertips began to gently trace her nipples, softly circling her breasts.  Her erect nipples stood out from her body, proudly almost, betraying the fact that she actually enjoyed the stimulation.  When he lowered his mouth to her tits, a small groan could be heard emanating from her throat.  He filled his hands with her breasts and he held them to his mouth.  Taja was outdone and began slightly thrusting back and forth, showing barely detectable signs of sexual arousal.  She was enjoying his ministrations a little too much for her comfort.  He began sucking a little harder and Taja bit her lip to keep from moaning.  He started biting her nipples and it was as if it was sending shots of electricity directly to her clit.  Her brain was misfiring, somehow causing her to experience the sensation as pleasure.  She could feel moisture developing between her legs, the throb of arousal in her pussy.  Taja was confused and determined to control her own desire.  She was always in control and she was going to do whatever she had to do to keep her pussy from getting wet.

Even the best laid plans need room for variables.  As Taja was trying to control her arousal, and the man before her was licking, sucking and biting her hard nipples, she experienced a sensation that would send her mind and body reeling.  Her arms were beginning to numb, a dull ache had set in, and she was almost able to tune out the pain when she was jolted by a pain that transformed her focus.  Nipple clamps were applied to her aroused nipples as her captor began to pull a chain attached to them.  He was toying with her, alternating between softly caressing her breasts and roughly pulling the chain that was attached to the clamps.  Taja wasn’t able to hide her arousal, she was moaning in pleasure and in pain.  He took what felt like to be a riding crop and began gently slapping her tits.  Taja was undone; she felt every sting as pleasure.   

Without notice, he stopped, causing Taja’s mind to spin out of control with questions.  “What is he thinking, what is he planning, what was he doing?”  As soon as he stopped the assault on her breasts, she was reminded of the pain in her arms, still suspended from the ceiling.  Within seconds, the cable that held her arms in the air was released enough to let her arms fall completely.  He massaged them for a few minutes, taking the opportunity to massage and lick her breasts as well.  This time, without the gag, it was impossible for Taja to hide the fact that she was aroused; her moans were audible and guttural.  Her arms were burning and sore and his massage felt delicious. 

He pushed her to her knees and circled her like a lion stalking its prey.  Still unable to see anything, there was no mistaking the sounds of his zipper being lowered.  Taja waited, anxious to be thrown into the next phase of arousal and stimulation.  She couldn’t deny to herself that she was experiencing pleasure in ways that she had never imagined possible.  The restraint, the pain, the fact that it was a total stranger controlling her fate . . . all turned Taja on and she was craving more sensation.  When it was all over, when she would tell the tale later, she would deny her arousal, now; she was going to bathe in the nasty and sensual feelings that had been awakened in her.

She felt the tip of his dick against her lips.  He held it there, neither one of them making a move to initiate any action.  Ever so detectably, he began rubbing it on her lips.  The salty, semi-sweet precum that had formed on the head of his dick painted her lips and her first instinct was to lick the fluid away but she remained like a statue, not wanting to scare her captor or cause him to get antsy.  He began to stroke his hard dick and she could hear him moaning.  He put his thumb in her mouth and continued stroking his dick.  Taja was confused.  He could easily have shoved his dick in her mouth and there wasn’t much she could do about it.  She swallowed the saliva that had collected in her mouth and realized that it simulated a sucking action.  He groaned loudly. 

He took his thumb out of her mouth and he grabbed a hand full of her hair.  Taja let out a yelp and he pulled her hair even tighter in his grip.  His breathing was getting more labored and he had now begun to push the head of his dick between her lips.  For the first time, Taja wanted to please her home invader.  She wanted him to be pleased with her oral skills, to consider her sexy and to want her.  Being objectified was her drug of choice and she was high and addicted to the sensation. 

The man with his dick in her mouth wasn’t interested in her thoughts and reflections, he was going to fuck her mouth and she wasn’t going to have much say in the matter.  He pushed his dick in to her mouth and he stood perfectly still.  Taja imagined that he was equally as afraid of losing an appendage as she was afraid of what he might do if she accidentally bit him.  Taja wanted to control the action, she wanted to give him a blowjob the way she wanted to do it but that was not to be.  He knew what he wanted and he communicated it to her without saying a word.  He controlled the pace; he controlled the action.  When he wanted her to lick, he pulled her head back, when he wanted her to suck, he shoved his dick in her mouth to the base.  He grabbed the back of her head and used her mouth for his pleasure.  She could feel every vein, every ridge against her tongue as he face-fucked her.  She gagged and choked as he forced the head of his erection down her throat and it seemed to turn them both on. 

Taja was enjoying the rough treatment.  She was aroused by the way this man was using her and she was stimulated by the fact that he didn’t really let her control the action.  She got into the blowjob and started trying to give him pleasure like she’d never done to anyone in the past.  It was important for her self-esteem to think of herself as an object of desire and she got into sucking and licking like never before.  It was the sloppiest, wettest, loudest blowjob she had ever given and even found herself moaning and enjoying it.  It was as if she didn’t have to pretend to be reserved anymore, like she had been conditioned to be; she could be a wanton, sexual slut, and that thought sent chills up her normally judgmental and conservative spine.  She rationalized that he was forcing her to behave in this whorish manner and she let go of whatever beliefs that told her she was being a bad girl, she wanted to be naughty and, dare she admit it, submissive.

