One can’t pick up a magazine or listen to a discussion about the black community these days without reading about “DL brothas”, or black men that have sex with other men while representing themselves as heterosexual. There is a homoparanoia and fear that is largely media driven that is telling black women that they need to question every black man they meet because he might be having sex with other men. Certainly, one has to believe that black men must be driven by their desires more than any other portion of the population because this “DL” trend is so rampant among black men, according to every single, solitary book, article, and discussion prevalent today.
I have the unique opportunity to be in a position where people come to me and tell me their fantasies as a function of my career. There is a HUGE and very stealth underground sexual movement that is growing that has escaped any mainstream examination whatsoever. While black men’s sexual practices have been put under a microscope and they have been demonized in the media as sexually irresponsible and morally bankrupt latent “faggots,” white men have been able to slip under the radar, with stealth efficacy, with their sexual secrets. The numbers of white men that come to me and tell me that they have fantasies of being sexually submissive, not only to black women, but also to black men, is STAGGERING. Literally, thousands of white men have approached me in the last several years, all reiterating very much the same themes in their desires, that they believe that white people are inferior, that they want to pay for the atrocities of slavery by their sexual servitude to black people, that black people are more beautiful.
There are common themes and consistencies in their fantasies and the types of white male submissive men can be grouped into three main categories: white men that want white female partners to engage in interracial sex, white men that want black female partners and white men that want domination by both black men and black women. The first group of men, the men that want their white wives or girlfriends to engage in interracial sex, are known as cuckolds. Cuckolds are men that get arousal from having a white wife, commonly referred to as a “slut wife,” that has multiple black lovers. The husband is forced to live a life of sexual denial and servitude while the wife has sex with these so called “superior black bulls.” Servitude can include anything from getting the wife ready for her lover to cleaning her orally after her lover has ejaculated inside her, to orally or anally servicing the black lover himself. Many times, the sexual component is heightened if there is some level of implied “extortion” or money demanded of the white submissive male to perform theses homoerotic acts. I’ve had innumerous white men tell me that they want their wives to be “black bred”, meaning impregnated by a black man and they are sexually aroused by the idea of their wives forcing them to raise a biracial child as their own. There’s little doubt that the origins of these fantasies are steeped in the mythical “Big Black Mandingo” stereotype as they profess love for his abnormally large penis while begging to be taunted and humiliated for their comparatively small endowment. Sexual submission is usually limited to the bedroom for these men because they seem to be able to compartmentalize the fact that they are only inferior because of their perceived, small penis and, on occasion, express angst that they have fantasies of seeing the black man as superior, even if it is only in a sexual situation.
The second category of white male submissive is the men that hold black women in the highest esteem. These men love and desire the black woman far more than white woman and very often admire the natural features of black women that have long been rejected by society at large. Big butts, dark skin, full lips, natural hair, and sassy and domineering attitudes are the attributes that they most readily describe as the epitome of beauty, black or otherwise. The number of occasions when white men have said they want a black wife to pamper and provide for, to put her on a pedestal as the true mother of all civilization, are too numerous to mention. Many times, they reiterate the same sorts of fantasies of the cuckold husband: they want her to have a black lover, but more often than not, they describe feelings of inadequacy because they believe they are unable to satisfy or undeserving of having sex with a black woman. They describe fantasies whereby they are forced by a black woman to engage homosexual acts as an act of punishment or for her amusement. They reiterate they same sorts of fantasies about cleaning Black woman of ejaculate deposited by her lover, being denied orgasm, being “forced” to humble themselves before the black man to show their unworthiness and inferior status. The instances of white men telling me that they want to serve as human toilet to black women are so commonplace, so frequent, I don’t blink an eye any longer when the topic is broached. These men describe how it would be an honor to receive the waste of a black woman and how it is their duty as a white male to do so. Many desire to be subjected to perform household duties for black women, seemingly with no sexual gratification in return, only the desire to be humiliated for their whiteness. Most desire to form lifelong, loving relationships with Black women as adoring pets or servants and most refer to themselves as slaves.
The third category of white male submissive is interested whatever forms of degradation they can receive from whatever Black source that sees fit to dish it out. They are unashamedly bisexual and, in many cases, prefer to perform sexual acts with black men. Among this group are the most masochistic of the population. They are constantly asking for approval and validation that they truly are inferior to black people. They confess that they want to become slaves, stripped of their rights as a human, that they want to pay for the sins of any white person that owned slaves, and that they want to be degraded and humiliated for their whiteness. Their fantasies are extreme, many expressing desires to be lynched and beaten reminiscent of true slavery as part of their sexual fantasies. Many tell me that they desire to become black and have romantic notions that they will become well-endowed athletes or big-bosomed matriarchal archetypes. Several have requested books to read to tell them of a more accurate Black history than the limited exposure they’ve received. I’ve had white men tell me that they go out of their way to hire black people, support black businesses, or provide daily acts of kindness to black people as their own personal form of reparations.
These examples are the norm not the extreme and I’m confronted with these examples on a daily basis. It should be noted that almost 100% of the time, white men use the singular adjective black to describe the collective of people rather than as a descriptor. i.e. “I want my wife to fuck black, I am attracted to black, I am a slave for black” rather than the proper usage, “I am attracted to black women, I want my wife to fuck black men, I desire to be submissive to black people.” Their grammatical objectification of us is but a minor indication that they have yet to shatter the racist beliefs that they claim so boldly to have done.
If there is any level of validity in my findings, my observations lead me to believe that there is no concurrent movement by black people whereby we, on any sort of collective basis, are expressing desires to make white people pay for the atrocities of slavery or to restore a Black supremist racial hierarchy and to do so by the sexual subjugation of white people. We seem to be naively playing into the role of dominatrix and Black bull and walking away from the experience and not being particularly braggadocios about them either. Those few African American individuals that have confided in me of experiences with submissive white men seem to take pity on them that they are so warped in their thinking that they could actually believe that black people could be superior. In my amateur anthropological opinion, these black people feel guilty for holding a position of power over white men, even if it’s only sexually and for brief periods of time. I’ve yet to meet the black person that has engaged in a sexual liaison with a submissive white man that has truly recognized the larger political implications. Many black women have seen this as an opportunity to capitalize on their “most coveted object” status and made attempts to use white men for money, which seem to backfire more often than not according to their tales. While very few black men confide in me about their experiences with submissive white men, (and one can only assume from the reports of white men that the numbers of black men that are engaging in these behaviors are equally as staggering) I can only assume that they feel some sort of temporary reprieve from the stresses and strains of a racist society while engaged in the act, and as they go on about their daily lives, they replace their societally-imposed veil of powerlessness, never recognizing that their true power does not lie in their penis. Black people, still largely ignorant of our own past, the origins of African greatness, and still largely brainwashed to believe that white people are better, are sadly, too uninformed to assert that they will not be made pawns in a sexual game to rid white people of their guilt or fulfill their dark continent lust.
There are a multitude of larger implications that are happening beneath this absolutely HUGE movement that need to be discussed and simply can’t be unless the topic is put on the table so that society at large can examine the trend and not have it kept as white America’s dirty little secret. First and foremost, these men are still, for the most part, holding onto racist, stereotypical and degrading beliefs about Black people while they are insisting that their desire to submit to black people indicates that they are free from all such beliefs. They assume that because they are sexually attracted to Black people that automatically means they are not racist. Many white men claim they used to harbor racist beliefs and some sexual event with a black person cured them of their racism, which is obviously an absurd assumption. If these white men are in fact engaging in sexual acts with black men as they claim, then the source and spread of HIV in the Black community needs to be examined. These white men should be spreading the virus to their partners in equal proportions to black men.
I imagine that there are scores of therapists, counselors, sex workers, medical practitioners and journalists in this country that have the same knowledge as I. Why aren’t there medical journals and articles that are discussing this trend and the psychological implications? Where are the 20/20 and Dateline exposes, where are the radio talk shows that are discussing this phenomenon, why isn’t every magazine warning white women about the potential hazards of white men that are engaging in unsafe sex with black men? Given the current political climate in this country, with this move to the ultra-moral, ultra-conservative right, what conclusions can one draw about this population of white men that have this race-driven guilty, envy, and lust? Are there white men that are secretly harboring these sexual desires in positions of power and exacting stricter punishments on black men to assuage them of their desires to “submit to black?”
Race in America is still and extremely volatile topic. If there are, as I’ve experienced, multitudes of white men that are having these types of fantasies and desires, there needs to be an open and honest discussion in a public forum to determine the origins, the implications, and to form support groups and allegiances to address the very important issues that these types of issues bring to the table. White men are begging, even if it is only privately, to be immersed in a black sexual experience, and they are being led by individuals that don’t have the ability to train, instruct and accurately inform. This issue can not be swept under the table because it upsets the equilibrium of the status quo. White men are desiring to be submissive to Black people in phenomenal numbers and the reasons why and the social implications thereof must be discussed.
