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Cognitive Dissonance

Most people have never even heard of the term cognitive dissonance, even fewer understand what it means, and an infinitesimally smaller number of people can recognize the behavior in others.  Ironically, no one can identify the behavior in themselves.   The mind is truly fascinating and its propensity and ability to protect the person who houses it … remarkable.  Cognitive dissonance is what happens when the mind encounters something that contradicts a person’s core beliefs, beliefs held so strongly, so deeply, rooted in the person’s subconscious mind that the person can literally not understand, they cannot grasp anything other than what they believe and their reasoning, logic, and ability to interpret any information other than what they believe simply shuts down. 

Let’s say, for example, a person believes that the earth is flat and that if you sail far enough, you’ll fall off the edge.  You can show them maps, you can show them how the planets rotate around the sun, you can show them pictures of the earth and nothing you will say will convince them otherwise.  When they argue with you, it won’t be based on anything factual but rather they will get to a point where they can no longer argue so they deflect by calling you names or bringing up another subject, or simply yelling and screaming that they are right and making illogical arguments that validate their beliefs in their mind.  The mind literally cannot process anything other than what it knows to be true. 

Now, let’s say someone believes … hmmmm … let’s use an example that is completely impossible.  Let’s say someone believes that pairs of all the earth’s animals fit on a boat roughly the size of a cruise ship.  First and foremost, any sane, rational, intelligent person will tell you that it’s impossible to fit one of every animal on any vessel of any size, let alone two, and that’s even if you eliminate birds and creatures of the sea.  There are simply far too many species of animals, the food sources required to feed all the earth’s animals would take up more space than the animals themselves, and the waste accumulated would be far too much for 8 people to dispose of on a daily basis.  There is no one temperature that accommodate all the earth’s animals without air conditioning.  There would be no way to transport all the animals across the globe.  .  The entire story is impossible.  Even if God magically transported every animal to the location of the arc, even if God made the animals not eat or poop or need water the entire time they were on the arc and all they did was sleep in a comatose state, there is no way that the entire earth’s population of animals could repopulate from only two animals.  There’s no way it could happen, it’s not true.  (There’s no way the entire earth’s population of humans could evolve from two people but that’s another story) 

But people who believe that the bible is the only true word of God will tell you all sorts of things to rationalize their belief.  They will tell you all sorts of things that were not written in the story.  They will make up their own explanations.  Their mind will do whatever it has to do in order to protect their belief that the every word in the bible is true.  Their fear is that if they don’t believe every word in the bible, that if they don’t believe every story as irrefutable fact, that God will punish them to burn in hell or they will be considered a bad Christian in the eyes of God.  Their mind tells them that they have to believe the stories of the bible, not because there is any proof or evidence of any of the stories being true but only that they were told at a young age that they had to believe them or they would be punished. 

OK, that’s a touchy subject for Black folks because our ancestors had Christianity beaten into them.  They were whipped and beaten and tortured until they gave up their African spirituality until they were very much afraid of believing or even reading about anything other than Christianity and that belief has been passed down in the generations since slavery to the point that people today, relatively intelligent people actually believe the fables of the bible. 

OK, people’s brains are shutting down and they are angry and outraged that I would question their religious beliefs so I’ll use an example Black people can understand and agree with.  White people are taught, socialized, and reinforced that they are better than everyone else in the world.  They BELIEVE that they are the most righteous, the most attractive, the most worthy of wealth and justice and basically everything under the sun.  No one ever has to say, “White people are better and Black people are inferior,” for them to inherit that belief, it’s in all the stories they are told as children, it’s in the traditions passed down, it’s in the perpetuation of stories that say that God and his son are white, that everything that is good is white.  Superman is white, Santa Claus is white, all these things lead white people to believe that they are inherently superior so their mind creates this false belief that only Blacks are criminal, or even worse, that ALL Blacks are criminals.  Even if they say, “I’m not racist. Color doesn’t matter,” that doesn’t mean that they have done the work of dismantling their core beliefs.  They still believe that blond hair is the prettiest, that people of color are genetically prone to stupidity and criminal behavior. 

The problem then arises when they are faced with people of color who don’t fit the mold that they believe.  Like Obama for example.  They believe he was born in Kenya and is a secret Muslim trying to destroy America.  That’s how their brain compensates for the fact that they think Blacks are evil, that whites are inherently superior.  They can scream, “I’m not racist,” all day long but it doesn’t chage their core beliefs that Blacks are inherently inferior.  You can’t reason with them, you can’t show them a birth certificate, you can’t do anything because they BELIEVE that Blacks are inherently inferior and that is the only thing that their brain will compute.  It’s called cognitive dissonance and it’s very real. 