She felt the head of his dick pounding her throat and she didn’t tense up, she went with the sensation.  He got thicker and harder in her mouth as he fucked her mouth more.  Taja’s hands were rubbing her pussy through her pants and her attacker was making noises like a wounded animal.  He grabbed her by the throat and restricted her air.  The rougher he treated her, the more moisture soaked her panties.  She was being held captive by a man she didn’t know and she was more trusting of him than she had been with all of her previous lovers. 

“Shit,” he cried out, the first word he had uttered all night, and he backed away.

Taja was dazed and caught off guard.  In the frenzy of her arousal, she had almost forgotten that he was a real individual.  Why had he stopped?  Had she done something wrong?  She hated herself for wanting him not to stop.  Had he shot his load on and not wanted to do it in her mouth?  Visions of his dick, shooting cum on the floor as he stood over her, stroking it, enraged her.  “Damn you, you son of a bitch.  Let me go, RIGHT NOW!  You’ll be sorry for this.”  She really wanted to beg for his cum in her mouth but she knew not to say another word.  She was on fire and it was impossible to deny at that point.  She began to plead with him again to let her go but in the back of her mind she wanted to experience just a little bit more erotic torture. 

He pulled her to her feet and removed her pants.  With painstaking slowness, he pulled them down over her full hips and tossed them to the side.  Taja stood motionless, afraid to move, not sure of the reasons why.  Her attacker led her to the bed and secured the handcuffs to the headboard.  She was laying face down and he made her get on her knees.  Taja was embarrassed to be so exposed, so vulnerable yet so aroused.   Again, he left her there for a few minutes in silence and in darkness. 

She felt the bed shift as he climbed on with her.  His hands began caressing her back gently, massaging her sore arm muscles again.  Everything he did, he did with such tenderness and care, and it was at that moment that she first thought that her attacker could actually be her husband.  “Phillip, is that you?  Let me go.  Stop this, this isn’t funny.” 

If it was her husband, if it was Phillip, he would surely let her go, he knew she was really in control, he knew that whatever she said was the final word.  That belief was shattered when she felt the sting of a sharp slap on her ass.  The pain rattled her sense of reality and traveled up and down her spine.  Phillip would never defy a direct order from her let alone be so aggressive.  She began to panic again.  Had she underestimated this perpetrator?  Reality sunk in and she began to sob uncontrollably.  “Please, please let me go,” she cried.

“Count,” he said.

While Taja was wondering what he intended for her to count, she felt the sharp sting of another blow on her ass.  It took of few seconds for her brain to comprehend and she was able to eek out, “One,” not sure if that was the correct response or not, just going with her gut.  He followed the slap to her ass with soft kisses to her disciplined flesh.  His hands massaged her breasts, rubbed her clit and soothed her sexy round bottom.  She felt decidedly masculine hands caress the tender flesh of her ass.  His hands were kneading her body and gently stroking her thighs and back.  His fingers separated her butt cheeks and he ran them lightly over her asshole.  Taja froze in terror.  The man responsible for her restraint then slid his fingers down to her soaking wet pussy and rubbed her swollen clit.  Taja was pissed, embarrassed, and annoyed at herself for being aroused.  She wanted and needed to regain control so she began talking again, trying to hide her true feelings, begging to be let go. 

The next blow came without warning and she cried out “Owwwww,” as tears formed in her eyes.  She remembered to say “Two,” and lay her head on the pillow as an act of exhaustion, both physical and mental.  What followed was more caressing and more spanking, more fingering and more counting, more tender touches and searing pain combined.  She felt his hands caressing the tender and heated flesh of her ass.  The more he caressed, the wetter her pussy became.  He would rub her sore nipples and spank her butt and thighs.  It was torture; erotic, sensual, heavenly torture.  Her head was reeling; it wasn’t supposed to feel pleasurable.  She wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this.  The stinging was registering in her brain as bliss and she was tormented by the fact that each slap was followed by him gently rubbing her clit to near orgasm.  She began to look forward to each slap, to him bringing her closer and closer to fierce explosion every time.  By the time she got to twenty, she was experiencing each slap as pleasure, each sting was ecstasy.  Her pussy was dripping and her clit was throbbing and she was desperate to cum. 

Without warning, she felt the softness of a tongue licking her soaking wet pussy.  “Noooo, she cried out, not sure why she was saying it; she truly didn’t want him to stop.  She was trying to stop him from having more control over her and the fact that he was teasing her with such expertise.  She was pulling against her restraints, and trying to fight her own orgasm as he licked her from front to back. 

There was no stopping him; he was going to make her cum and cum hard.  She fought it with her mind but her body was betraying her intentions.  She had been so aroused for so long, she was at the brink of sensual release.  Ecstasy washed over her body and his lips gently sucked her clit as his tongue fucked her hole.  He lapped and licked, nibbled and sucked and made her grind her pussy on his face.  She moaned in the pillow and begged him not to stop. 

