Imperative from on High

I began writing in the third grade.  My mother would punish me to no television and I had to do book reports on a certain number of books before I could get off punishment.  My reading list consisted of Nancy Drew books at the time and she quickly realized that they were pretty much the same story so she relegated me to doing book reports on Black History.  (I was also made to memorize Dr. King's I Have a Dream speech which I WISH parents made their children do today).  Reading became my escape and I would read all the time.  Writing was an extension of that.  I loved words.  I loved how they could transport me. 

I started writing erotica in the 10th grade.  The boy I had loved from afar for 5 years sat in front of my in my typing class and I wanted to impress him with my newly budding sexuality so I would write stories like I had read in my mother's extensive porn collection hidden in her closet.  I would sell the stories I had written to boys for $5. 

In college, I had a boyfriend and I loved writing him erotic stories.  I loved writing erotic letters.  I loved writing.  My degree was science and technology based but I took liberal arts classes whenever I could that would allow me to write.  One professor BEGGED me to go to law school after I wrote a paper about defending women's right to choose.  As fate would have it, upon graduation, I got a job based on my artistic and creative merit and not my scientific accomplishments.  I would show people my portfolio and they were more impressed with the aesthetics than the content.  For years, I did very little writing.  I was married and we alternated years of being outrageously happy and unbearably miserable, off and on. 

It wasn't until I got divorced that I started writing again.  I would buy expensive journals and write about my spiritual and emotional evolution and write erotica simultaneously.  I loved writing on crafted papers (still do)  and telling stories.  I would try to seduce men with my writing.  It was the very beginnings of AfroerotiK even though it was a decade before I would come up with the concept.  I would buy lingerie and lotions and cassette tapes and make sexy recordings while I masturbated and recite my stories.  I would create these packages and give them to men as my indication that I wanted to be intimate with them.  (I don't think it worked one time if I recall correctly) 

Fast forward to 2001 and I went to grad school to study African and African American Studies with a concentration in psychology.  I got As on all my papers and I thought it was just because the standards for the school were so low.  It wasn't until I started writing my thesis and working with Dr. Linda James Myers at OSU that I realized that I was really far more exceptional at writing than I had previously acknowledged or comprehended.  I was asked to speak at a conference in England.  I presented my paper and professors from all over were asking me to travel to their countries and teach classes at their various universities.  I hadn't even gotten my Masters.  It was then that I realized that I had a gift that not a lot of people had. 

Meanwhile, in my personal life, I had started writing erotica again.   I had created my perfect life at the time with academic and cultural pursuits but I was single and I wanted an outlet that was different than the emerging erotica market offered me.  I was not at all aroused by rappers, drug dealers or basketball players so I started writing erotica to appeal to my desires for a transcendent, Africentric love with my intellectual, spiritual, emotional, mental, physical, and sexual equal.  I didn't want to write about  ghetto behaviors because I wasn't from the ghetto and the ghetto ain't as fabulous as Black people want to make it out to be.  I wanted to write about the complexities of Black folk, the ones that weren't shown on TV or in music videos.  So, I would write.  I would write and when I was finished, I wouldn't be aroused because I was so invested in the sentence structure, the character development, the grammar that the stories were more like projects and when I was finished, I would post them online and people would say, "Oh my God, that was the best story I've ever read.  Write one about XYZ."  And I would.  And more people would ask me to write stories for them about topics and fetishes that aroused them. 

It was around that time that Zane started showing up on the scene.  I've been pretty vocal about saying that I don't think she's a good writer.  That's not a secret.  I've told her so personally.  I don't have anything against her personally and I'm sure she's a nice person but I think what she's done to millions upon millions of Black people is eroticize incredibly unhealthy and dysfunctional behaviors to the point that Black people, an entire generation of Black people now think that selling pussy, cheating, and casual sex is normal and right.   Our collective need to see ourselves depicted in sexual situations was met by her willingness to use the words dick, pussy, and fuck in poorly-written stories of dysfunction and it sold. 

So, AfroerotiK was born.  I have never written about Black people cheating (I have written about white people cheating but they don't have a lack of positive images of themselves so I couldn't give half a fuck about portraying them in a positive light.  I'm far more concerned with exposing their inherent racism.)  I do not use the N word in any of my stories, I do not refer to women as bitches or other derogatory terms.  I don't write about perfect characters but beautifully flawed characters who are working on themselves, who are committed to their evolution as a people.  I fill my stories with lessons about life and love and communication and intimacy . . . you know . . . all the stuff dangerously lacking in any depictions of us as a people. 