So, while you think that everything you believe about life is true, you are guilty of cognitive dissonance as well.  Your brain shuts down when you encounter something contrary to what you believe to be true.  You hold on to your beliefs, even if they are false, because you were indoctrinated to believe that your core values were indisputable.  The process of divesting yourself of those beliefs, of even acknowledging what they are is when enlightenment occurs. 

If there was some sort of balance in the depiction of Black women on TV I wouldn’t take so much issue with the CRAP that is on TV.  There is NO balance.  There are NO examples of Black women on TV who are not immoral, immature, superficial, ghetto, materialistic, and stank.  I think the thing that hurts me soooo much is that Black women not only don’t care that there are no positive depictions of Black women on TV or in the media, but they want to emulate these “women” as if they are the ideal.  They want to be like Mary Jane and all those Basketball wives and Housewives who do nothing domestic whatsoever.  All Black women care about is the wardrobe and the shoes and the makeup and the things that are shallow and meaningless, the life of wealth riches that is depicted on TV, to hell with the fact that all the women on TV are cheating, immoral whores.  Black women want immature Black men as long as they are rich and attractive. 

There isn’t one show on TV that shows Black women of integrity.  There isn’t one show on TV that shows Black women who are not blinded by money and things and being beautiful.  It’s all good to be beautiful, I am not hating on attractive Black women, but none of the Black women on TV, on reality or scripted dramas, has an inkling of what it means to be a woman of substance, who knows how to cultivate and nurture a relationship beyond looking good.  Even the Doctors of Atlanta or whatever the hell that horrid show is depicts Black women as little more than materialistic and shallow gold diggers.  It is EXACTLY like Black women are slaves on the plantation, trying to emulate the slave master, like they are  aspiring to have the wealth and status white people have but ignoring every single solitary meaningful characteristic or trait that makes a Black woman truly empowered.  There is an entire generation of Black women who think that life is about wearing the most expensive dresses and shoes and shopping and backstabbing.  It doesn’t matter if they can’t form a sentence properly, if they are pathological liars, if they bring nothing to the table other than a rich husband.  It’s all good as long as they have a face full of MAC and red bottom shoes.  We are a nation doomed. 

bickpen asked:

Hi there! I absolutely love your recent post, and really your whole blog. I have a question for you. What to you is the fundamental difference between A. an artist/creative team/individual creating sexually explicit material to express their own desires and experiences or to educate and B. porn produced to exploit people's sex drive and need for work to make money? Should the former seek compensation for their work/product if desired? Thanks! <3

I’m not sure I understand the question.  It sounds like you are saying that artists shouldn’t seek compensation.  I know artists are undervalued in this society, that one is only really respected if they are a master of industry and corporate climber.  Real art, not commercial fodder that has no artistic merit but true art that is thoughtful and purposed and especially if it is educational and informative should be rewarded and compensated well.  If anything, the people who produce the crap that we hear on the radio, that we see on TV, the same rehashed crap that is unoriginal and formulaic shouldn’t be rewarded.  Sadly, the masses eat up crap and beg for more. 

poeticpassion asked:

Would you be willing to read one of my original (I believe it'd be erotic) poems and give me feedback? please

I have a very hard and fast rule that I don’t critique poetry.  I know about writing stories, I know the technical aspects of what it takes to write them well.  I know NOTHING about poetry, about the rules and structures that make poetry good.  I know what I like but I don’t know what constitutes good poetry.  You should ask a poet, someone whose skill level you respect.  I wish you much success with your poetry however. 

There are certain things one needs in life in order to grow up emotionally healthy.  Because our culture has this deep seated hatred for Black men and, at the same time, an irrational worship of Black masculinity, we, meaning Black society, raise our little boys in ways that dishonor their proper maturation process.  We set the stage for them to be horrible fathers and husbands in childhood with practices and patterns that are nothing more than diseased remnants of slave teachings.  Then, we give them power, autonomy, and tell them that whatever they think, do, say, and believe is law because they have a penis.  Because, however, these practices are accepted as standard, and touted as healthy, we, in essence, manufacture emotionally disabled Black men. 

