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You are a Black man, you carry the weight and responsibility of being the most revered, feared person on the planet.  You are strong, wise, noble, altogether brilliant and beautiful.  That should come across in every word you utter, every minute of the day, in my presence and out.   Your role on earth is of the mighty African warrior.  You can never forget that, you must never carry yourself as less than that. 


My dearest love,
 
I was in deep reflection today, thinking about making love to you.  For some reason, thoughts and metaphors and analogies kept floating around in my head like lyrics to a song.  I couldn’t stop thinking about how when you are deep inside me, and our bodies are moving together, we are like an instrument.  A guitar perhaps; your fingers gently strum my taut and tense places which elicits a soundsthat serenade the angels.   Perhaps we are more like artist and instrument; I am your harp, cradled gently between your legs as you play my body with artistic flair.  More than an instrument, we are like magical music together.  The staccato rhythm and pounding beat of our bodies making that hot sweaty passionate love is a concert to the senses.  Your taste is the melody, your scent the rhyme, your moans of pleasure are a sensual harmony and the feel of your dick deep inside me keeps time.  You are Marcus Miller laying the baseline for my Miles and miles of orgasmic bliss.  
 
Damn, what have you done to me?  I can’t stop thinking about how you make me feel.  You hit my sweet spot and get my pussy soooo wet.  I can’t decide which sensation I like the most.  Your tongue is magical; licking me, literally, from head to toe.  Your arms envelope me and make me feel like I’ve found home.  Your hands grab my hips and let me know you are steering this ship of pleasure and I’m a passenger on the Lust Boat.  
 
            What do you say to the idea that we not let all this passion I have for you go to waste?  I have a taste for your dick in my mouth and it’s not going to be satisfied by anything else.  I want to hear you moan and tell me how good I make you feel.  And if you are a good boy, there might be some other little surprises in store for you as well.  I think I owe you a night of selfish pleasure for all the times you’ve made me cum so hard I couldn’t see straight.  You like full body massages, right?  If you’re feeling adventurous, maybe I’ll tie you up so you will have no choice but to let my hands and mouth pleasure you any way I see fit.  Can you imagine, my love, me bringing you to the very verge of orgasm and stopping until you are more desperate to be inside me than you’ve ever been?  
Copyright AfroerotiK
Zoom Info
Camera
Nikon D100
Aperture
f/5
Exposure
1/160th
Focal Length
50mm

My dearest love,

 

I was in deep reflection today, thinking about making love to you.  For some reason, thoughts and metaphors and analogies kept floating around in my head like lyrics to a song.  I couldn’t stop thinking about how when you are deep inside me, and our bodies are moving together, we are like an instrument.  A guitar perhaps; your fingers gently strum my taut and tense places which elicits a soundsthat serenade the angels.   Perhaps we are more like artist and instrument; I am your harp, cradled gently between your legs as you play my body with artistic flair.  More than an instrument, we are like magical music together.  The staccato rhythm and pounding beat of our bodies making that hot sweaty passionate love is a concert to the senses.  Your taste is the melody, your scent the rhyme, your moans of pleasure are a sensual harmony and the feel of your dick deep inside me keeps time.  You are Marcus Miller laying the baseline for my Miles and miles of orgasmic bliss. 

 

Damn, what have you done to me?  I can’t stop thinking about how you make me feel.  You hit my sweet spot and get my pussy soooo wet.  I can’t decide which sensation I like the most.  Your tongue is magical; licking me, literally, from head to toe.  Your arms envelope me and make me feel like I’ve found home.  Your hands grab my hips and let me know you are steering this ship of pleasure and I’m a passenger on the Lust Boat. 

 

            What do you say to the idea that we not let all this passion I have for you go to waste?  I have a taste for your dick in my mouth and it’s not going to be satisfied by anything else.  I want to hear you moan and tell me how good I make you feel.  And if you are a good boy, there might be some other little surprises in store for you as well.  I think I owe you a night of selfish pleasure for all the times you’ve made me cum so hard I couldn’t see straight.  You like full body massages, right?  If you’re feeling adventurous, maybe I’ll tie you up so you will have no choice but to let my hands and mouth pleasure you any way I see fit.  Can you imagine, my love, me bringing you to the very verge of orgasm and stopping until you are more desperate to be inside me than you’ve ever been? 

Copyright AfroerotiK


My dearest love,
 
I was in deep reflection today, thinking about making love to you.  For some reason, thoughts and metaphors and analogies kept floating around in my head like lyrics to a song.  I couldn’t stop thinking about how when you are deep inside me, and our bodies are moving together, we are like an instrument.  A guitar perhaps; your fingers gently strum my taut and tense places which elicits a soundsthat serenade the angels.   Perhaps we are more like artist and instrument; I am your harp, cradled gently between your legs as you play my body with artistic flair.  More than an instrument, we are like magical music together.  The staccato rhythm and pounding beat of our bodies making that hot sweaty passionate love is a concert to the senses.  Your taste is the melody, your scent the rhyme, your moans of pleasure are a sensual harmony and the feel of your dick deep inside me keeps time.  You are Marcus Miller laying the baseline for my Miles and miles of orgasmic bliss.  
 