I tried, a decade ago, to get a book deal.  I thought surely that agents would read my work and fall to their knees begging to represent me.  Rather, they said they weren't interested.  I went to publishers who surely would see that my writing was far superior to the newly emerging urban lit with its fifth grade level writing skill.  In academia, I was touted as an exceptional writer.  In publishing, people didn't like what I had to offer.  Meanwhile, I'm writing more stories and posting them online, I'm building a following, people are telling me that they LOVE my work, that it touches them in ways nothing else has. 

Today, I am dedicated to my mission to show Black people that love, intimacy, commitment, and emotional maturity are not bad things and that they can exist inside of a relationship that is sex positive, that explores more than vanilla sex.  I'm dedicated to rid people of African descent of their oppressive, sexist, misogynist, homo and transphobic views.  I'm dedicated to making Black beautiful again. 

And so, I write. 

Essential Reading List

The following list is comprised of scholars who will assist in divesting white people of their fallacy of white supremacy.  They will challenge your worldview and provide you insight into the racism that is inherent in your socialization.   Please, invest in a library of their works. 

Dr. Cheikh Anta Diop

Dr. John Henrik Clarke

Dr. Marimba Ani

Dr. Amos N. Wilson

Ivan van Sertima

Dr. Yosef Ben-Jochannan

Dr. Chancellor Williams

Dr. George G.M. James

Dr. Molefi K. Asante

Dr. Asa Hilliard

Dr. Na'im Akbar

Dear White People,

It seems it’s time for a public service announcement once again.  If a person of color tells you that something is racist or offensive, it is not your role, job, responsibility or position to tell them that it’s not.  Understand this, the very nature of you telling a person of color what is or is not offensive or racist is . . . follow me closely on this . . . the very definition of racism.  You do not get to dictate the conversation of race.  You cannot say, “Jeez, stop being so sensitive, it wasn’t meant to be offensive,” or, “you’re the one perpetuating racism by talking about it all the time,” because you are being racist by negating the fact that the person of color has more knowledge, understanding, and intimate experience with what encompasses racism.    Your infantile need to silence people of color who are speaking out about racism is . . . say it with me . . . racist. 

I know, I know, you created racism.  Shit white people invented and refined that shit down to a science.  You want to define it; you want to control it.  I get that you want to have the last word on everything that involves race because it is your own very diseased fallacy of white supremacy that created the systems of oppression, bigotry, and racism.  You feel entitled to silence any of those uppity Negroes who have the unmitigated audacity to tell you what’s racist.  But, unfortunately, you don’t get to tell any person of color what is racist.  You see, you got racism on lockdown.  You are the reigning champions of it, that’s indisputable.  But when it comes to dismantling it, when it comes to ending the historic and institutionalized systems that you put in place, which you benefit from daily, it’s us outspoken and angry Black people (you know, the people you refer to as niggers in private) who get to have the last word.  It hurts your feelings.  It makes you mad.  But you are going to have to deal with it because we will not be silenced by your arrogance; we will not back down in the face of your ignorance. 

Sincerely,

The omnipresent angry black chick

P.S. Please feel free to substitute the concepts of men dictating what is sexist, heterosexuals deciding what is homophobic, cis-people controlling the conversation of transphobia, and skinny people asserting they know more about sizism than fat people. 

AfroerotiK Guide: How to fuck an Asshole

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Twenty-four Hours

Men are so funny.  All that macho and bravado and arrogance, it’s a wonder they can accomplish anything.  I don’t know why they can never admit when they are wrong.  If Jesse hadn’t been so intent on proving his manhood, he would have never even dared to challenge me on my knowledge of Stevie Wonder.  Come on now, e’rybody with breath in their lungs should acknowledge that I am the Queen of all Stevie knowledge and I keep a running catalog in my head of albums, songs, lyrics, release dates and general Stevie trivia.  Hell, I could even name any Stevie tune in three notes.  Don’t step to the kid unless you are really sure of your bidness, cuz mama will have to embarrass you, and that’s not ever pretty.  Seriously, who on earth would even have the nerve to suggest that the birthday tribute to Dr. King wasn’t released on an album?  Everybody knows it was on Hotter than July, side two, the last track.  Duh, that’s Steveland Morris 101.  I don’t know what got into Jesse that day; usually he’s not prone to being competitive but he insisted that he was right and it was winner take all.  Imagine the look on his face when I pulled out my album, that right, I said my vinyl copy of the album and played it for him on my record player.  You heard me, my record player.