She felt the head of his dick rubbing her pussy.  She was beyond the point of rational thought.  Like a light switch going off in her head, she realized that the life of control and rules she had lived by were mere illusions.  She wanted to be fucked, fucked good, fucked hard, and fucked long.  She needed to be fucked.  She heard the words coming out of her mouth but they sounded like they were coming from someone else.  They sounded like they were coming from a wounded animal.  “Fuuuuuck meeeee pleeeeease.”

Time froze.  In an instant, the handcuffs were released and a small nightlight was turned on.  She could tell her captor got off the bed and stood back, waiting for her to make a move.  She kept her head in the pillow with her ass in the air, not moving an inch.  She knew she should get up and run but she couldn’t.  She wanted to turn around and see the face of her captor.  She remained frozen.  She said it again, this time aware that she could no longer claim to being forced to do anything.  “Fuck me.”

The ringing in her ears and the desperation in her wet pussy drove her to say the words that she wouldn’t have thought possible two hours earlier.  She felt the head rub from her clit to her asshole and she arched backwards, trying to get him to penetrate her.  She was desperate to feel that sensation of him hitting bottom deep inside her.  She needed to feel full with his hardness, the ecstasy that a woman can only feel when a big hard dick is filling her, stretching her, pounding her.  It was a strange twist of fate that had her craving the very sensation that she had fought all her life to deny.  She wanted to be submissive, to let go of all the stereotypes and standards that told her that she had to be a strong black woman that didn’t put up with anything, that called all the shots.  She realized that her freedom was in letting go, was in letting someone else have the reins of control and it had nothing to do with her being weak, it was simply a shift in power.  She was tired of pretending that she had to be everything to everyone, she was tired of needing to feel like a bitch.  In that moment she wanted to surrender to sensations that she had no control over and she craved that release.

“Say it again,” he said again calmly.

In a surreal declaration, she said the words that released her from her invisible bonds.  “Now! Please! Fuck me!”

With those words, he took the head of his dick and placed it at the head of her asshole.  Anal sex was something she’d done before but it had been a long time ago, with boyfriends that insisted she had to do it to prove that she loved them.  It’d been many years since she even thought about doing it and fear paralyzed her body.  She wasn’t even sure she could take it.  There was no doubt in her mind that it was going to hurt.  Why then, was her body screaming out for this stranger to do it?  She wanted to feel like she was giving him the ultimate symbol of her submission to him. 

Exquisitely slow and with exhausting skill, her captor managed to get the head inserted with no pain at all.  Taja was sweating and her musky scent was reminiscent of a wild animal but it was sexy and primal.  The fact that just the head of his dick was inside her was driving her out of her mind.  She started pushing back and driving more meat inside her backdoor.  The sensation of being filled like that was causing her to grunt and moan.  It was as if she couldn’t breath and every millimeter shoved inside her felt like miles of orgasmic pleasure.  Teeth marks were embedded in the pillowcase and her hands gripped the sheets tightly.  Through it all, he wouldn’t move and inch; he let her control the penetration.  It was only when she reached between her legs to rub her clit that she realized that he was completely buried inside her.  She’d past her threshold of pleasure and it was time for some fast and furious fucking. 

Taja had to grab the headboard to keep her head from being rammed.  In an instant, he was fucking her senseless.  She pushed back; he pumped harder.  Every inch of his dick was driven deep inside her and she adored the sensation.  Rockets went off inside her head and she was outside herself.  Taja was now another person, another woman who had no fears, no inhibitions.  She needed to get fucked and she wasn’t afraid to ask for it all night long.  He grabbed her hips; she rubbed her clit.  He was moaning, she was groaning.  She came without him missing a beat and he kept fucking her through her orgasm.  Sweat formed on both of them and they grunted and groaned like wild animals.  They fucked into the night until Taja passed out from pleasure and exhaustion.

The morning came and sunlight filtered through the blinds.  Taja awoke, her arms and legs and ass were sore.  The smells of eggs and coffee were coming up the stairs.  Phillip entered the room and held out her robe.  “Breakfast is ready.” 

She stood on shaky feet, still weak from the incredible fuck she had gotten and the restraint her body had endured.  “We need to talk . . ." Her words were cut off with the familiar finger that has silenced her the night before. 

Phillip had no words to explain his behavior or his actions.  He, too, had been struggling with his perceived role as doormat versus being a “man” and he had devised this plan to show his wife who was the boss.  While he had done it for her he had come to some personal revelations of his own.  If being the boss meant that he had to be someone that was unnatural to him, he wanted no parts of that.  He stood his ground as he waited for her verbal assault, quite sure she was going to go back to full bitch mode.   

Never having had a previous occasion to be humble, Taja was rendered speechless.  Her journey to self-discovery started with a paralyzing fear and ended with a frightening revelation.  She let Phillip help her on with her robe.  She rested her head on his shoulder and he put his arms around her.  She’d lost a piece of herself and found it in losing control.  There was no turning back, only relinquishing old beliefs in a strange twist of fate.


Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK

It's Our Anniversary

When Anthony wins the World Series pool at work, he plans on secretly seducing his wife, Cherida, on their anniversary. He’s packs up the kids and sends them off to his mother-in-law’s house, sets the stage for a steamy weekend of unbridled passion, and atypically goes out of his way to pamper and cater to his wife’s every sexual need. For all of his efforts, Cherida reciprocates tenfold and “puts it on him like he stole something.”