Copyright 2004 Scottie Lowe
CEO and Founder of AfroerotiK
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
We Must Excel, Not Just Exist
We Must Excel, Not Just Exist
We, as descendants of slaves, as people of color, MUST strive for excellence in all that we do. We must live according to principles of excellence in our daily lives, spiritually, emotionally, physically, and mentally. Living in alignment with excellence means making a conscious choice to do what’s right over what’s easy, what’s comfortable, or what’s familiar. In lieu of spending hours gossiping on the phone or endless hours on the computer in the pursuit of meaningless sex, we must examine our selves, our lives, and look to grow, mature, and evolve.
I challenge you to stop thinking of yourself as better just because you go to church every Sunday, dressed in your overpriced fineries to show off to the congregation, when you step over the homeless on Monday without so much as an ounce of compassion or love in your heart for those who need a helping hand. We must stop trying to get over on the system, trying to figure out the easy way to get something for nothing, and rather make the choice to have integrity, to do what’s right for the community, not just yourself. It’s time now to consider the ramifications and consequences of our actions and stop living for the moment or the almighty dollar. If we consider the feelings of others, if everyone considers the feelings of others, we can transform ourselves from a selfish, insensitive, immature community to a compassionate, giving, enlightened family. Find a reason to see the good in someone, to reach out to another because you connect on a deeper level, not just because you think they have something to offer you, or because you want to feel insecure and petty jealousy.
Speak truth to power. Hold your tongue when you feel the urge, the driving and compulsive need to lie, and utter only those words that are true. Embrace honesty with your entire being and reprogram your brain from your conditioning that tells you to create stories and deceptions that make you feel better about yourself and learn to be honest and truthful with yourself so that you might be able to be honest and truthful with others.
We must accept our greatness, our royalty, and our divinity with humility, grace, and modesty. Would a Queen exchange her body for a car payment or money to get a new pair of shoes? Would a King create a prince or princess only to leave them unprotected and un-nurtured? Would a true manifestation of the Divine be more concerned with a car, clothes, or plasma TV than in helping those less fortunate?
Ask yourself, are you living a life of excellence or do you merely exist? Are you striving to become a better person every day? Are you actually trying to become a better person: not richer, not more attractive, not get more stuff, not sleep with more women, not use more men, not cheat the system, not beat the man. Are you striving to dispel the myths and combat the stereotypes? Are you daily striving to learn more, to push yourself further, to excel in all you do?
Pick up a book, go back to college, take a night class, use the Internet to learn out our history instead of just wasting your life away.
Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved
We, as descendants of slaves, as people of color, MUST strive for excellence in all that we do. We must live according to principles of excellence in our daily lives, spiritually, emotionally, physically, and mentally. Living in alignment with excellence means making a conscious choice to do what’s right over what’s easy, what’s comfortable, or what’s familiar. In lieu of spending hours gossiping on the phone or endless hours on the computer in the pursuit of meaningless sex, we must examine our selves, our lives, and look to grow, mature, and evolve.
I challenge you to stop thinking of yourself as better just because you go to church every Sunday, dressed in your overpriced fineries to show off to the congregation, when you step over the homeless on Monday without so much as an ounce of compassion or love in your heart for those who need a helping hand. We must stop trying to get over on the system, trying to figure out the easy way to get something for nothing, and rather make the choice to have integrity, to do what’s right for the community, not just yourself. It’s time now to consider the ramifications and consequences of our actions and stop living for the moment or the almighty dollar. If we consider the feelings of others, if everyone considers the feelings of others, we can transform ourselves from a selfish, insensitive, immature community to a compassionate, giving, enlightened family. Find a reason to see the good in someone, to reach out to another because you connect on a deeper level, not just because you think they have something to offer you, or because you want to feel insecure and petty jealousy.
Speak truth to power. Hold your tongue when you feel the urge, the driving and compulsive need to lie, and utter only those words that are true. Embrace honesty with your entire being and reprogram your brain from your conditioning that tells you to create stories and deceptions that make you feel better about yourself and learn to be honest and truthful with yourself so that you might be able to be honest and truthful with others.
We must accept our greatness, our royalty, and our divinity with humility, grace, and modesty. Would a Queen exchange her body for a car payment or money to get a new pair of shoes? Would a King create a prince or princess only to leave them unprotected and un-nurtured? Would a true manifestation of the Divine be more concerned with a car, clothes, or plasma TV than in helping those less fortunate?
Ask yourself, are you living a life of excellence or do you merely exist? Are you striving to become a better person every day? Are you actually trying to become a better person: not richer, not more attractive, not get more stuff, not sleep with more women, not use more men, not cheat the system, not beat the man. Are you striving to dispel the myths and combat the stereotypes? Are you daily striving to learn more, to push yourself further, to excel in all you do?
Pick up a book, go back to college, take a night class, use the Internet to learn out our history instead of just wasting your life away.
Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved
Gender vs. Sexual Orientation
There seems to be quite a bit of confusion, misinformation, and general ignorance about sexual orientation and gender.
Let's get some clarification.
Your equipment identifies your GENDER
Male- you are born with a penis and testicles.
Man- you were born a male, grew into a boy, and matured to an adult.
Female- you are born with a vagina, a womb, a uterus, fallopian tubes, ovaries.
Woman- you were born a female, grew into a girl, and matured to an adult.
Intersexed- Ambiguous genitalia. You are born with genitalia that could either be a female with a large clitoris and labia that are semi closed or genitalia that closely resembles that of a male with a small penis with a scrotum that resembles a vagina. In many instances, the parents and doctors assign a gender and perform surgery at birth to "correct" the problem but many of the individuals are then left with gender confusion as they mature. Intersexed babies are born at a fairly high rate, as many as 1 out of 100 births.
Transgendered- your identity doesn't match your genitals. Your body is either male or female but your identity, the way you navigate the world, the way you feel, the gender you identify with most is opposite to the packaging. In most instances, the brain of a transgendered person is physically formed similar to that of the opposite gender as well as their chromosomal makeup more closely resemebles the gender of the sex they most identify with. Some trans men and women desire gender reorientation surgery to "correct" their gender. Some trans individuals are content to simply live as passable (with breast augmentation and/or hormone therapy, etc) and don't feel a need to have sex reassignment.
Cross dressers or transvestites- individuals who don't live 24/7 as the opposite gender, who don't want gender reassignment surgery, but who simply enjoy wearing the clothing of the opposte gender for sexual arousal.
Hermaphrodite- you are born with a penis and vagina. VERY rare.
SEXUAL ORIENTATION identifies to whom you are attracted.
Heterosexual means you are attracted to the opposite gender. There's no room for creative definitions. If you are aroused, attracted to, or participate in sex with a person of the same gender, you can not consider yourself heterosexual. Being in denial or lying doesn't make you heterosexual either.
Bisexual means you are aroused by, attracted to, or have sex with people of the same gender. There is no rule that says you have to be attracted to both genders EQUALLY to be bisexual. There are 14 types of bisexuality that covers curiosity, to emotional attraction, to physical attraction, to situational experimentation and a whole host of other levels of bisexuality.
Pansexual means you are attracted to all genders, including the transgendered and intersexed.
Asexual means you don't experience sexual arousal
Hope that clears some things up.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Exactly how submissive are you?
Exactly how submissive are you?
Do you enjoy pain?
Do you enjoy humiliation?
Would it make you proud to show me how you enjoy being degraded like less than an animal?
Do you enjoy the concept of nipple torture? Do you like the feeling of excruciating pain as weights are applied to your mantits while you beg for more.
Does the thought of my tender soft hand around your throat, choking you, suffocating you, taking you to the very edge of life . . . or death, awaken your senses?
Would you like me to shove my strapon in your throat until you gag and choke? Does it arouse you to think about me forcing you to eat your own putrid, vile puke, cleaning it from my monstrous strapon as I force it down your throat, suffocating you, slapping your face while I do?
Will you be my gangbang whore; offering your mouth and your asspussy to be used and abused by men for my entertainment and pleasure? Will you spread your legs and take big dicks ramming your asshole and eagerly accept those filthy pieces of meat in your mouth to clean and suck to completion? Are you prepared to be my faggot slut who needs to get fucked and bred and pumped full of hot cum, in your mouth and in your boicunt on a daily basis?
If I give you an enema, filling you with HOT soapy water, bloating your stomach, making you cramp, plugging your fuckhole with a fat butt plug and making hold it until you are screaming in pain, will you pledge your undying devotion to me as I hold your face in my hands and call you my dirty shit boy while you shit out that smelly, pasty, hot sludge from deep inside your colon?
Will you clean my pussy and asshole after you’ve watched me get fucked and I have several loads of hot cum dripping from my well-used holes? Do you consider it a gift to be able to taste my sweet juices after I’ve been pleasured and the sperm of a real man mixes with my cum to tempt your tastebuds?