What did we bet?  Well, the loser had to fulfill all the winner’s sexual fantasies for 24 hours.  Not a bad prize at all for something that took no effort on my part.  I planned on making him work for it, too.  On Wednesday, I gave him the list of things I wanted him to do.  I spelled out every detail of what I wanted.  I wanted to be awakened with his tongue on my clit, licking me to orgasm, I wanted to cum in public, I wanted to have at least one anal orgasm, and I wanted him not to cum for the entire 24 hours, no matter what I did to him.  Pretty straight forward. pretty simple.  He had three full days to prepare so there would be no surprises.  He had an evil grin on his face for the rest of the week, planning and teasing me that I was going to be in trouble.  Uhmmm, I think he was missing the point.  I was the person who won the bet.  I was the person that was going to get all my fantasies; I was the one that was going to be able to cum.  If anyone was in trouble, it was going to be him.  



We decided that the twenty-four hours would start at 8 am on Saturday and last until 8 on Sunday.  That Friday night, you would have thought that he was trying to make me into an Acrobat with Universoul Circus.  He was flipping me and fucking me every which way till Sunday.  He was working out everything he needed to be ready for his twenty-four hours of sexual servitude without release and I who was I to stand in his way?  If I could be there to help him release all his sexual energy, well, a woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do.  That’s just me, Ms Altruism, always thinking of others, benevolent to a fault.  After all, isn’t that what a great relationship is all about, compromise?



Seriously, Jesse had the stamina of a teenager and the technique of a Tantric master that night.  I came so many times I think I passed out.  I vaguely remember saying to myself, “Damn, I’m going to have to sleep in the wet spot because I am going to soak the sheets from cumming so many times.”  I also vaguely remember him pulling out and shooting all over my stomach and feeling him clean me up with a warm wash cloth, but honestly, I was in such bliss, I couldn’t swear in a court of law if he slept in the wet spot or if I did because I slept like a baby all night, knocked out, completely satisfied.  It was the kind of sleep you can only get after a couple rounds of intensely satisfying sex.



I felt the sun coming through the window, warming my face, and but that was most certainly not the first sensation that I awoke to that morning.  As I began to stir, I could feel Jesse living up to his first assignment.  I kept my eyes closed for a while, just languishing in the sensation, moaning ever so slightly.  I was coming out of a peaceful slumber and I was well on my way to cumming again.  I looked down and could see my baby camped out, making a breakfast buffet of my pussy.  He took his fingers, spread my lips, and softly licked my hardened clit.



“Good morning,” I moaned, as I grabbed his head and held it tight to my mound.  His tongue flicked quickly back and forth my sensitive spot and I almost jumped out of my skin.  I couldn’t even concentrate on holding his head because I was pulling my nipples, twisting them, humping my pussy on his mouth.



“Good morning to you sleepy head,” he said as he looked up momentarily, his face glistening with my juices.  “You’ll excuse me, but I have to get back to work.”  With that, his mouth went into over drive, licking my pussy in ways I don’t think I have ever had it licked before.  With just the right pressure, he sucked my clit, with just the right rhythm, he licked it too.  He drove his tongue deep inside me and it fluttered and flicked me to the edge of orgasm.



I was beside myself, losing my mind.  “Oh dear God that feels delicious, what the hell are you doing to me?  Whatever you do, don’t you dare stop, don’t you dare fucking stop.  That feels so fucking good.”  I was bucking my hips in the air and Jesse had his arms around my thighs, holding on for dear life.  I felt the sensations start, I felt the heat and the tingling at the same time.  My breathing started getting more labored, I shut my eyes tightly and I was lost to the pleasure.  “Oh baby, here it cums, I’m going to fill your mouth with my sweet pussy juice baby.  Oh fuck, don’t stop, yes, no, oh shit, agrhhhh.”  My body trembled with pleasure and I rode the wave.  I glanced over and looked at the clock and it said 9.  I had to wonder if he had been licking my pussy for an hour, if he had started late, or if had passed out again from such an intense orgasm.