CLICK HERE TO LISTEN TO THE EXCERPT

Are Black People More Athletic?

I’m going to go out on a racist limb here and say that black people overall would be able to integrate into most physical activities with more ease and efficiency than white people. Shocking I know but I would think it’s much easier for a Jamaican Bobsled team to navigate the turns of the downhill slalom than it is for the Norwegian Bobsled team to slam dunk on the basketball court. Again, to assert that Black people can ONLY excel in sports is racist. To say that Black people only excel at sports because we are from the ghetto is straight up racist. To deny that our natural rhythm and coordination wouldn’t lend itself naturally to being better athletes . . . well one would have to wonder why anyone would want to deny something so benign.

I remember Surya Bonaly, the Black ice skater that went to the Olympics. The judges disqualified her and gave her very low marks because they said she was "too athletic." It seems her power and strength was intimidating to the judges and her jumps were too high, her moves were too commanding. Let it be noted for all the world, let the message ring down from every hamlet, spread the word across the countryside, the decree had gone out, the Olympic officials have declared the Black person was too athletic.

I'm imagining, if we put the members of the Romanian gymnastics team on a basketball court, a baseball field and a track and field stadium against a group of young ladies from New York that play double dutch, I'm wondering which set of young ladies will fare better at all the sports overall? Which young ladies will have more muscle mass, strength, endurance and ability to master the rudimentary skills of each sport with the most ease? While I'm not so sure that the young ladies from NY would be able to kick the asses of the gymnasts at their own game, I do know they would bring a certain inherent talent to the mats that would manifest itself as rhythmic ability. I know good and god damn well that the gymnasts couldn't touch the sistas at double dutch.

I would go so far as to say that anyone that denies the superior athletic ability of Black people is suffering from some inferiority complex and undue paranoia that Black people are going to crush them with their bigger stronger muscles. That would probably be the case if we weren’t so mentally superior and chose not to mirror the genocidal, colonizing, maraudering, and oppressive behaviors of white people. LOL, just kidding a little.

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Who hurt you?




One of the questions that I’m asked on a rather regular basis, by men who seemingly want to show empathy and concern for me after I’ve challenged them about their issues, is, “Who hurt you?” You see, women aren’t supposed to speak out about men, we aren’t supposed to question the way things are; we are supposed to cower in terror when we are questioned by men and go running in fear to a position of subservience and compliance any time we are confronted by them. Men are allowed to be angry, to be frustrated, to feel like they are being demonized by the world. If women question and speak out, if we do take issue with the status quo, then quite obviously, some man has to hurt us so terribly in the past as to create this ugly entity known as the “angry Black woman.” That’s supposed to be an insult from a man, the highest possible insult, because it’s meant to imply that I’m not longer desirable to men, that I’m a little too uppity for my own britches, a little too vocal, and that I need to be taken down a peg.

The problem with that is that, I am angry. You damn right I’m angry; I’m the reigning title holder of the Ms. Angry Black Woman. But I wear the title of angry Black woman proudly, and for good mother fucking reason, because with that crown and banner, I get to speak out about issues like patriarchy, sexism, colorism, misogyny and hold a dirty mirror up to men so that can see their ugly reflections and I don’t have to hold my tongue. My anger is a positive outlet. It has allowed me to heal from my past hurts. My anger causes me to fight for the rights of women, to try to heal the chasm of Black relationships that grows deeper and wider with the passing of each tic of the sexist, oppressive clock.

Tito Oliviero hurt me. He raped me one hot summer day, putting his hand on my throat and telling me that he would kill me if I screamed while he was violating me. Apparently, he decided that being friends wasn’t enough for him and that he had a right to my body, without my consent.

Dimas Chardon hurt me. (I think that’s his real name but I’m not sure, I’m certainly not trying to protect him because he’s innocent) He asked me to his house in Connecticut and I politely declined. He decided that since I had rejected him that he could teach me a lesson. He took out a gun, put it on my desk, and held me down with a loaded weapon just inches from my face while he raped me.

There is a man whose name I don’t know. He begged me to come to my apartment, to “just hang out.” It was only a matter of minutes before he we were on the floor, I was fighting with all my might, and was clueless that that was an indication that I didn’t want to have sex with him. It didn’t matter to him if I wanted him or not, he wanted to have sex with me. We fought until I was physically and emotionally drained and then I just gave in. I laid there like I limp, lifeless rag while he had sex with me. I wish I knew his name so I could call him out. I know his face, it’s one that I will never forget. He probably doesn’t know my name, he probably doesn’t even remember me. I was just another hole for him, another piece of ass to affirm his manhood.

Whenever I say that I was raped, I get this huge outpouring of messages, “You are so brave . . . you need to get counseling . . . don’t let the anger consume you.” It’s incomprehensible to people that I can actually talk about being raped without having some sort of emotional breakdown. I’m not ashamed of what happened, I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not afraid to talk about it, because AGAIN, I didn’t do anything wrong. I can’t do anything to change what happened to me but I sure as hell ain’t gonna pretend it didn’t. The people that need to be ashamed are the men who raped me. They are the ones who did something wrong, they are the criminals. They took something that belonged to me, I’m not going to curl up in a ball and sit in silence to keep them from feeling guilty. None of the men that raped me were thugs or low life’s. There were educated, intelligent, successful Black men. They are the men that CLAIM to be good black men because they make a good salary, drive a nice car. They are men, who, right now, would stare in a woman’s face and swear that they have never raped anyone.