A young lady I am acquainted with was the recipient of a marriage proposal.  She said, “He asked me to be his wife, his whore, and the mother of his children.”  VERBATIM!  Not only was she proud of that, there were scores of women who congratulated her and gushed about how lucky she was that he wanted her to be his whore.  While I understand, or at least I hope his intent was to mean that he wanted her to be the woman who fulfills all his sexual needs, I find his delivery to be nothing less than crass and ignorant.  But I think what concerned me more than his individual proposal was the number of young Black women, all in their 20s, who thought that being called a whore was a compliment, a real compliment.  I was astounded by the arguments that ensued that tried to belittle me and tell me that I was a hater because I found the concept of being called a whore, especially by someone who supposedly loves me and especially during a marriage proposal just short of repulsive.  Where have we failed our younger generation of Black women?  What has gone wrong where they think that being called a whore is a compliment, that jiggling their behinds gives them value, makes them sexy?  More importantly, what do we do to change their perceptions?  What do we do in order to teach them that they are more than bitches, sluts, and whores and that they should be looking for men who aren’t “real niggas”? How do we teach them that embracing their degradation is not the solution? 

Manhood is having integrity, fulfilling your responsibilities, being honest when you realize that it’s not the easy way out, and being able to release patriarchal roles and treat people like human beings and equals, not as objects to manipulate.  The idea of treating women as equals is a scary thing for a lot of black men because they feel like they will lose power, that they will be weak if they don’t rule over women.  We’ve been raised to think that manhood is tied to oppressing women.  You can’t form a healthy relationship if one partner thinks that they have to rule over the other for genetic/religious reasons.  Women were not created to be the hand-servants to men, no matter how many male-authored religious texts want to insist that is the case.  Inequality of the sexes is a belief perpetuated for thousands of years for no other reason than to appease the egos of men.  It’s time we think rationally for a minute and ask ourselves why the Creator of All, The One Most High, is as petty and immature as human beings assert.  Why would God be so insecure that the oppression of over half of the earth’s population is needed in order for men to feel good about themselves?  Right is not better than left, north is not better than south, hot is not better than cold, and man is not better than woman.  They are compliments, not rankings. 

Our sexual identity is largely shaped by what we learned in slavery.  Christianity and the entire concept that a woman was created for a man HEAVILY dictates the perceptions of what a Black relationship is supposed to be about.  Black women still hold on to very strict, very limiting, indeed very detrimental beliefs about what it means to be a “real” Black man and their expectations thereof.  All too often, Black women want to use their supposed “gay dar” to identify any man who isn’t hyper-masculine.  They make up the most absurd, most childish things, things that have nothing whatsoever to do with a person’s sexual preference, to call out men who aren’t “real men”.  Black women hold men to this ideal and have no tolerance for any deviation of the sort, quick to emasculate them if they show a tiny sign of vulnerability.  They end up in relationships with men who are emotionally immature, men who are “hard”, who are not really men but boys in the bodies of adult males and then they cry and moan that there are no real men and lament about the frustrations of a relationship with someone totally incapable of being committed and partnered.  They are the same women who are MOST apt to want the traits in men who are the most detrimental to a healthy relationship.  They want a man who is hyper masculine, who will pay all the bills and provide unlimited access to funds with no strings attached, who will blow their back out in bed, etc.  Men who identify their manhood by rap songs, movies, and video games are immature.  Men who are obsessed with money will not share it freely, and men who are addicted to sex will cheat on you faster than you can blink an eye. 


The Real Housewives of AfroerotiK

Chapter 1: Nailah Overton

The buzzer from the dryer went off, signaling to Nailah that her final load of laundry was done.  She made her way to the laundry room, picking up stray toys along the way that had been left by her little ones.   Order and cleanliness were imperative in a household of five so it was a constant effort to keep things where they belonged.  As she pulled each item from the dryer, she meticulously folded it to be put away immediately.  Laundry was an almost daily chore in their household and she refused to let it get away from her so she stayed on top of it.  She would have asked her husband for help, help that he normally would have offered without her even having to ask, but he was studying for his real estate license exam.  He needed peace and quiet and with three children, all below the age of seven, that was no easy feat.  