Do you crave the taste of my hot piss, filling your mouth, taking in my salty, strong urine, feeling it fill your belly until you are aching in pain and pleasure?
Perhaps your desires are darker, nastier. Perhaps you want my filthy asshole on your mouth, tasting my heavenly ass slime, shoving your tongue deep inside me to satisfy your desires to taste my nastiest offerings. Will you clean me? Will you be my toilet paper? Will you be my toilet that I use to accept my smelly waste? Will you cherish the gifts I give you from deep inside me?
Can you satisfy my desires to inflict excruciating pain? Will you offer up the flesh of your ass for me to beat and whip to my heart’s content and prove your devotion by begging and pleading for more?
If I take out my frustrations on your dick, beating it, whipping it, slapping it, kicking your nuts for good measure, will you worship me above all others?
Dogs eat from bowls, they piss and shit outside, they sleep on the floor at the foot of the bed. Will you be my doggie?
How many hours of relentless, ruthless pounding can you take from my black strapon? How many inches can you handle shoved deep inside your guts? Are you the desperate ass slut who will take all I’ve got to give and still scream for more like the slutty ass whore you really are? Will you ever tire of me bending you over and making you my bitch any time of the day or night that it pleases me?
Can you give your life to me? Will you let go of all the pretenses you have of being a man and become my toy, my plaything, my pet?
Are you depraved enough to handle all that and more?
Do you enjoy pain?
Do you enjoy humiliation?
Would it make you proud to show me how you enjoy being degraded like less than an animal?
Do you enjoy the concept of nipple torture? Do you like the feeling of excruciating pain as weights are applied to your mantits while you beg for more.
Does the thought of my tender soft hand around your throat, choking you, suffocating you, taking you to the very edge of life . . . or death, awaken your senses?
Would you like me to shove my strapon in your throat until you gag and choke? Does it arouse you to think about me forcing you to eat your own putrid, vile puke, cleaning it from my monstrous strapon as I force it down your throat, suffocating you, slapping your face while I do?
Will you be my gangbang whore; offering your mouth and your asspussy to be used and abused by men for my entertainment and pleasure? Will you spread your legs and take big dicks ramming your asshole and eagerly accept those filthy pieces of meat in your mouth to clean and suck to completion? Are you prepared to be my faggot slut who needs to get fucked and bred and pumped full of hot cum, in your mouth and in your boicunt on a daily basis?
If I give you an enema, filling you with HOT soapy water, bloating your stomach, making you cramp, plugging your fuckhole with a fat butt plug and making hold it until you are screaming in pain, will you pledge your undying devotion to me as I hold your face in my hands and call you my dirty shit boy while you shit out that smelly, pasty, hot sludge from deep inside your colon?
Will you clean my pussy and asshole after you’ve watched me get fucked and I have several loads of hot cum dripping from my well-used holes? Do you consider it a gift to be able to taste my sweet juices after I’ve been pleasured and the sperm of a real man mixes with my cum to tempt your tastebuds?
Do you crave the taste of my hot piss, filling your mouth, taking in my salty, strong urine, feeling it fill your belly until you are aching in pain and pleasure?
Perhaps your desires are darker, nastier. Perhaps you want my filthy asshole on your mouth, tasting my heavenly ass slime, shoving your tongue deep inside me to satisfy your desires to taste my nastiest offerings. Will you clean me? Will you be my toilet paper? Will you be my toilet that I use to accept my smelly waste? Will you cherish the gifts I give you from deep inside me?
Can you satisfy my desires to inflict excruciating pain? Will you offer up the flesh of your ass for me to beat and whip to my heart’s content and prove your devotion by begging and pleading for more?
If I take out my frustrations on your dick, beating it, whipping it, slapping it, kicking your nuts for good measure, will you worship me above all others?
Dogs eat from bowls, they piss and shit outside, they sleep on the floor at the foot of the bed. Will you be my doggie?
How many hours of relentless, ruthless pounding can you take from my black strapon? How many inches can you handle shoved deep inside your guts? Are you the desperate ass slut who will take all I’ve got to give and still scream for more like the slutty ass whore you really are? Will you ever tire of me bending you over and making you my bitch any time of the day or night that it pleases me?
Can you give your life to me? Will you let go of all the pretenses you have of being a man and become my toy, my plaything, my pet?
Are you depraved enough to handle all that and more?
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
I’ve OFFICIALLY Given Up!
It’s official; I’ve finally given up all my dreams, hopes, and aspirations of ever finding love. More than that, I’ve given up all hope of finding even companionship. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m going to be alone forever. I can put to rest my dreams of finding my perfect mate. I can mourn my dreams of “happily ever after” because they are an impossible state of being for me, I’m unworthy of being loved in this lifetime.
Don’t feel sorry for me; it’s liberating. For years, I’ve been holding on the to hope that I can find someone for me, someone with whom I can share my life, who compliments me, who meets my criteria emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, socially, and sexually. Now, I can relax and not have to feel frustrated and anxious about trying to meet someone, impress them, trying to get them to like me, only to have them reject me. Now that I’ve come to accept that my life will be lived in solitude, I can just not give a fuck anymore, literally and figuratively.
Gone are the days when I jump through hoops, giving brothas the benefit of the doubt because they are emotionally stunted. Goodbye forever to those days of trying to make the best of a situation that is flawed from the start just so I can have companionship. Never again will I have to suffer through the pain of white men trying to convince me that we can have some sort of unequal and warped relationship based on their attraction to me and my repulsion of them. And thank God in Heaven I will never again have to look myself in the mirror and ask myself why aren’t I lovable.
For all the scores of people who think they can comfort me with empty clichés of, “Now that you aren’t looking, you’ll find him,” I say to you . . . KISS MY ASS. I’ve been alone for 17 years. I’ve worked on myself, I’ve looked, I’ve not looked, I’ve prayed, I’ve done everything a human being can do. I’m not meant to be in a relationship. It’s my lot in life. Accepting that has been the healthiest thing I can do. At least now, I don’t have to hold on to the pain of thinking that there is someone out there who will love me. Now I know that there isn’t and I can move on with my life. There’s not much of a life without having someone by your side, but apparently, this is my sentence for a crime I don’t even know I committed.
Don’t feel sorry for me; it’s liberating. For years, I’ve been holding on the to hope that I can find someone for me, someone with whom I can share my life, who compliments me, who meets my criteria emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, socially, and sexually. Now, I can relax and not have to feel frustrated and anxious about trying to meet someone, impress them, trying to get them to like me, only to have them reject me. Now that I’ve come to accept that my life will be lived in solitude, I can just not give a fuck anymore, literally and figuratively.
Gone are the days when I jump through hoops, giving brothas the benefit of the doubt because they are emotionally stunted. Goodbye forever to those days of trying to make the best of a situation that is flawed from the start just so I can have companionship. Never again will I have to suffer through the pain of white men trying to convince me that we can have some sort of unequal and warped relationship based on their attraction to me and my repulsion of them. And thank God in Heaven I will never again have to look myself in the mirror and ask myself why aren’t I lovable.
For all the scores of people who think they can comfort me with empty clichés of, “Now that you aren’t looking, you’ll find him,” I say to you . . . KISS MY ASS. I’ve been alone for 17 years. I’ve worked on myself, I’ve looked, I’ve not looked, I’ve prayed, I’ve done everything a human being can do. I’m not meant to be in a relationship. It’s my lot in life. Accepting that has been the healthiest thing I can do. At least now, I don’t have to hold on to the pain of thinking that there is someone out there who will love me. Now I know that there isn’t and I can move on with my life. There’s not much of a life without having someone by your side, but apparently, this is my sentence for a crime I don’t even know I committed.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
The Role of the Modern Day Black Psychologist
Truth is not a constant. Only a few white psychologists publicly accept the idea advance by Dr. Jenson that Black people, according to his research findings, are at birth genetically inferior to whites in intellectual potential. That sentiment, while obviously driven by racist, supremacist aggrandizement, and proven fallacious time and time again by Black intelligencia, might be the basis for investigation if examined from a purely Afrocentric perspective. If the genetics of Africans in America have been altered by the atrocities of slavery to render us more susceptible to physical maladies such as high blood pressure and diabetes, is it not fair to suggest that the genetics of things intangible, such as our emotional, psychological, and spiritual health have been altered thusly also? That is not to say that Black people are inferior, not even to suggest that. There needs to be a study of the genetic modifications of slavery to assess what that process did to our ancestors and how those behaviors are being perpetuated.