I’ve met countless numbers of women who have tales of being raped, I’ve even encountered a few men who are brave enough to speak up about their molestation and rape. There are even scores of men who say how sorry they are for what happened to me. What I’ve YET to encounter is a man who has admitted to being a rapist. Not one. I’ve never met a man who said to me, “When I was younger, I thought it was my right and I took what didn’t belong to me.” I’ve NEVER met a man who said, “I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t take no for an answer and I violated the most precious thing a woman could give me.” We wonder why Black relationships are failing, we look to blame Black women every chance we get, but let’s put the blame where it belongs, let’s hold the men accountable for their actions. If you want to know the reason why Black relationships are in such peril it’s because so many men are rapists and not being held accountable for it. Black women are being raped and we are sucking it up, suppressing it, internalizing the pain so that Black men can walk around without guilt. Black society breeds rapists. We don’t hold our black boys accountable for their actions, we tell them that in order to be a man, you have to have a lot of women, and we teach them that women are objects to be used and discarded.

There is a man reading this who has raped a woman, more than likely several. In fact, there are many men who are guilty of rape who are seething in anger right now. To you, I say, until you are uncomfortable with your actions, until you are disturbed by your past, until you can speak truth to power, you are diseased in mind, body and soul. You can deny the fact that you stole the innocence of a someone, that you committed an unspeakable crime but that does not absolve you of your acts. And to those who try to silence me with their emotional rape, those who would prefer that I cower in silence, YOU are the ones who have stolen the virtue of women. You are the rapists, the killer of dreams.

I will not be silenced. I will stand up and name my attackers. I will say who hurt me with pride for it is them who should be ashamed.

Now, I ask you ladies, who hurt you?

Can you speak truth to power?

Can you name your attackers?

Know that in order to heal, you don’t have to be ashamed of what happened to you. You are innocent. You must reclaim your strength. Don’t continue to protect these men with your silence. They don’t deserve it. Challenge them to admit to their wrong doings. Name your rapist so that you can free yourself from the pain. So I ask you ladies, with compassion and respect, who hurt you?

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Colorism

I would like to see an end to the colorism that was created by slavery that keeps us separated as a people. I can't go so far as to say that light skinned slaves had it just as bad as dark skinned slaves. The rigors of slavery were far more physically demanding and psychologically damaging for those who were the rich, deep tones of ebony and mahogany. I respect that the horrors of slavery ravaged all those that were considered property and unjustifiably so in every instance but I wouldn't go so far as to say that conditions for slaves were the same for the lighter and the darker. I wouldn't even go so far as to say that the colorism we face today, as a direct result of the debilitating messages we learned in slavery are the same for light and dark skinned people. To deny that the shade of one's color was directly proportionate to the types of debilitating abuse one suffered might not be the most noble objective. While it was truly horrific to be sold for $1000 to be the slave master's pretty mulatto concubine, it was far more damaging to be sold for $100 to be the field work horse AND the slave master's ugly nigger concubine. Both are horrid but one certainly carried with it privileges that the other could not attain.

And today, while I'm sure it must eat at one's self-esteem to be challenged as to your "authentic blackness" because of one's light skin, I am not so sure that compares to the constant barrage of messages that tells dark skinned women of color specifically that they are light years away from anything of value or beauty. Being right in the middle, a beautiful shade of cocoa, I can empathize with my light skin sisters who don't wish to have their blackness invalidated by their skin tone, I can also say, as sister to many dark skinned women, that the barrage of psychologically damaging messages that they get on a daily basis FAR outweigh the ones that light skin women get. To truly liberate ourselves from the shackles of slavery, we must first acknowledge that the disparity due to skin color was not of our own making but it, in fact, does paralyze the darker members of our families much more so than the lighter ones. While light skin women today experience objectification and stereotypes whose origins were created in slavery, I think it's a bit extreme to say that their plight in any way compares to the beautiful women whose skin tones today are skin tones are dark and their features thick and full who have no reinforcement of their beauty, who must endure the pain of seeing their fairer skinned sisters being extolled as beautiful while they are left to feel ugly and unwanted.

I would like to see an end to the colorism that was created in slavery by the white man in order to justify his abuse. I would like to heal the wounded psyches of us as descendents of Africans so that we might unite and see our sameness as survivors of a horrific tragedy rather than continue to give privilege to those that were the "beneficiaries" of rape and miscegenation and continue to denigrate those whose blood remains relatively pure.

Friday, February 23, 2007

Cheatin' Men

When men choose partners for the wrong reason, without first examining their own emotional baggage, they end up in relationships in which they claim their needs aren’t being met. They meet a woman and she’s attractive and they have this urge to have her to prove to themselves that they can get her. She represents something that they want, if that’s the appearance of power, sex appeal, machismo, what have you. Once they are in the relationship, the problems arise. They realize they can’t live up to the image that they projected to get the woman. It takes work, hard work, to maintain a relationship and most men are too selfish and immature to even comprehend what it takes to keep a relationship strong, let alone the steps needed to accomplish that. Once they get the woman that they want, the thrill is in finding a new woman. All of these reasons lead men to cheat and then justify it by saying that the woman wasn’t making him happy.