I wanted to just lie there and bask in the afterglow of post climatic bliss.  Jesse had other plans.  Good Lord, what did I do to deserve that man?  I could smell the coffee brewing and the aromas of something really delicious.  I stumbled to the kitchen and breakfast was waiting.  That wasn’t part of the deal but who was I to complain?  Everything looked great, champagne, omelets just the way I liked them, chocolate chocolate chip muffins.  What else could I ask for?  I could have asked for a moments reprieve, actually.  Jesse made me take off my robe and eat in the nude, which would have been rather decadent and fun if he hadn’t been playing with my nipples constantly.  Nothing gets me aroused more than having my nipples stimulated and he would put marmalade on them, suck it off, driving me insane with lust in the process and getting my pussy incredibly wet, and go back to feeding me.  I couldn’t take the teasing, it was too intense.  Every time he would pinch and lick and suck my nipples, I would beg for him to ram his fingers in my pussy, finger fuck me, I was begging and pleading for him to just throw me on the table and fuck me.  “Jesse Lamont, if you don’t fuck me here and now I’m going to scream.  Stop teasing me.”  He smiled at me like he didn’t even acknowledge what I was saying.  It was more than obvious he was in control and he wasn’t going to let me cum, let alone fuck me like I wanted to be fucked.

After breakfast, we made it to the shower to get ready for the day.  I’d already had one of the most intense orgasms of my life first thing and my pussy was swollen and wet from being aroused during breakfast.  Taking a shower with him was almost too much to take.  Jesse’s body makes me weak in the knees on any given day.  That incredible brown skin, those shoulders, that chest.  I can’t take it; he’s so beautiful, I fall in love with him over and over again every time I see him smile.  Okay, damn, let me focus so I can tell you what else happened.  So, here we were, in the shower, and he’s soaping up my body with his incredible hands, running them over my flesh, down my back.  Things get a little heated and we start kissing, his tongue is exploring my mouth, I’m grabbing his dick and I’m stroking him, I can see his eyes roll back in his head as I squeeze his hard shaft and start using both hands in a steady rhythm, the suds providing the perfect slippery sensation as he’s grabbing my ass and telling me not to stop.  I was rolling his balls around in my fingers and he was rubbing my clit and biting on my neck.



Jesse grabbed my shoulders, turned me around, and pushed me against the wall.  He grabbed my hips and I could feel the hot water running down my back.  I braced myself, feeling my hardened, aching nipples on the cold tile.  “You are going to give me some of this pussy, right here, right now,” he said, and he took his dick and slammed it in me in one thrust.  I let out a moan like a wounded animal and it was met with a grunt from him that reverberated in the tiny space.  His dick felt delicious, sliding in and out of me, hitting my spot, pounding me, and stroking me.  I was backing my ass up on him and it was all I could do to hold on.  My knees were shaking and all I could feel was pleasure, when, without notice, he pulled out and fell against the far wall, squeezing his dick.  I couldn’t even think straight, I was so close to cumming and I just wanted to feel that explosion.  He stumbled out of the bathroom before I could collect myself and it took me more than a few minutes to regroup.



By the time I made it back to the bedroom, Jesse was halfway dressed and had my clothes laid out on the bed.  That’s not something he usually does so I figured it was part of the special day.  I really didn’t care what I was supposed to be wearing, I was too caught up in the fact that I was ready for this little dare to be over.  The more I tried to tease him, to get him to throw me on the bed and fuck me, the more he pushed me away, telling me that he had plans for us.  I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on, my pussy felt so swollen and wet, I was aroused in a way you can only experience when you are truly in love, completely at ease with someone.



He left me there to get dressed.  It was a whole new outfit, tags and all.  He knows my taste, that’s for sure, The white linen skirt was long, to the floor, but it had a really high slit up one leg and the salmon colored shirt showed off the girls but not too much.  I noticed that there was only a bra and no panties to I assumed that was intentional.  I slid on the sexy little sandals and I had to admit he did a great job.  It was really a very cute outfit; I couldn’t have done better myself.  When I was dressed, he grabbed my hand and we headed off to the local coffee shop hand in hand.  Java Jazz was our little hide away.  They played amazing jazz and had open mic nights and in this cozy little enclave that had sinful pastries and free wireless access.  We settled in on one of the sofas and got the paper.  I was oblivious, reading letters to the editor when Jesse reached over, put his hand on my exposed thigh, and whispered, “Spread your legs for me.”  In an instant, I was aroused again, but this time, I was looking around to see who could see us.  There were a few college students deep in their books and another couple sitting at a table not far away, engrossed in each other.  I tried to push his hand away but there was no use.  “Baby, come on, enough is enough, this was fun and all but the game is over, we don’t have to keep this up.”  I was nervous and tingling with anticipation at the same time.