If ever there was a couple supportive of one another, it was Nailah and Roderick Overton.  For the last few weeks, they had worked out a schedule.  Nailah would pick up the kids from day care after work and then head to the park, miniature golf, anywhere she could to stay out of the house.  Normally, when Roderick got off from his job, he would pick up the kids and at least have dinner started by the time Nailah got home at 6:00 if not on the table already.  Now, the minute he walked in the door till the time his eyes closed, he was studying.  With the children fed, bathed, teeth brushed, stories read, and safely tucked away in bed, it was Nailah’s time to pursue her passion.  Peeking in on her hubby, Nailah kissed him on the cheek, rubbed his shoulders for a few minutes, and made her way to her studio.  Well, studio was really a stretch.  Let’s just call it what it is.  A garage.  She had to share it with her car and Rod’s tools and bikes for the kids.  But, Rod had done a great job of transforming his side of the garage into an artist’s dream, complete with lighting that mimicked real sunlight.  He even parked his car a block away and walked the rest of the way home, even in the rain, to give her space.  Nailah was an artist, an amazing artist in fact.  She worked in several mediums but painting was her favorite.  She wanted nothing more than to quit her nine to five and paint all day, every day.  Roderick wanted nothing more than for her to quit her job and paint all day as well in a huge loft with real sunlight.  He loved his wife and he supported her dreams.  He knew it was not a question of IF she would become a famous artist one day, it was just a matter of when her big break would come.  If he had his way, his wife would do nothing but stay at home and raise the kids and paint to her heart’s content.  Life rarely goes the way we want it to however.  

Newly married, Rod and Nailah had dreams of becoming successful in their chosen careers.  The reality of a very racist world came crashing down on them when Roderick got a job in California and they moved all the way across the country from their native South Carolina only to be devastated because the old boy network refused to admit a Black man into the inner circles.  He was fired one day before his six month probation was up and he suffered a crushing blow to his self-esteem and mild depression for six months after that.  

Nailah suffered from something different, something she referred to as slave mentality.  She was self-aware enough to identify her blockages but she hadn’t yet been able to slay that particular dragon.  Her issue was, as she defined it, this nagging, ever-present tiny, little voice in her head that told her that she wasn’t good enough, that she had to be perfect in order to be successful, that no matter how hard she worked, she would never amount to anything.  It was like there was a heavy, weighted chain around her self-esteem that kept her from soaring like an eagle.  African American artists were particularly susceptible to this particular ailment because all of Black society, and their second cousins and their neighbors too, make sure to negate the life of an artist and demean and degrade anyone who doesn’t want to pick corporate cotton and conform to the capitalist ideal for a living.  

So, Roderick took the first job he could get because he wanted to have some form of money coming in, he wanted to provide something for the family even though with the job he took he was tragically underemployed.  And even though she had just started to sell a few paintings here and there, Nailah took a job because she lacked the confidence and support system white artists tend to have to just rely on their art for survival.  In the meantime, every two years, the babies kept coming until they were 8 years into a wonderful marriage and trapped in dead-end jobs they both hated.  

Rod had always been a great people-person but working retail in a department store with the measly salary plus commission that they offered was not enough to save up to buy a house, save for college for three dangerously bright children, or even go on a much needed family vacation.  Retail has a way of sucking you in: you become accustomed to the insane hours, the ridiculous demands from rude customers, the exploitation from managers who expect miracles, and the look of disgust other employers give you when you go to apply for another job and they see your resume and your retail employment background.  It was particularly painful for Roderick because after he lost his dream job, he was too shattered to pursue a career in his chosen field for quite some time.  Nailah identified it as his own brand of slave mentality.  Roderick was, by most standards, a genius but he was so used to a society devaluing him as a Black man, he accepted the lane he was forced into and didn’t try to change.  Nailah didn’t judge him for it, she didn’t ridicule or shame him for not bringing in a six figure salary.  She understood that there were centuries of oppression that went into the creation of the unfair system that plagued them and the coping mechanisms Black people came up with to push down the pain.  

With an uncanny ability to communicate with people, put them at ease, and to explain things in a way that made people not even realize that they were being sold something, there was little doubt that he was the best at what he did: sell very rich customers overpriced clothing that they didn’t need.  One day, Roderick was helping a customer and he ended up selling him three suits, a leather coat, several pairs of shoes, and an Italian silk tie when all he came in for was a tie.  He was a producer for HGTV and he said, “Man, you could sell ice to an Eskimo.”  It was not a compliment Rod was unaccustomed to hearing in his line of work, he was always the top salesperson.  “With your personality and charm, and your looks, man, you could be selling million dollar homes,” and that planted the seed that led him into pursuing a new career path.  He told his wife about the exchange and she was more than supportive.  All she wanted was for her husband to be happy and fulfilled and she thought the hours and the commissions would be infinitely better than working in retail, even if it was one of the most expensive retail stores in the city.  Besides, Nailah wanted a house of their own one day and she knew that if Rod was able to apply his skills in a career in real estate that would not only give them a nice nest egg but also a leg up over the average buyer.  