If men continue to think in terms of sex being the foundation of a relationship, they will cheat. If men don’t work on being better partners in a relationship, cheating is the easy way to make sure that the relationship is going to fail. FAR, far too many men don’t know how to end a relationship in a healthy way, LONG BEFORE it gets to the fighting and the cheating. Rather than man up and say, “Hey, this isn’t working,” or, “we need to work on how this relationship can better suit both our needs,” they cheat. They run to the arms of another woman rather than face the music at home. Rather than try to build something long lasting and permanent with their partner, they sabotage their relationship by bringing another woman, or women, into their lives and betraying the partner at home. It’s like a bad fucking broken record but if Black men were more emotionally mature, they wouldn’t be so apt to cheat because they would be choosing partners based on their insecurities and unresolved parental issues.

Justifying cheating is a pathology in and of itself. It’s one thing to cheat. It’s a whole nutha ballgame to say that it’s not cheating because he was wearing a condom when he was getting head. That’s insanity. That’s taking the objectification of women to such an extreme, that he doesn’t even see women as human beings, just objects to give him pleasure and nothing more. He can’t possibly form a healthy relationship at all, let alone a committed one. It’s unfortunate that our society reinforces to men that cheating is what makes them a man, that it’s their role as men to go out and get as much pussy as they can. And the sad part is that they believe it. They will say that it’s biological, it’s nature, it’s genetic, it’s part of the animal kingdom. Killing your own food is the way of the jungle but I don’t see any men out chopping off a chicken’s head for supper. We are human beings, not animals. We are evolved past animals. We have the ability to feel and reason and speak and emote. We aren’t lead by some rules of the animal kingdom, we are SUPPOSED to be more evolved. We can’t claim to be intelligent, thinking, reasoned human beings and then justify cheating by saying it’s a law of nature. Then you really are nothing more than an animal.

On the day when men stop viewing women as conquests, when they stop trying to find comfort from their hurts with sex, when they face up to the idea that building a strong partnership is a sign of manhood, not fucking anything with a hole, then Black relationships will continue to fail. Until Black women stop coddling cheating men, forgiving them by saying it’s a man’s nature, until they stop tolerating married men and men in relationships coming on to them as some sort of sign of attractiveness, until women stop thinking that once they get a wedding ring on their finger that makes them better than single women and thus, willing to overlook their cheating husbands, the cycle will continue.

The Sensual Invitation



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Deep Inside my Neo Soul



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I Miss Him



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Ebony's Erotica



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Afrocentric Romance



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Dear Beloved



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AfroerotiK is . . . Showered with Love



Is love something that grows over time or can you experience true and abiding love instantly? Is love all romance and cheesy songs or can love be fostered amidst contention? In a day and time when people look for instant gratification and put their own needs above everyone else's feelings, can true love really grow? These are important questions that must be asked in an effort to redefine the formula for a healthy relationship. There's a fine line between trusting your instincts and making an uninformed choice. Take the AfroerotiK audio journey and experience how scorching hot passion can be born from the right mix of trust and vulnerability.


It takes a while to download and your patience is appreciated.








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AfroerotiK is . . . Ultimate Black Strapon Domme



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




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AfroerotiK is . . . Meditative



Close your eyes and slip into a deep meditative state. Allow yourself to enjoy true relaxation and peace as you are guided into a deep, restful state where you can explore sensual freedom. Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK




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AfroerotiK is . . . . 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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AfroerotiK is . . .Redefining Black Manhood



AfroerotiK is . . . is a show that examines black sexuality and that provides insight and alternatives to individuals seeking healthy erotic expression. It highlights the beauty and sensuality of African Americans without being vulgar and stereotypical and it provides a fresh perspective from which to examine the issues that shape the perceptions of Black sexuality. It’s a show for everyone that will challenge myths, destroy clichés, and set the foundation for intense erotic exploration. AfroerotiK is features debates, discussions, interviews, and steamy erotic readings to stimulate and arouse.

This month, we are exploring REDEFINING BLACK MANHOOD. It’s a hard-hitting, no holds barred discussion that sheds light on a much-maligned topic. It’s essential listening for women who feel like they can’t find a good man and men who are tired of being narrowly defined. It’s for anyone open to conversation about shifting the behaviors that are keeping black relationships in danger.




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AfroerotiK is . . . Remote Possibilities



Don’t limit yourself, explore the AfroerotiK realm, and indulge in a steamy erotic tale that explores passion without judgments. It takes a while to download so your patience is appreciated.




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AfroerotiK is . . . Uninhibited


The foundation of every strong relationship is honesty, sharing, caring, and a willingness to be your most vulnerable self with your partner. It’s not having secrets and it’s all about understanding that there is no score card to calculate who’s ahead, no place for selfish desires. Intimacy is fostered by letting down all your defenses, all your walls, and being authentic. Join with me in this journey of sensual AfroerotiK passion when a young lady shares her tales of bliss when her lover has to fulfill her every desire after losing a bet. It blurs the lines of reality and begs the question of exactly who is the winner and who is the loser in a game of sensual seduction?