He looked me deep in my eyes and said, “spread your legs for me,” and I’ll be damned if my legs didn’t respond to his command automatically.  Paranoid we were going to be arrested, and knowing damn well that I’m not the most quiet person in the world when I cum, I was trying to concentrate on watching the reactions of the other people.  It had always been my fantasy to be daring, to be somewhat of an exhibitionist, but to not get caught.  All I had to do was look at Jesse and he made everything seem okay.  I turned to face him and spread my legs.  He kept his focus directly on me; he didn’t divert his gaze for a moment.  His confidence made me that much more aroused as I felt his fingers spread my lips.  I bit my lower lip and tried to muffle a moan and I realized it was going to be a lot more difficult than I had originally thought to be discrete.  The way I was seated, I was sure no one could tell his hand was under my skirt but my heart was racing so fast, pounding out of my chest.



I bit my lip and tried my best to muffle my moans.  Jesse had a sly smile on his face and he kept whispering things in my ear.  “Damn, your pussy is so wet.  MMMM.  Does that feel good right there?  Is that your spot baby?  Are you going to cum for me?  His fingers were probing deeper and my breathing was getting more labored.  I glanced over and the couple that was previously engrossed in one another was focused on intently on us.  I couldn’t tell from the way they were sitting but it was entirely possible that he was fingering her as well.  I saw the look on her face.  I’m sure it was the same one that I had, fighting desperately not to lose my composure.  My heart was pounding out of my chest.  I shut my eyes tightly and prayed that my tiny moans of pleasure weren’t audible to everyone in the entire place.  “Jess, please, stop.  Oh, please, I can’t take much more.  I’m going to cum, please stop.”  He started fingering me harder, deeper, first one finger, then two; I was squirming and trying to hold my breath.  I was trying desperately not to cum, to fight the feeling but I realized that it was an exercise in futility.  I could feel my juices flowing freely Jesse started using his thumb to rub my clit.  I grabbed the edge of the sofa and I held on tightly.  Never before had I experienced an orgasm in such silence before.  I opened my eyes and tried to get my bearings.  I got my breathing under control and my sweetie was sitting there smiling and discretely smelling his fingers.  I grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door right before I glanced back and saw the woman seated at the table, gripping the arms of her chair and her breasts heaving like she was in the middle of her own special moment.



Once outside, in the bright afternoon sun, walking back towards our apartment, once I had collected myself from that fantastic experience I was livid.  I punched him in the arm.  “JESSE, you could have gotten us arrested.  When I said in public, I MEANT in our car, or maybe in a dark secluded corner of a smoke filled bar where no one could see.  NOT in the middle of the day with other people sitting 15 feet away.  Are you crazy?”



He just smiled and pulled me close to him.  I was standing on my tiptoes and looking up at his beautiful face, his hands were cupping my ass and I could feel the thickness of his dick against me.  He said something but I’ll be damned if I know the hell he said cuz I was so caught up in wanting to kiss him.  Damn, he is so fine.  Phew.



Anyway, we headed off to enjoy the rest of the day.  We went to the farmer’s market and got some fresh produce and spices, some bread and wine to go with the scallops and shrimp we were planning for dinner.  We went to the home improvement store to get some new patio furniture for our balcony but we couldn’t find anything we liked.  We couldn’t go more than 15 minutes without stopping to kiss and grope each other because we are just so hot for each other.  The whole day was filled with erotic tension.  I’m sure people were like, “Get a room,” but we didn’t really care.