To not have a branch of African centered psychology directed towards dismantling white supremacy is irresponsible. Not only does it ignore the pathologies that could potentially create another Maafa, but it also leaves those individuals in a perpetual state of dysfunction and disharmony within the universe. The focus should not be a reactionary stance but one of assistance and guidance. The Afrocentric psychologist must stand up and teach the Eurocentric one. We must let go of the position that any interaction with the oppressor means that we are taking an inferior position. We must do what the ancient Kemetians failed to do: open up the world of spirit to the Europeans. To say that they are not capable of learning based upon some genetic precursor is to be guilty of their thinking that brands Black people inferior. Of course, helping them will not be a priority. The first thing African psychologists must do is heal the collective consciousness of African people throughout the world. Those that have been subjected to the tyrannical reign of Europeans. If African people are truly the original mothers and fathers of psychology, we must behave as such. The Afrocentric view that says that white people are independent entities that never have to be dealt with is still assuming a position of inferiority. African people must assume a position of superiority, not to oppress but to enlighten.
To not have a branch of African centered psychology directed towards dismantling white supremacy is irresponsible. Not only does it ignore the pathologies that could potentially create another Maafa, but it also leaves those individuals in a perpetual state of dysfunction and disharmony within the universe. The focus should not be a reactionary stance but one of assistance and guidance. The Afrocentric psychologist must stand up and teach the Eurocentric one. We must let go of the position that any interaction with the oppressor means that we are taking an inferior position. We must do what the ancient Kemetians failed to do: open up the world of spirit to the Europeans. To say that they are not capable of learning based upon some genetic precursor is to be guilty of their thinking that brands Black people inferior. Of course, helping them will not be a priority. The first thing African psychologists must do is heal the collective consciousness of African people throughout the world. Those that have been subjected to the tyrannical reign of Europeans. If African people are truly the original mothers and fathers of psychology, we must behave as such. The Afrocentric view that says that white people are independent entities that never have to be dealt with is still assuming a position of inferiority. African people must assume a position of superiority, not to oppress but to enlighten.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Our Sexuality is Fucked
There are two very separate factions of Black folk. There is the "I'm a freak" faction, who claims sexual promiscuity is their birthright. They are the sexually immature, thinking that any bump and grind, with whomever, without connection or intimacy is all good. Mind you, most people who identify themselves as freaks don't do anything more sexually adventurous than anal sex and swinging and if you were to suggest something truly sexually adventurous, they would cry "NASTY". Then there are the sexually retarded, those Black folks who think that any discussion of sex is offensive, inappropriate, and disgusting. They are the ones who look at vulgar and offensive images of porn in private but are so ashamed of their sexuality that they deny that they even have sex in discussion. Both factions are disabled, neither perspective is healthy.
I had a friend who feigned indignation at my work, she was ashamed to tell her friends and associates what I did for a living. Mind you I WRITE about sex, I am not having sex for money. She would admonish me for being so open about discussions of sexuality but she would have unprotected sex with any man who showed interest in her and bought her a nice dinner. This isn't some ghetto chile, this is the bougiest of the bougie. She is also the same woman let me borrow her laptop only to have Ghetto Gaggers, anal fisting, and a whole host of other degrading websites in her bookmarks.
I have found that Black women in particular have been socialized to think of their bodies as commodities. We, as a culture, do not understand sensuality, seduction, intimacy, romance. We understand fucking. We understand money in exchange for sex. We get emotionless sex. Love is what we don't get. Communion is what we don't get. Men think they are great lovers because they give women multiple orgasms, when in fact, being a good lover is being honest, attentive, caring, nurturing, listening, being vulnerable.
I had a friend who feigned indignation at my work, she was ashamed to tell her friends and associates what I did for a living. Mind you I WRITE about sex, I am not having sex for money. She would admonish me for being so open about discussions of sexuality but she would have unprotected sex with any man who showed interest in her and bought her a nice dinner. This isn't some ghetto chile, this is the bougiest of the bougie. She is also the same woman let me borrow her laptop only to have Ghetto Gaggers, anal fisting, and a whole host of other degrading websites in her bookmarks.
I have found that Black women in particular have been socialized to think of their bodies as commodities. We, as a culture, do not understand sensuality, seduction, intimacy, romance. We understand fucking. We understand money in exchange for sex. We get emotionless sex. Love is what we don't get. Communion is what we don't get. Men think they are great lovers because they give women multiple orgasms, when in fact, being a good lover is being honest, attentive, caring, nurturing, listening, being vulnerable.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
Redefining Black Relationships
A good partner is one who puts the needs of their union above their own. One can't be a good husband or wife if choices and decisions are based on their own desires, wants, and preferences first and their partner is left to deal with the consequences come what may. The key to a good relationship is having two individuals with the same commitment to selflessness. A relationship can't work if one person is committed to the union and the other person is looking out for self. Once you are pair bonded, whether it be in marriage or not, you must stop living for yourself and live for the entity that has been created anew with your partner.
One should expect honesty from their partner, respect, concern, and a willingness to communicate. I don't think gender has anything to do with that. I think one is entitled to a partner who will not jeopardize one's safety or well-being for pleasure, greed, or narcissism. As far as traditional roles, I think they are dysfunctional and based on a sexist model that is only slightly better than the post-modern roles that reek of dysfunction and reign supreme today. A man is not entitled to sex or dinner on the table at a certain hour nor should he be allowed sexual transgressions in the name of "manhood." A woman is not entitled to money in exchange for her body nor to behave like some sassy stereotypical caricature where she can condemn, criticize, and nag simply because she has ovaries. Women should not be expected to be the primary care givers of children and men should not be expected to be the primary bread winners. Ideally, one's talents, abilities, and weaknesses should be weighed against the talents, abilities and weaknesses of one's partner and a mutual decision should be made as to how the roles and responsibilities should be divided. If my partner is the same gender as myself, then the same rules should apply. I personally think we've not seen a healthy model of Black relationships since before we were captured and enslaved. Adhering to "traditional" masculine and feminine roles is to assert that there is an inherent inequality to the sexes. The truly healthy model for relationships should be based on an equality of the sexes with a healthy reverence for the differences each gender brings to the table.
One should expect honesty from their partner, respect, concern, and a willingness to communicate. I don't think gender has anything to do with that. I think one is entitled to a partner who will not jeopardize one's safety or well-being for pleasure, greed, or narcissism. As far as traditional roles, I think they are dysfunctional and based on a sexist model that is only slightly better than the post-modern roles that reek of dysfunction and reign supreme today. A man is not entitled to sex or dinner on the table at a certain hour nor should he be allowed sexual transgressions in the name of "manhood." A woman is not entitled to money in exchange for her body nor to behave like some sassy stereotypical caricature where she can condemn, criticize, and nag simply because she has ovaries. Women should not be expected to be the primary care givers of children and men should not be expected to be the primary bread winners. Ideally, one's talents, abilities, and weaknesses should be weighed against the talents, abilities and weaknesses of one's partner and a mutual decision should be made as to how the roles and responsibilities should be divided. If my partner is the same gender as myself, then the same rules should apply. I personally think we've not seen a healthy model of Black relationships since before we were captured and enslaved. Adhering to "traditional" masculine and feminine roles is to assert that there is an inherent inequality to the sexes. The truly healthy model for relationships should be based on an equality of the sexes with a healthy reverence for the differences each gender brings to the table.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Acting “White”
If a Black person looks to better themselves with an education, he or she is accused of acting white. The Black community loves to throw that saying around like it’s an insult. What exactly does that mean? If you speak well, if you embrace education, if you don’t identify yourself as ghetto, that means you are acting white. It is our way of embracing ignorance, claiming that we have some inherent birthright, based on our color, to poverty and stupidity. Moreover, white people LOVE to feign insight into the Black community by denouncing those who don’t want to “act white” and embrace African Americans who are anxious to divorce themselves from the Black community and identify themselves as colorless. There is no such thing as being colorless in this society and intellect, articulation, and excellence are not exclusive to white people. If we are ever to evolve as a people, we must stop this absurd notion that white people are equivalent to excellence and that being black means we are dumb.
Pick up a book, go back to college, take a night class, use the internet to learn out our history instead of just wasting your life away.
Copyright 2009 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved
Monday, December 22, 2008
The New and Improved, "I'm not Racist."
I've noticed a recent trend. Any time a white person says something racist, insensitive, or just plain uninformed and I correct them, they immediately respond with, "Hey, I voted for Obama." It doesn't even matter what the topic is. Their immediate, knee jerk response is to say, "I voted for Obama." It's the new, "I'm not racist."
I have to wonder how many of these people are lying. Not every white person voted for Obama. Many didn't vote for him because he is Black. It seems white people have an instant out now by claiming that they voted for Obama and that is supposed to absolve them of any of their misdeeds.
I have to wonder how many of these people are lying. Not every white person voted for Obama. Many didn't vote for him because he is Black. It seems white people have an instant out now by claiming that they voted for Obama and that is supposed to absolve them of any of their misdeeds.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Mr. AfroerotiK Application
Mr. AfroerotiK Application
I’ve given up on finding love. It’s just not going to happen for me. I’ve learned my lesson and I’m prepared to spend the rest of my life alone. I’m not saying that there aren’t any good men out there; I’m saying that the men that I attract are not emotionally mature nor are they capable of vibrating on the same level as I am.