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AfroerotiK is . . . Intense Heat



When ladies make love, they create intense heat. The pleasures that only another woman can give are the secret fantasies and the unspoken dreams of many. But what happens when you give into that lust, that burning desire to drink from the source of all life? What happens when you cross racial boundaries and that lady love is a different background, from a different race? Can lust between ladies both black and white exist without all the stereotypes and influences of a racist society? Take a listen to the latest AfroerotiK Podcast to hear an erotic story that explores interracial lesbian passion.




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AfroerotiK is . . . African Centered Sexuality

If one were to form an opinion about Black sexuality based upon what the adult industry force feeds us, we would be nothing more than big black bucks whose sole purpose in life was to fuck white women or welfare mamas who take delight in bending over to show off our big asses. Miraculously, we exist in far many more dimensions than how mainstream society depicts us. There are those of us who have taken on other roles, who are willing to redefine our sexuality. This month, AfroerotiK is . . . the Podcast for the exploration of Afrocentric sexuality, is discussing domination of white male submissives in a story that will destroy the stereotypes and embrace our identity beyond the norm. Won’t you listen to this story, Goddess Initiation, with an open mind and fresh perspective?



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AfroerotiK is . . . Playful

Tricks are NOT just for kids. Sometimes, when adults play, it’s not about competition, it’s about pure, unadulterated hedonism. Join me for the latest Podcast where we explore the art of seduction. Gentlemen, take notes on how your lady wants to be treated. Go the extra mile, spoil her. You certainly won’t be disappointed you put in all the effort. Ladies, don’t let too much time go by without treating your man to an extra special evening as well. Why not tell him that you want to re-enact this erotic Podcast while you listen to it, role-playing the action in real life as you listen to it together? If you don’t have a partner, take this opportunity to indulge yourself in a little self pleasure. Whatever way you decide to participate, enjoy yourself on this sensual audio erotik experience.



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Living with Purpose



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An Erotic Assignment for the Ladies



Ladies, here's an erotic assignment for you. Save this MP3 to your computer, ipod, burn it to a CD or whathaveyou and send a copy to your husband, boyfriend, lover, or secret crush. Add a little note that says, "Hey, I heard this and I thought of you. Let me know what you think of it."

Then, your assignment is to get back to me and tell me how he reacted. I want to know if it inspired you to have passionate and steamy sex all night long, if you were able to reignite the flame that had gone out, if he took off sick from work to come throw you down on the bed and act it out. I want to know all the juicy details. Let me know if he didn't react at all and we'll have to check his vitals for any signs of life. Good luck ladies, I hope you have fun.



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Sunday, February 18, 2007

God Doesn't Have a Dick

Any religion that teaches that God is a man, and that woman is made for man, oppresses women to a state of unnatural subservience and insanity. If God is a man, and man has a penis, then anyone with a penis is perceived to be god-like. Women, obviously without a penis, are socialized through their oppressive religion created by people with penises, to feel inferior. The subconscious mind of females knows that women are not really inferior, that God could not possibly have a gender, that women are the equal and very much needed compliments to men not their subjects. The conscious mind of the female believes itself to be inferior, to be cursed, and to be dependent upon men, so it sets up a state of disharmony in the psyche of both men and women. The belief that men have some inherent privilege or preferred status with God a.) leads men to think that they can do no wrong and that their penis entitles them to rule over women, and b.) leads women to think that their lives will fall apart without a man, that they must forgive their man any wrongdoing, and that they must compete with the next woman in order to prove their worth as a woman. It is only when we decide to restore a holistic balance to our relationships, based on equality of genders, will they heal.

Friday, February 16, 2007

Are Black men really more sexual?


I had a very typical conversation with a white woman a few minutes ago. She said that Black men are more sexual and more confident sexually than white men. If we are really about dismantling stereotypes, we need to set the record straight.


Black men may very well be better lovers, more skilled lovers, and they are, overall, better sexually endowed but white men are infinitely more sexual than Black men. White men are far more experimental, far more adventurous, far more liberated in their thinking when it comes to sex. And they are FAR more driven by their sexuality than black men.  White men compartmentalize their sexuality.  They are more likely to have hidden fetishes and sexually motivated lifestyles that are completely opposite their projected personas.  
 
For example, on XTube, the x-rated version of YouTube, people submit personal videos. There are different categories to submit your videos obviously including fetish, fisting, hardcore, bisexual, anal, etc. in both gay and straight genres. Here are my observations. White men are one million times more accepting of videos that show bizarre, outrageous, extreme, and atypical sex acts. I have never seen a black man submit a sounding video yet. In fact, I didn’t even know what sounding was until I started seeing it done on XTube. White men create videos of themselves doing all sorts of extreme things, using full rubber gas masks, fucking dirty sneakers, driving on the highway while naked and jerking off, tons of pissing videos, cock and ball torture, smoking is apparently sexual in some way as well, and I will never see another white man in the grocery store without wondering if he is one of the thousands who fucks himself with enormous black dildos. Of course, for every video posted, there are thousands more who would never post a video so we can only assume that the submitted videos are representative of desires of the macrocosm we call America.