All our errands done, we headed home to enjoy a lazy afternoon of watching marathon episodes of Law and Order on TNT.  We fixed dinner and ate wine and yelled at the TV screen and wondered why, in 186 years of the show, Jack McCoy has never had a male assistant.  After dinner, we snuggled on the sofa.  I was in between his legs and we were both in a state of half undress.  His arms were tightly around me and he had pulled my breasts out from my bra and was playing with my nipples casually and making sure that I felt his erection poking me in the back.  After our fourth back-to-back episode, it was more than apparent his attention was not on the State of New York, the police who investigate crimes nor the district attorneys who prosecute them.  He kissed my neck and whispered in my ear, “You realize I still have to make you cum in your ass tonight.”



“How do you do that,” I said, “How do you get me so hot for you in less than three seconds?”  Jesse knew my absolute most intense orgasm came from being stimulated anally.  He had saved the best for last.  I grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the bedroom.  I was anxious to get things underway considering for the last twelve hours I had been teased and pleased in ways that are almost indescribable.  I knew this was going to be fireworks.  We were pulling our clothes off and leaving a trail all the way to the bed.  I felt his entire weight on top of me and wrapped my legs around him tightly.  We kissed passionately for what seemed like an eternity.  I could feel his dick rubbing sensually against my lips; his mouth kissed it’s way down my body, licking my navel, tasting my fingers after I fucked myself.



I was sick of the tease and I decided it was time to move things ahead.  I push him off me, rolled over, and go up on my knees.  I put my head down on the pillow and I reached back to spread my cheeks.  “Baby, I don’t know why but you know I love when you lick my asshole, please, boo, put your tongue in me.  Drive me crazy the way you do.  You know it makes me feel so good.”



Never one to disappoint, he started rimming me, making my eyes roll back in my head.  If it wasn’t bad enough that his soft wet tongue was driving me insane, he was rubbing my clit at the same time.  I started moaning so loudly I’m sure the upstairs, downstairs and next-door neighbors could hear.  I was out of control.  “Baby, don’t stop, whatever you do, don’t stop.  I’m begging you, it feels so good.”



Now what on earth would make me think that he was going to listen to a word I said?  When I was gripping the sheets tightly and mumbling incoherently, this black motherfucker had the nerve to stop.  I’ll be damned.  “No please, put your tongue back, it feels so fucking nasty, it feels so fucking good, I love it, don’t tease me.  I wanna cum, I want to cum in my asshole.  Please baby, don’t tease me.  Please.  It feels so good.



The next thing I felt was the coolness of the lube being applied to my asshole.  He was rubbing his finger around on it and I got goose bumps thinking about what was going to come next.  He was stroking my cheeks and teasing me, putting his finger in me ever so slowly.  There’s something about anal stimulation that feels so primal, so earthy, so intense for me.  He was working his finger in and out and I was grunting like an animal.  I’m not even sure I realized that he had exchanged his finger for his dick until I felt both hands gripping my hips tightly.



“Okay, baby, follow my instructions, Okay?”  His words were calming but my temperature was on high.  I did everything he told me to do.  I pushed when he said push, I squeezed when he told me to, I stayed as still as a statue when he told me not to move.  I trusted him to take care of me and he knew exactly how to control the situation so I got maximum pleasure.



“Okay baby, I’m almost all the way in, I need you to take a deep breath for me so I can give you the last inch of this hard dick.  You like that, don’t you girl” he said.  I grunted my affirmation and took a deep breath.  He was all the way in and I was about to lose my mind.  He held perfectly still, waiting for me to get accustomed to his size.  I always let him know when I was ready to get fucked because I would start grinding my phat ass back on him, to stir it up and get to that place where I felt like I was experiencing pleasure in every pore in my body.  He grabbed my hips and started working his dick in and out.  I buried my face in the pillow to keep my moans of pleasure from having someone call the police.  I was chanting an erotic mantra, “It feels so good, it feels so nasty, it’s so deep, harder, it’s so tight, don’t stop, dick my ass, dick my asshole, make me feel it, yeah, I love your hard . . . oh shit . . . no. . I’m . . . fuuuuuuuuuck.



I felt his hot cum splash on my back.  We collapsed on the bed, exhausted and drained.  He pulled me to him and I was drifting in and out of consciousness.  “Damn girl, I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain.  I came and I wasn’t supposed to.  I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you with another twenty-four hours of complete sexual servitude to you.”





Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK



Scottie Lowe is the owner of www.AfroerotiK.com, a website dedicated to showing Black people in a positive sexual light and the author of In Loving Color, a cutting-edge book of erotica and photography for which she is seeking investors.