That being said, I’ve created a fool-proof method to get rid of any potential bothersome men who might try to distract me and convince me that true love might in fact be possible for me. I have the quintessential disqualifier of sorts. I’ve composed a series of application questions that I’m going to give to any suitors who may catch me when my guard is down and give me a glimmer of hope that companionship and intimacy might be an actual possibility for me.
The following is a list of questions that any man who is interested in me must complete in full. Those who are unwilling to even attempt the questions are automatically seen for the insincere boys that they really are. Those who complete some of the questions and not all of the questions will prove themselves to only be capable of handling the good situations in life and not the rough or difficult situations. Those who complete all the questions but their answers reveal some hidden misogyny, insecurity, immaturity, or personality flaw will be politely dismissed and summarily discarded with a quickness. That combination of disqualifiers will ensure that no Black man will ever earn the title of “Mr. AfroerotiK.” I demand a man who is introspective, who has examined his life, who can be honest even when the answers are painful.
It’s not too much to ask for a man to answer these questions. If I am to give you my heart, my body, my love, then it certainly should be a privilege for a man to take the time and answer these questions because what he gets in return will be a woman who is loving, nurturing, supportive, challenging, and who will love the dirty socks off him. We as women, myself included, are too quick to allow a man access to our hearts when he hasn’t proven himself worthy. I refuse to get hoodwinked by evil, manipulative, pathological liars and cheaters who know how to say what they think I want to hear but really feel another way. The questions are constructed to weed out the brothas who think they don’t have to do a damn thing to be in a relationship, the game players, the boys, and the emotionally immature.
- What did you do wrong in your last serious relationship to cause its demise?
- What does it take to make you happy?
- What are you going to be doing 10 years from now?
- What can you say to reassure me that you will never cheat on me?
- What would you do if you discovered that your wife was cheating on you?
- Who are your heroes?
- You are writing our own wedding vows. What would yours be? (roughly)
- What mistakes did your parents make in raising you?
- What are you better at than anyone else in the world?
- If we were in love, how would you SHOW me that you loved me?
- What is the worst thing your ex’s could say about you?
- What do you consider your responsibilities in a relationship?
- Describe in detail your religious, spiritual, philosophical outlook.
- Why do you think most marriages fail?
- How would you make our relationship last if one of us were to have to relocate to a distant location?
- What causes infidelity in relationships?
- What traditional roles, if any, do you expect your mate to fill in a relationship?
- What traditional roles, if any, will you be willing to fill in a relationship?
- What is the sexiest thing a woman has ever done for you?
- What’s the sexist thing a woman could ever do for you?
- What do you think is the most important issue facing our country today?
- What do you think is the most important issue facing the Black community today?
- Describe the events in your life that made you grow up the most.
- Describe your position on the following topics: abortion, welfare, homelessness, unemployment, reparations, the war in
- Whom is the person you hate most?
- Where would you go on your ideal vacation? Describe what you would do.
- Describe your perfect wedding, honeymoon, and dream home.
- What’s the biggest regret you have had in your life?
- What is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done in your life?
- What’s the smartest thing you’ve ever done in your life?
- What aspects of your personality would you change if you could?
- What will they say about you at your funeral?
- How do you feel about going to counseling?
- What is the biggest improvement you need to make in your life?
- How many women have you had unprotected sex with?
- When will you know when you have found Ms. Right?
- What makes you think you are ready for a long term relationship?
- Why do you like me?
- What is the most important thing you want to teach your children?
- What is the most important thing that your parents taught you?
Any man who can answer those questions will have proven that he has done the work on himself that is deserving of a chance to be my man.
Pregnant with Desire
Pregnancy can be erotic. Explore the sensual side of being full with child in this selection of images and audio that celebrate the beauty of the ultimate gift of womanhood.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Do openly bisexual Black men really exist?
I'm only interested in openly bisexual Black men as partners. I'm not attracted to bi men who are DL, the ones who can't admit that they are physically or emotionally attracted to other men. I'm not looking for a super freaky threesome either. The last reason I'm looking for a bisexual man is sexual. I'm interested in openly bisexual Black men for many reasons, primarily because I'm attracted to men who have let go of absurd notions of gender and sexuality. I’m interested in bisexual men who can acknowledge that their manhood and masculinity aren't defined by how they experience pleasure. I'm only attracted to men who can distance themselves from the misogynist, patriarchal, sexist, oppressive notions of what it is to be man and how society tells men to relate to women. Men who have redefined their notions of top and bottom and see themselves as sexual beings without labels arouse me. I'm attracted to bisexual men for a host of socio-political reasons but I can't seem to find a bisexual man who is interested in forming a relationship with me. They either prefer men or they find some excuse to display knee jerk homophobia in front of other people. I desire an openly bisexual man. That doesn't mean that he has to wear a t-shirt in public saying "I like Dick," but he at least has to speak up when people say antiquated, homophobic comments. He can't pretend to be straight around people and then only admit his sexual attraction to men behind closed doors. We are so distorted and warped as a people; our sexuality is so unhealthy and dysfunctional that I'm beginning to think that openly bisexual men don't exist.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Healthy Black Sexuality Part 2
I don't even think we can get to a discussion of making love vs. having sex (or God forbid vs. fucking) if we can't even mention sex without the morality police stepping up and deeming that sex can't be discussed, mentioned, or debated.
Black Enterprise Magazine approached me, approached ME, about doing an article on my work as a Black female entrepreneur. I was excited as I was about to get the national exposure I have so long been seeking to combat that wretched Zane and her horribly offensive and degrading crap she calls erotica. Finally, I was going to get a national platform to talk about healthy Black sexuality. They told me that I would be getting a list of interview questions in an email and that I was to fill them out and send them back. I waited for that email, and waited, and waited. Finally, I contacted the young lady again and I told her that I hadn't received the interview questions and that I was anxious to get them. She then told me that Black Enterprise readers weren't interested in "my topic" and that they had a much more conservative readership. At which point I asked her if Black Enterprise readers had sex and she promptly hung up on me.
There is a knee jerk reaction in the Black middle class community that kicks in every time there is mention of sex. We can't even have academic discussions of sex without someone deeming that "those sorts of conversations aren't appropriate for this forum." The more we compartmentalize our sex, the more we allow our sexuality to be defined as dirty. Sure, not every conversation is appropriate for every venue but not every one is inappropriate either. The very same people who are sooooo quick to try to silence me at the mere mention of the word erotic are the very same people masturbating to images of pornography that degrade, demean, and objectify us as a people because they refuse to allow any other avenue of sexual expression to be acceptable.
People ask me all the time why I started writing erotica. My response is and has always been, that I am a single, highly-educated, African-centered, Black woman who is not aroused by dogs, thugs, pimps, drug dealers, basketball players, or rappers and I'm not a ghetto hoochie, ghetto whore, nor am I a ghetto big booty freak. Where do I turn for sexual arousal? I started writing erotica because there was nothing that spoke to me. I started writing erotica because I don't find interracial images of black men fucking white women to be arousing and I'm not represented by Black women with weaves, fake nails, and stripper shoes who have no clue what it is to be sensual, only sexual. I'm a 42 year old woman who hasn't been in a relationship in so long that it boggles the mind and I'm tired of men approaching me and thinking that just because I have a big booty and they have a big SUV, that I'm going to have sex with them. That's why I started writing erotica. I wanted to have something that spoke to men, that represented the types of relationships that I was looking for, that get me wet, that allowed me to masturbate to something that represented my view of Black life. I can't be the only woman, the only Black person, who wants or needs to find a sexual outlet that isn't sanitized and sterile but that isn't degrading and cliche either.
There is always this "what you are doing is corrupting children" backlash that I get. I had sex when I was 16 years old. I was far from the first girl of my peers to have sex, in fact, losing one's virginity at around that age was pretty average among my very middle class, suburban peers. That was LONG before BET made Black women out to be freaks, bitches, and ho's. That was long before Zane's books, portraying Black women as nymphomaniac adulterous gold digging, superficial whores, were passed around like a virus. That was LONG before children had access to the internet where every vile, disgusting, perverse sexual act is available to view for free with the click of a mouse. To assert that children, young teens, are going to be warped by my discussions of sexuality is laughable. I'm the only voice that is speaking out and saying that sex should be about love, intimacy, openness, communication, freedom, and responsibility. If anything, young teens need to be exposed to my brand of erotica in order to counter the negative images they see at every turn and to combat the oblivious parents who think that if they don't talk about sex, that their children will somehow escape being exposed to it.