While lovely, the house they were living in was not theirs to own and they were quickly outgrowing it with each child getting older.  They were renting from a lovely, older couple, the Fishers, whom they had loved like adopted parents.  Nailah had worked with Mrs. Fisher at her job with the Social Security, doing little more than creating volumes of red tape and pushing papers around in a daily, monotonous grind.  When Mrs. Fisher announced that she couldn’t take one more minute and she was going to take early retirement and that she and her husband were looking to rent out their house to move to Michigan to be closer to their grandchildren in Lansing, she was overjoyed when Rod and Nailah indicated that they were interested.  They had been to their home dozens of times for cookouts and gatherings; their children were the same age as their own grandchildren.  The Fishers loved the children like they were their own grandchildren in fact, going to every birthday party and bringing food and baby clothes after the birth of each little one.  Both Nailah and Roderick’s parents lived 3000 miles away so they gravitated to the Fishers immediately.  In fact, when Mr. Fisher was in the hospital with a heart attack, Rod came by every day, either before work or after work, just to check on him, even though it was Nailah and Mrs. Fisher who were the foundation of the friendship.  The Fishers loved Rod and Nailah like they were their own children and they wanted them to have a big house, a yard for the children to run and play, and pay just enough rent to pay off the final two years they had on their mortgage and not a penny more.    It was a win/win for both families.  

To read the rest, go to http://afroerotik.com/erotic-stories/the-real-housewives-of-afroerotik/
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The Real Housewives of AfroerotiK

Chapter 1: Nailah Overton

The buzzer from the dryer went off, signaling to Nailah that her final load of laundry was done.  She made her way to the laundry room, picking up stray toys along the way that had been left by her little ones.   Order and cleanliness were imperative in a household of five so it was a constant effort to keep things where they belonged.  As she pulled each item from the dryer, she meticulously folded it to be put away immediately.  Laundry was an almost daily chore in their household and she refused to let it get away from her so she stayed on top of it.  She would have asked her husband for help, help that he normally would have offered without her even having to ask, but he was studying for his real estate license exam.  He needed peace and quiet and with three children, all below the age of seven, that was no easy feat. 

If ever there was a couple supportive of one another, it was Nailah and Roderick Overton.  For the last few weeks, they had worked out a schedule.  Nailah would pick up the kids from day care after work and then head to the park, miniature golf, anywhere she could to stay out of the house.  Normally, when Roderick got off from his job, he would pick up the kids and at least have dinner started by the time Nailah got home at 6:00 if not on the table already.  Now, the minute he walked in the door till the time his eyes closed, he was studying.  With the children fed, bathed, teeth brushed, stories read, and safely tucked away in bed, it was Nailah’s time to pursue her passion.  Peeking in on her hubby, Nailah kissed him on the cheek, rubbed his shoulders for a few minutes, and made her way to her studio.  Well, studio was really a stretch.  Let’s just call it what it is.  A garage.  She had to share it with her car and Rod’s tools and bikes for the kids.  But, Rod had done a great job of transforming his side of the garage into an artist’s dream, complete with lighting that mimicked real sunlight.  He even parked his car a block away and walked the rest of the way home, even in the rain, to give her space.  Nailah was an artist, an amazing artist in fact.  She worked in several mediums but painting was her favorite.  She wanted nothing more than to quit her nine to five and paint all day, every day.  Roderick wanted nothing more than for her to quit her job and paint all day as well in a huge loft with real sunlight.  He loved his wife and he supported her dreams.  He knew it was not a question of IF she would become a famous artist one day, it was just a matter of when her big break would come.  If he had his way, his wife would do nothing but stay at home and raise the kids and paint to her heart’s content.  Life rarely goes the way we want it to however. 

Newly married, Rod and Nailah had dreams of becoming successful in their chosen careers.  The reality of a very racist world came crashing down on them when Roderick got a job in California and they moved all the way across the country from their native South Carolina only to be devastated because the old boy network refused to admit a Black man into the inner circles.  He was fired one day before his six month probation was up and he suffered a crushing blow to his self-esteem and mild depression for six months after that. 