The comments and feedback from other white men on these extreme videos is always pretty much supportive. “That was hot man,” or, “show more,” or the ever popular, “here’s my email address, let’s get together.” Sure, there are some that say, “that’s gross man,” but those sorts of comments are inevitably followed by a slew of “don’t pay attention to him man, that was hot,” comments.


Black men who submit videos submit two kinds, jerking off and regular oral/anal. There is no experimentation, there are not outrageous acts, and it’s pretty much cut and dry. On the rare occasion that a Black man does post a video that falls outside the vanilla category, the comments from other Black men are ready to crucify him. Black men aren’t tolerant of bare backing videos without multiple black men commenting on how someone is going to get AIDS, god forbid a Black man uses a dildo that is deemed too big by the black sexual police, they get all sorts of negative comments about how they are going to be ruined for life and have to wear diapers. Anything outside of basic masturbation or vanilla sex is labeled NASTY by Black men and they are very outspoken in their distaste.


The entire world doesn’t exist on XTube however. In swing clubs all over America, and I’ve been in my fair share, I’ve seen white men tend to be far more exhibitionist. They revel in being seen. Private rooms are usually occupied by Black couples. They want privacy and intimacy. On a daily basis, I get requests from men to look at their webcams. I have NO interest in seeing white men masturbate yet they INSIST on sending me multiple invitations even after being rejected. I can’t even tell you the last time I’ve gotten an unsolicited invitation from a black man to view his webcam. It happens so infrequently that it is almost negligible. There are websites dedicated to any manner of extreme sexual practices, fucking machines, bestiality, scat, creampies, military sex, skateboarders having sex, just anything you can think of. Of course, the biggest consumers of interracial porn, to the tune of 80%, are white men. The media portrays Black men as being sexual beasts and predators but serial rapists, pedophiles, and peeping toms are more than 95% white men. Those are sexual crimes and have little to do with sex but they do show that white men are getting a whitewashed image when it comes to sexuality and Black men are still being portrayed as sexual savages.


White women especially want to believe that Black men are more sexual because it fits their stereotype. Black men, desperate for undeserved praise, flock to white women who stereotype them as big Black bucks and play the role to appease their immature egos. Does that mean that Black men are more sexual? Not at all. We’ve discussed here before that white women are far more aroused by the concept of being treated like sluts, of doing all number of sexual things that black women won’t consider, but yet we are seen as being more sexual as well.


White men are phenomenally more sexual than black men. They are obsessed with it more, they tend to be more exhibitionist, they are more experimental, they are tolerant of activities that are not the norm, they are even more willing to admit their deviant behaviors and embrace them more than Black men. Black men are seen as more sexual because of racist beliefs but when it comes down to reality, Black men are by and large, very sexually conservative.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Let the meditations of my heart . . .

May the Creator add light and love to my thoughts so that they may become manifest

I desire the end of the reign of white supremacy that has oppressed people of color for thousands of years.

I desire a restoration of balance and harmony to the consciousness of the earth that is aligned with the universe, one verse, the Creator of All.

I desire the end of the fallacy of male supremacy and a restoration of equality of human beings not based on genitals but based on the symbiotic relationship between genders.

I desire those human beings who have perpetuated hatred, oppression, war, and evil for profit to receive just earthly punishments for their behavior while in human form.

I desire the end of religious beliefs that were created by man to control and dominate the masses and desire a more holistic, connected spiritual path based on truth to be ushered forth

I desire earthly restitution for the people of color who have suffered genocide, enslavement, and cultural annihilation at the hands of Caucasians.

I desire an energy of peace and love to envelop this earth plane and infuse our spirits with truth.

I desire the veil of illusion that has been placed over people of African descent to be lifted so that we might see exactly how debilitating assimilation into white culture is for our beings.

I desire self-love and confidence in my abilities 

I desire to release the negative self talk that haunts my subconscious mind

I invite unconditional love from my divine right partner, my twin flame into my life so that I might be able to give and receive human love abundantly while in this body SOON

I desire the opportunity to give birth to a child who will grow up to surpass my lofty expectations and goals for him or her

I desire to be a mother to children whom I can raise, love, and nurture with my husband to teach them the ways of a spiritual warrior and enlightened being.

I desire the ability to remain humble in the face of financial success and acclaim

I acknowledge that my words have power and I desire that they will go forth to the masses and be received in such a way that they will usher in transformations, education, and healing

I desire my book, In Loving Color, with photography by Aaron Brown, to become a phenomenal best seller and open doors to dialogue about Black sexuality that will free us from mental chains that keep us enslaved to debilitating mindsets

I desire AfroerotiK to be the foundation for an erotic revolution that will generate workshops, videos, magazines, CDs, conferences, healing centers, radio programs, and any and all multi media opportunities that will create more opportunities for Black people and relationships to heal.

I desire healing for my mother so that she can be released from her need to manipulate and control, so that she might see her own pathological behaviors and be able to release them easily.

I desire a life filled with learning, art, culture, good food, good friends, great music, and harmony.

I desire the reverence to respect the earth and the environment with every action I take