Of course, there's always the, "Blacks aren't the only one's who are victims of the same behavior" argument. My concern is not other communities. My concern is the fact that 7 out of 10 Black children are being born out of wedlock. My concern is that a Black woman in her mid 30s is more likely to be struck by lightning than to get married. My concern is that African Americans are dying of AIDS at a disproportionate rate than any other race. So while other races, creeds, and whathaveyou may very well be steeped in sexual dysfunction, it is affecting US more detrimentally. There are scores of Black men who are impregnating white women to feed the sexual fetish of white couples to have their wives "bred black." There are scores of Black men going into white couples bedrooms every night of the week to feed white couple's racist Nigger Buck Mandingo fantasies. There are young Black women who have never had sex unless it involves some sort of exchange of money or services. Those things are the perils that will destroy our race if we continue to censor our conversations about sex and let some absurd religious/pious sanctimony dictate that sex can't be discussed.
Black Enterprise Magazine approached me, approached ME, about doing an article on my work as a Black female entrepreneur. I was excited as I was about to get the national exposure I have so long been seeking to combat that wretched Zane and her horribly offensive and degrading crap she calls erotica. Finally, I was going to get a national platform to talk about healthy Black sexuality. They told me that I would be getting a list of interview questions in an email and that I was to fill them out and send them back. I waited for that email, and waited, and waited. Finally, I contacted the young lady again and I told her that I hadn't received the interview questions and that I was anxious to get them. She then told me that Black Enterprise readers weren't interested in "my topic" and that they had a much more conservative readership. At which point I asked her if Black Enterprise readers had sex and she promptly hung up on me.
There is a knee jerk reaction in the Black middle class community that kicks in every time there is mention of sex. We can't even have academic discussions of sex without someone deeming that "those sorts of conversations aren't appropriate for this forum." The more we compartmentalize our sex, the more we allow our sexuality to be defined as dirty. Sure, not every conversation is appropriate for every venue but not every one is inappropriate either. The very same people who are sooooo quick to try to silence me at the mere mention of the word erotic are the very same people masturbating to images of pornography that degrade, demean, and objectify us as a people because they refuse to allow any other avenue of sexual expression to be acceptable.
People ask me all the time why I started writing erotica. My response is and has always been, that I am a single, highly-educated, African-centered, Black woman who is not aroused by dogs, thugs, pimps, drug dealers, basketball players, or rappers and I'm not a ghetto hoochie, ghetto whore, nor am I a ghetto big booty freak. Where do I turn for sexual arousal? I started writing erotica because there was nothing that spoke to me. I started writing erotica because I don't find interracial images of black men fucking white women to be arousing and I'm not represented by Black women with weaves, fake nails, and stripper shoes who have no clue what it is to be sensual, only sexual. I'm a 42 year old woman who hasn't been in a relationship in so long that it boggles the mind and I'm tired of men approaching me and thinking that just because I have a big booty and they have a big SUV, that I'm going to have sex with them. That's why I started writing erotica. I wanted to have something that spoke to men, that represented the types of relationships that I was looking for, that get me wet, that allowed me to masturbate to something that represented my view of Black life. I can't be the only woman, the only Black person, who wants or needs to find a sexual outlet that isn't sanitized and sterile but that isn't degrading and cliche either.
There is always this "what you are doing is corrupting children" backlash that I get. I had sex when I was 16 years old. I was far from the first girl of my peers to have sex, in fact, losing one's virginity at around that age was pretty average among my very middle class, suburban peers. That was LONG before BET made Black women out to be freaks, bitches, and ho's. That was long before Zane's books, portraying Black women as nymphomaniac adulterous gold digging, superficial whores, were passed around like a virus. That was LONG before children had access to the internet where every vile, disgusting, perverse sexual act is available to view for free with the click of a mouse. To assert that children, young teens, are going to be warped by my discussions of sexuality is laughable. I'm the only voice that is speaking out and saying that sex should be about love, intimacy, openness, communication, freedom, and responsibility. If anything, young teens need to be exposed to my brand of erotica in order to counter the negative images they see at every turn and to combat the oblivious parents who think that if they don't talk about sex, that their children will somehow escape being exposed to it.
Of course, there's always the, "Blacks aren't the only one's who are victims of the same behavior" argument. My concern is not other communities. My concern is the fact that 7 out of 10 Black children are being born out of wedlock. My concern is that a Black woman in her mid 30s is more likely to be struck by lightning than to get married. My concern is that African Americans are dying of AIDS at a disproportionate rate than any other race. So while other races, creeds, and whathaveyou may very well be steeped in sexual dysfunction, it is affecting US more detrimentally. There are scores of Black men who are impregnating white women to feed the sexual fetish of white couples to have their wives "bred black." There are scores of Black men going into white couples bedrooms every night of the week to feed white couple's racist Nigger Buck Mandingo fantasies. There are young Black women who have never had sex unless it involves some sort of exchange of money or services. Those things are the perils that will destroy our race if we continue to censor our conversations about sex and let some absurd religious/pious sanctimony dictate that sex can't be discussed.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
What is Healthy Black Sexuality?
For all too long Black sexuality has been defined by extremes. We have been defined as hypersexual, untamed savages who are ruled by our lust and far too many of us have embraced that misrepresentation without the presence of a healthier alterative example to model. Others of us have adopted a role of sexual conservatism in order to conform to a standard that tells us that the only sex that isn’t dirty . . . is boring. Somewhere between the freak and the frigid lies AfroerotiK sexuality.
Where do intelligent, middle class Black people turn to find sexual expression? What outlets do we have to be aroused without offensive, degrading, vulgar pornographic images? My work is providing such an outlet yet I'm continually and repeatedly told that my work is offensive. What's offensive is a nation of Black people who can't form healthy relationships because they don't know how to be open and honest with their partners about their needs, desires, and fantasies. What's offensive is that as an educated successful Black woman, I'm told that I'm a freak if I even make reference to sex, however academic the discussion. If my work glorified sex in exchange for money, cheating, or manipulation, that would be a perversion of sex. My work glorifies couples being intimate, communicating, sharing their secrets with one another and validating that adults, and young adults should be having sex based on LOVE first and foremost.
The African American community is diseased in our perceptions of sexuality. The middle class can't even have a conversation about sex; we can't even have a discussion about the subject of sex before someone is trying to censor it. The rest of us are out having unprotected, irresponsible sex like it's recreation. There's a vast difference between saying, "I'm a big booty ho looking to swallow seven loads of cum," and "I long to feel the sensation of your tongue licking me until I explode in your mouth." Until we as a people can discern the difference, until we as a people can stop relegating anything to do with sex as being dirty and unmentionable, we are doomed to be dysfunctional and sexually immature. We should be able to have discussions about sex in all forums, with relative boundaries in mind, and not be so quick to feign false indignation as if sex is dirty and unmentionable.
Where do intelligent, middle class Black people turn to find sexual expression? What outlets do we have to be aroused without offensive, degrading, vulgar pornographic images? My work is providing such an outlet yet I'm continually and repeatedly told that my work is offensive. What's offensive is a nation of Black people who can't form healthy relationships because they don't know how to be open and honest with their partners about their needs, desires, and fantasies. What's offensive is that as an educated successful Black woman, I'm told that I'm a freak if I even make reference to sex, however academic the discussion. If my work glorified sex in exchange for money, cheating, or manipulation, that would be a perversion of sex. My work glorifies couples being intimate, communicating, sharing their secrets with one another and validating that adults, and young adults should be having sex based on LOVE first and foremost.
The African American community is diseased in our perceptions of sexuality. The middle class can't even have a conversation about sex; we can't even have a discussion about the subject of sex before someone is trying to censor it. The rest of us are out having unprotected, irresponsible sex like it's recreation. There's a vast difference between saying, "I'm a big booty ho looking to swallow seven loads of cum," and "I long to feel the sensation of your tongue licking me until I explode in your mouth." Until we as a people can discern the difference, until we as a people can stop relegating anything to do with sex as being dirty and unmentionable, we are doomed to be dysfunctional and sexually immature. We should be able to have discussions about sex in all forums, with relative boundaries in mind, and not be so quick to feign false indignation as if sex is dirty and unmentionable.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
AfroerotiK Interview
http://www.blackfunk.org/funk/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=203
I was asked a set of 10 essential questions regarding my perspectives on life, love, and sex.
Check it out!
I was asked a set of 10 essential questions regarding my perspectives on life, love, and sex.
Check it out!
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
How can we create change if we choose to be complacent?
I'm sickened by white people's racism and yet I'm even more saddened by Black people's inability to define, identify, and call out racist behaviors. No matter what white people say, as long as they finish it with, "I'm not racist," all is forgiven. A TEACHER yelled at his students that the new national anthem was going to be Movin' on Up, that the new flag was going to be the KFC flag, and his only reprimand . . . being suspended for discouraging the election glee of his students. Students of color no less. I've seen more Black people making excuses for their excitement in the last week, more blogs of how black people have chosen to remain silent at work in the post election depression of white people. How can we create change if we choose to be complacent in their racism? We must speak out, we must call them out, we must hold the news media responsible for their perpetuation of racism.