Nailah suffered from something different, something she referred to as slave mentality.  She was self-aware enough to identify her blockages but she hadn’t yet been able to slay that particular dragon.  Her issue was, as she defined it, this nagging, ever-present tiny, little voice in her head that told her that she wasn’t good enough, that she had to be perfect in order to be successful, that no matter how hard she worked, she would never amount to anything.  It was like there was a heavy, weighted chain around her self-esteem that kept her from soaring like an eagle.  African American artists were particularly susceptible to this particular ailment because all of Black society, and their second cousins and their neighbors too, make sure to negate the life of an artist and demean and degrade anyone who doesn’t want to pick corporate cotton and conform to the capitalist ideal for a living. 

So, Roderick took the first job he could get because he wanted to have some form of money coming in, he wanted to provide something for the family even though with the job he took he was tragically underemployed.  And even though she had just started to sell a few paintings here and there, Nailah took a job because she lacked the confidence and support system white artists tend to have to just rely on their art for survival.  In the meantime, every two years, the babies kept coming until they were 8 years into a wonderful marriage and trapped in dead-end jobs they both hated. 

Rod had always been a great people-person but working retail in a department store with the measly salary plus commission that they offered was not enough to save up to buy a house, save for college for three dangerously bright children, or even go on a much needed family vacation.  Retail has a way of sucking you in: you become accustomed to the insane hours, the ridiculous demands from rude customers, the exploitation from managers who expect miracles, and the look of disgust other employers give you when you go to apply for another job and they see your resume and your retail employment background.  It was particularly painful for Roderick because after he lost his dream job, he was too shattered to pursue a career in his chosen field for quite some time.  Nailah identified it as his own brand of slave mentality.  Roderick was, by most standards, a genius but he was so used to a society devaluing him as a Black man, he accepted the lane he was forced into and didn’t try to change.  Nailah didn’t judge him for it, she didn’t ridicule or shame him for not bringing in a six figure salary.  She understood that there were centuries of oppression that went into the creation of the unfair system that plagued them and the coping mechanisms Black people came up with to push down the pain. 

With an uncanny ability to communicate with people, put them at ease, and to explain things in a way that made people not even realize that they were being sold something, there was little doubt that he was the best at what he did: sell very rich customers overpriced clothing that they didn’t need.  One day, Roderick was helping a customer and he ended up selling him three suits, a leather coat, several pairs of shoes, and an Italian silk tie when all he came in for was a tie.  He was a producer for HGTV and he said, “Man, you could sell ice to an Eskimo.”  It was not a compliment Rod was unaccustomed to hearing in his line of work, he was always the top salesperson.  “With your personality and charm, and your looks, man, you could be selling million dollar homes,” and that planted the seed that led him into pursuing a new career path.  He told his wife about the exchange and she was more than supportive.  All she wanted was for her husband to be happy and fulfilled and she thought the hours and the commissions would be infinitely better than working in retail, even if it was one of the most expensive retail stores in the city.  Besides, Nailah wanted a house of their own one day and she knew that if Rod was able to apply his skills in a career in real estate that would not only give them a nice nest egg but also a leg up over the average buyer. 

While lovely, the house they were living in was not theirs to own and they were quickly outgrowing it with each child getting older.  They were renting from a lovely, older couple, the Fishers, whom they had loved like adopted parents.  Nailah had worked with Mrs. Fisher at her job with the Social Security, doing little more than creating volumes of red tape and pushing papers around in a daily, monotonous grind.  When Mrs. Fisher announced that she couldn’t take one more minute and she was going to take early retirement and that she and her husband were looking to rent out their house to move to Michigan to be closer to their grandchildren in Lansing, she was overjoyed when Rod and Nailah indicated that they were interested.  They had been to their home dozens of times for cookouts and gatherings; their children were the same age as their own grandchildren.  The Fishers loved the children like they were their own grandchildren in fact, going to every birthday party and bringing food and baby clothes after the birth of each little one.  Both Nailah and Roderick’s parents lived 3000 miles away so they gravitated to the Fishers immediately.  In fact, when Mr. Fisher was in the hospital with a heart attack, Rod came by every day, either before work or after work, just to check on him, even though it was Nailah and Mrs. Fisher who were the foundation of the friendship.  The Fishers loved Rod and Nailah like they were their own children and they wanted them to have a big house, a yard for the children to run and play, and pay just enough rent to pay off the final two years they had on their mortgage and not a penny more.    It was a win/win for both families. 

To read the rest, go to http://afroerotik.com/erotic-stories/the-real-housewives-of-afroerotik/

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