Monday, November 03, 2008
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE UNDECIDED: YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS AND YOU KNOW IT
by Tim Wise
November 2, 2008, 10:21 am
To Whom It May Concern,
With so little time remaining before election day, and with so many things running through my mind--things that I'm hoping might, if presented correctly, somehow influence your vote--I hardly know where to begin. I guess I could speak to you about one or another public policy issue--perhaps health care, or education--and try to convince you that Barack Obama is the better choice. But I'm not going to do that. Not because I doubt that it's true, but because there's something more important to think about. It's about you, and who you are, and what you want to stand for and associate with come election day.
I won't try and change your mind about issues. My own ideological commitments are decidedly to the left, far more so than Barack Obama by the way (which is why I actually find it funny when folks suggest he's some far-out radical or socialist). I actually wish Obama were more bold in his progressivism, but many years ago I learned that when it came to presidential elections, I'd likely have to settle for voting for the candidate who I felt was better, even if they were far from my own ideal. I could spend the other 364 days fighting for what I believed in, without apology or compromise. Election day, for me, has always come to be about harm reduction: a political equivalent of the hippocratic oath. And that's OK.
I'm asking you now to make that same leap: to relinquish the need to be totally behind the person you vote for, and instead to make the best out of a situation that you may see as less than ideal, but which nonetheless posits a very serious choice in terms of which direction this nation travels, less so in terms of policy than in terms of tone, demeanor, and its overall political culture.
Because this election isn't just about taxes, or the war in Iraq, or energy policy, though it is all of those things. Honest and decent people can disagree about those subjects, as with any political issue. But this election is about the public face of the United States of America in the early twenty-first century. And when it comes to such a matter as this, the difference between an Obama and McCain vote couldn't be clearer.
If you don't believe me, I implore you to take a look at the numerous video clips of McCain and Palin's hardcore supporters (links embedded at the end of this letter) as they scream words of anger and hatred at Obama supporters who are merely standing with signs announcing their preference outside one or another McCain rally. These mobs, and that is what they are, are not merely people who disagree about issues with Senator Obama--which would be fine--but rather, they are persons who seem incapable of even seeing the humanity of their opponent, or his supporters. They are people whose vitriol and venom know few if any bounds. They are people who call him names that are only thinly-veiled racial slurs, who threaten him with violence, and who suggest that he is a "baby killer" whose election would destroy America. These are dangerous people, and what's important here, is that they are not like you.
If you agreed with this kind of rhetoric, I suspect you wouldn't be undecided, or perhaps merely leaning towards McCain. You would be a full-blown acolyte. That you are not suggests that you are trying to avoid the trap of overblown emotionalism. For that, I thank you. And for that reason I am asking you to consider that if you vote for McCain, you will not merely be voting for policies that you may prefer, but you will also be empowering some of these very forces visible in the videos. You will be casting your lot with them, making common cause with persons whose anger and rage threatens to tear the country apart at a time when we desperately need to come together to solve common problems. These forces, if victorious, would think their triumph a signal event, one that would give them a green light to ramp up the volume of their hatred even louder.
Although most McCain supporters are not like the thugs attending these rallies, surely it must give you pause to think that you could vote as they vote, that you might contribute to the election of a man whose base includes such persons as these. People who have verbally abused Obama campaigners canvassing door-to-door or on the phone, who suggest that we should "Bomb Obama," and who have spread vicious rumors about the candidate with no basis in fact. And through it all, Obama himself has sucked it up, smiled through it and tried to take the higher ground.
And so we return to that notion of the public face of our nation, which is on the line in two days. Do you want this nation to elect a man whose victory would be dependent on the kind of persons as you can see in these videos? People whose sole commodity is fear, contrasted with Obama supporters whose mantra of hope--however simplistic you may think it, and however vague it may indeed be--at least appeals to the better angels of our natures, and to the positive, constructive impulses that have animated the nation's people in their better moments.
Perhaps you think it unfair to link John McCain to the yahoos attending many of his events. Perhaps you feel that his status (self-proclaimed at least) as a maverick, would mean that, if elected, he would clearly distance himself from fringe wingnuts such as these. But you know what a real maverick would have done by now? A real maverick would already have distanced himself, clearly and repeatedly, from these folks. And John McCain has not. These videos have been bouncing around for weeks, and with the exception of one tepid comment about how both sides need to tone down the hostile rhetoric--which seemed to imply an equivalence between Obama supporters and the folks on those tapes that simply doesn't exist--McCain and Palin have said nothing. Rather, McCain said he was "proud" of the people at his rallies, including, apparently the kinds of people we can all witness spewing their bigotry for the world to see.
A real maverick would have said the following: "My friends, I want your vote, and I sincerely believe that I am the best man for this job. But if you are supporting me because you are afraid of having a black president, or because you believe my opponent to be a terrorist, or a Muslim (and you believe Muslims are evil and unqualified to hold office), or because you believe the long-since discredited rumors about him that have been bouncing around the internet, or if you wish him harm, either now or in the future, I am asking you not to vote for me. More than that, I am telling you not to. I am asking you to stay home on election day, because I don't want the support of people like you. If the only way I can win the presidency is on the backs of bigots, I'd rather not win."
Now THAT would have been a maverick move. It would have been a bold move, one filled with courage and honor and character. It would have cemented McCain's place in history as a man of principle. But he never said this, or anything remotely like it. He knows he can't win without the support of two groups: the crazies, and the undecideds. The first of these he feels confident he can hold. The second of these? Well, that's for you to decide. But for my money, I think you are not only smarter, but fundamentally more decent than that. On election day, please show the nation and the world that my faith in you was not misplaced.
Sincerely,
Tim Wise
LINKS TO McCAIN RALLIES:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vL20TdHjX2s
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4fbpZXivv-M
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yLuI1NHpQnc&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjxzmaXAg9E&feature=related
November 2, 2008, 10:21 am
To Whom It May Concern,
With so little time remaining before election day, and with so many things running through my mind--things that I'm hoping might, if presented correctly, somehow influence your vote--I hardly know where to begin. I guess I could speak to you about one or another public policy issue--perhaps health care, or education--and try to convince you that Barack Obama is the better choice. But I'm not going to do that. Not because I doubt that it's true, but because there's something more important to think about. It's about you, and who you are, and what you want to stand for and associate with come election day.
I won't try and change your mind about issues. My own ideological commitments are decidedly to the left, far more so than Barack Obama by the way (which is why I actually find it funny when folks suggest he's some far-out radical or socialist). I actually wish Obama were more bold in his progressivism, but many years ago I learned that when it came to presidential elections, I'd likely have to settle for voting for the candidate who I felt was better, even if they were far from my own ideal. I could spend the other 364 days fighting for what I believed in, without apology or compromise. Election day, for me, has always come to be about harm reduction: a political equivalent of the hippocratic oath. And that's OK.
I'm asking you now to make that same leap: to relinquish the need to be totally behind the person you vote for, and instead to make the best out of a situation that you may see as less than ideal, but which nonetheless posits a very serious choice in terms of which direction this nation travels, less so in terms of policy than in terms of tone, demeanor, and its overall political culture.
Because this election isn't just about taxes, or the war in Iraq, or energy policy, though it is all of those things. Honest and decent people can disagree about those subjects, as with any political issue. But this election is about the public face of the United States of America in the early twenty-first century. And when it comes to such a matter as this, the difference between an Obama and McCain vote couldn't be clearer.
If you don't believe me, I implore you to take a look at the numerous video clips of McCain and Palin's hardcore supporters (links embedded at the end of this letter) as they scream words of anger and hatred at Obama supporters who are merely standing with signs announcing their preference outside one or another McCain rally. These mobs, and that is what they are, are not merely people who disagree about issues with Senator Obama--which would be fine--but rather, they are persons who seem incapable of even seeing the humanity of their opponent, or his supporters. They are people whose vitriol and venom know few if any bounds. They are people who call him names that are only thinly-veiled racial slurs, who threaten him with violence, and who suggest that he is a "baby killer" whose election would destroy America. These are dangerous people, and what's important here, is that they are not like you.
If you agreed with this kind of rhetoric, I suspect you wouldn't be undecided, or perhaps merely leaning towards McCain. You would be a full-blown acolyte. That you are not suggests that you are trying to avoid the trap of overblown emotionalism. For that, I thank you. And for that reason I am asking you to consider that if you vote for McCain, you will not merely be voting for policies that you may prefer, but you will also be empowering some of these very forces visible in the videos. You will be casting your lot with them, making common cause with persons whose anger and rage threatens to tear the country apart at a time when we desperately need to come together to solve common problems. These forces, if victorious, would think their triumph a signal event, one that would give them a green light to ramp up the volume of their hatred even louder.
Although most McCain supporters are not like the thugs attending these rallies, surely it must give you pause to think that you could vote as they vote, that you might contribute to the election of a man whose base includes such persons as these. People who have verbally abused Obama campaigners canvassing door-to-door or on the phone, who suggest that we should "Bomb Obama," and who have spread vicious rumors about the candidate with no basis in fact. And through it all, Obama himself has sucked it up, smiled through it and tried to take the higher ground.
And so we return to that notion of the public face of our nation, which is on the line in two days. Do you want this nation to elect a man whose victory would be dependent on the kind of persons as you can see in these videos? People whose sole commodity is fear, contrasted with Obama supporters whose mantra of hope--however simplistic you may think it, and however vague it may indeed be--at least appeals to the better angels of our natures, and to the positive, constructive impulses that have animated the nation's people in their better moments.
Perhaps you think it unfair to link John McCain to the yahoos attending many of his events. Perhaps you feel that his status (self-proclaimed at least) as a maverick, would mean that, if elected, he would clearly distance himself from fringe wingnuts such as these. But you know what a real maverick would have done by now? A real maverick would already have distanced himself, clearly and repeatedly, from these folks. And John McCain has not. These videos have been bouncing around for weeks, and with the exception of one tepid comment about how both sides need to tone down the hostile rhetoric--which seemed to imply an equivalence between Obama supporters and the folks on those tapes that simply doesn't exist--McCain and Palin have said nothing. Rather, McCain said he was "proud" of the people at his rallies, including, apparently the kinds of people we can all witness spewing their bigotry for the world to see.
A real maverick would have said the following: "My friends, I want your vote, and I sincerely believe that I am the best man for this job. But if you are supporting me because you are afraid of having a black president, or because you believe my opponent to be a terrorist, or a Muslim (and you believe Muslims are evil and unqualified to hold office), or because you believe the long-since discredited rumors about him that have been bouncing around the internet, or if you wish him harm, either now or in the future, I am asking you not to vote for me. More than that, I am telling you not to. I am asking you to stay home on election day, because I don't want the support of people like you. If the only way I can win the presidency is on the backs of bigots, I'd rather not win."
Now THAT would have been a maverick move. It would have been a bold move, one filled with courage and honor and character. It would have cemented McCain's place in history as a man of principle. But he never said this, or anything remotely like it. He knows he can't win without the support of two groups: the crazies, and the undecideds. The first of these he feels confident he can hold. The second of these? Well, that's for you to decide. But for my money, I think you are not only smarter, but fundamentally more decent than that. On election day, please show the nation and the world that my faith in you was not misplaced.
Sincerely,
Tim Wise
LINKS TO McCAIN RALLIES:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vL20TdHjX2s
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4fbpZXivv-M
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yLuI1NHpQnc&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjxzmaXAg9E&feature=related
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Vote Flipping
What is being done about the vote flipping on these machines? Are we going to sit with our thumbs up our collective rear ends until McCain wins by fraudulent tallying and then cry, "Woe is me." like we did with Al Gore and John Kerry? Where is the MASSIVE legal attack on these machines NOW? We know the GOP has rigged the machines and yet we are sitting in silence. Time and time again, we are hearing voters say they voted for Obama and the machine flipped their vote to another candidate. Are we going to pretend that is merely coincidence? That smacks of throwing the election to me. What have we done all this work to get out the vote when the vote is being flipped before our eyes and no one is taking the Republicans to task. God forbid the machines were flipping votes to Obama from McCain, they would invalidate every vote and demand that the election be held again. Where are the legal motions filed by the DNC, and the Obama campaign to stop have paper ballots?
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Can you help me protect the vote?
The Obama campaign is launching an unprecedented Voter Protection Program that will fight to promote and defend the voting rights of every American.
They're looking for attorneys, law students, and those with legal expertise to help with this crucial effort.
I just signed up to be a part of the Voter Protection Program. Will you join me?
http://my.barackobama.com/counselforchange
Thanks
Scottie
They're looking for attorneys, law students, and those with legal expertise to help with this crucial effort.
I just signed up to be a part of the Voter Protection Program. Will you join me?
http://my.barackobama.com/counselforchange
Thanks
Scottie
Friday, October 17, 2008
Stop McCain NOW
Dear Friend,
John McCain and Sarah Palin have stopped talking about the issues, and have instead launched a strategy relying on fear-mongering, racial divisions, and hate. The result is McCain/Palin supporters saying "kill him!" "terrorist!" "traitor," and more, at rallies, with the McCain campaign playing dumb in response.It's outrageous and it must stop.
Together, we can show that Americans of all races won't stand for this.
I've signed onto ColorofChange's open-letter calling out McCain and Palin. ColorOfChange.org will publish it this week, and as they've shown in the past, when enough of us stand together, we can force the mainstream media to amplify our message. Will you join us?
http://www.colorofchange.org/united/?id=1594-290773
McCain-Palin rallies have started to look more like mob scenes than political events. The candidates keep asking "who is the real Barack Obama?" (a question that also kicks off almost every McCain television ad).In response, supporters have yelled "terrorist!" and "traitor!" And the venom goes beyond Obama--one McCain/Palin supporter shouted a racial epithet at a Black member of a news crew, saying "sit down, boy."
McCain and Palin are going down a dangerous path. Watching some of their supporters being interviewed shows the kind of fear their campaign is stoking and exploiting.McCain and Palin are clearly in the driver's seat. They've personally made it a point to use "terrorist" and "Obama" in the same sentence; they have surrogates repeatedly refer to him by his middle-name;and they keep pushing the discredited guilt-by-association smears that have long been debunked.
All of it plays on the much more sinister rumors in anonymous smear emails which claim Obama is Muslim (a myth designed to tap into anti-Muslim bigotry), anti-American, and is somehow connected with terrorists. This strategy is powerful because Obama is Black, and it's designed to make Obama's race a disadvantage without appearing overtly racist.
As Americans of all stripes, we've seen how Barack Obama's historic candidacy has moved our friends and family to have a more honest conversation about race in this country. It's inspired a lot of people to step out of their comfort zone and confront racism in their own communities, with their friends, neighbors and families.
In the final days of this campaign, we can't let a desperate John McCain and Sarah Palin drag us down. If enough of us act, we can create a powerful story in the media about Black people and our allies of all races standing together against race-baiting and fear-mongering coming from the McCain/Palin campaign. But it will take a lot of us speaking in unison.
Will you sign an open letter to McCain and Palin, telling them who you are and why you won't let them move our country backward? ColorofChange.org will publish the letter and make sure John McCain is forced to respond.
http://www.colorofchange.org/united/?id=1594-290773
Thanks.
John McCain and Sarah Palin have stopped talking about the issues, and have instead launched a strategy relying on fear-mongering, racial divisions, and hate. The result is McCain/Palin supporters saying "kill him!" "terrorist!" "traitor," and more, at rallies, with the McCain campaign playing dumb in response.It's outrageous and it must stop.
Together, we can show that Americans of all races won't stand for this.
I've signed onto ColorofChange's open-letter calling out McCain and Palin. ColorOfChange.org will publish it this week, and as they've shown in the past, when enough of us stand together, we can force the mainstream media to amplify our message. Will you join us?
http://www.colorofchange.org/united/?id=1594-290773
McCain-Palin rallies have started to look more like mob scenes than political events. The candidates keep asking "who is the real Barack Obama?" (a question that also kicks off almost every McCain television ad).In response, supporters have yelled "terrorist!" and "traitor!" And the venom goes beyond Obama--one McCain/Palin supporter shouted a racial epithet at a Black member of a news crew, saying "sit down, boy."
McCain and Palin are going down a dangerous path. Watching some of their supporters being interviewed shows the kind of fear their campaign is stoking and exploiting.McCain and Palin are clearly in the driver's seat. They've personally made it a point to use "terrorist" and "Obama" in the same sentence; they have surrogates repeatedly refer to him by his middle-name;and they keep pushing the discredited guilt-by-association smears that have long been debunked.
All of it plays on the much more sinister rumors in anonymous smear emails which claim Obama is Muslim (a myth designed to tap into anti-Muslim bigotry), anti-American, and is somehow connected with terrorists. This strategy is powerful because Obama is Black, and it's designed to make Obama's race a disadvantage without appearing overtly racist.
As Americans of all stripes, we've seen how Barack Obama's historic candidacy has moved our friends and family to have a more honest conversation about race in this country. It's inspired a lot of people to step out of their comfort zone and confront racism in their own communities, with their friends, neighbors and families.
In the final days of this campaign, we can't let a desperate John McCain and Sarah Palin drag us down. If enough of us act, we can create a powerful story in the media about Black people and our allies of all races standing together against race-baiting and fear-mongering coming from the McCain/Palin campaign. But it will take a lot of us speaking in unison.
Will you sign an open letter to McCain and Palin, telling them who you are and why you won't let them move our country backward? ColorofChange.org will publish the letter and make sure John McCain is forced to respond.
http://www.colorofchange.org/united/?id=1594-290773
Thanks.
Monday, October 13, 2008
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 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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)