Damn, what have you done to me?  I can’t stop thinking about how you make me feel.  You hit my sweet spot and get my pussy soooo wet.  I can’t decide which sensation I like the most.  Your tongue is magical; licking me, literally, from head to toe.  Your arms envelope me and make me feel like I’ve found home.  Your hands grab my hips and let me know you are steering this ship of pleasure and I’m a passenger on the Lust Boat.  
 
            What do you say to the idea that we not let all this passion I have for you go to waste?  I have a taste for your dick in my mouth and it’s not going to be satisfied by anything else.  I want to hear you moan and tell me how good I make you feel.  And if you are a good boy, there might be some other little surprises in store for you as well.  I think I owe you a night of selfish pleasure for all the times you’ve made me cum so hard I couldn’t see straight.  You like full body massages, right?  If you’re feeling adventurous, maybe I’ll tie you up so you will have no choice but to let my hands and mouth pleasure you any way I see fit.  Can you imagine, my love, me bringing you to the very verge of orgasm and stopping until you are more desperate to be inside me than you’ve ever been?  
Copyright AfroerotiK
Zoom Info
Camera
Nikon D100
Aperture
f/7.1
Exposure
1/160th
Focal Length
50mm

My dearest love,

 

I was in deep reflection today, thinking about making love to you.  For some reason, thoughts and metaphors and analogies kept floating around in my head like lyrics to a song.  I couldn’t stop thinking about how when you are deep inside me, and our bodies are moving together, we are like an instrument.  A guitar perhaps; your fingers gently strum my taut and tense places which elicits a soundsthat serenade the angels.   Perhaps we are more like artist and instrument; I am your harp, cradled gently between your legs as you play my body with artistic flair.  More than an instrument, we are like magical music together.  The staccato rhythm and pounding beat of our bodies making that hot sweaty passionate love is a concert to the senses.  Your taste is the melody, your scent the rhyme, your moans of pleasure are a sensual harmony and the feel of your dick deep inside me keeps time.  You are Marcus Miller laying the baseline for my Miles and miles of orgasmic bliss. 

 

Damn, what have you done to me?  I can’t stop thinking about how you make me feel.  You hit my sweet spot and get my pussy soooo wet.  I can’t decide which sensation I like the most.  Your tongue is magical; licking me, literally, from head to toe.  Your arms envelope me and make me feel like I’ve found home.  Your hands grab my hips and let me know you are steering this ship of pleasure and I’m a passenger on the Lust Boat. 

 

            What do you say to the idea that we not let all this passion I have for you go to waste?  I have a taste for your dick in my mouth and it’s not going to be satisfied by anything else.  I want to hear you moan and tell me how good I make you feel.  And if you are a good boy, there might be some other little surprises in store for you as well.  I think I owe you a night of selfish pleasure for all the times you’ve made me cum so hard I couldn’t see straight.  You like full body massages, right?  If you’re feeling adventurous, maybe I’ll tie you up so you will have no choice but to let my hands and mouth pleasure you any way I see fit.  Can you imagine, my love, me bringing you to the very verge of orgasm and stopping until you are more desperate to be inside me than you’ve ever been? 

Copyright AfroerotiK

I really wish I understood what is wrong with us as a people?  I am so confused as to how and why Black women have rallied so desperately around Olivia Pope who is a pathological liar without guilt, conscious or remorse, an adulterous whore (and yes, I can slut shame when you knowingly sleep with someone else’s husband), a traitor who sanctions inhumane and evil torture, who is involved with one man who is a MURDERER and another who is abusive.  Is it because she has a nice wardrobe and a nice apartment that they overlook all of the HEINOUS and vile things she represents?  Are we that shallow as a race of people that all that it takes to impress us is a designer wardrobe and a 6 figure salary?  Why are we so shallow?  Where are our collective morals?  Why aren’t we outraged?  Why do we love someone so despicable?  Clair Huxtable is my role model as a Black woman.  She was elegant and sophisticated and intelligent and she was moral and upstanding and worthy of emulation.  She was a great mother, wife, lawyer.  Today, women are aspiring to be like a woman who is a half an inch away from a serial killer.  What the hell is wrong with us? 

Real Housewives do laundry, pick up the kids from school, get the oil changed in their cars, and panic when it’s 5:00 and they don’t have anything planned for dinner. Real housewives don’t spend more on clothes, makeup, shoes, and hair in a month than some people make in a year. Real housewives have sista friends they depend on for support and encouragement. Real housewives don’t need their husband’s identity to define them. Make sure your daughters understand the difference.

Children don’t learn anything during Black History Month other than Martin Luther King had a dream and Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat.  There are NO positive images of Black people on TV anymore.  Black parents let their children listen to the most ghetto, offensive, vulgar, degrading, unintelligent, illiterate music possible and never say a word to them about it.  They don’t make their children read any books, none whatsoever, let alone books that explore our history and culture. The news has done their level best to convince Black people that the second we talk about race we are “playing the race card.”  Black people are ashamed of our slave past, ashamed of our history as servants and surviving poverty.  We refuse to even acknowledge that there are long-term effects of slavery let alone are we even willing to address them.  “Swirling” is being promoted as the wave of the future that is going to eliminate racism while white people are not being held responsible for relinquishing their fallacious sense of superiority  or their racist beliefs.  Black people want to be white.  We want their hair, we want their materialistic status symbols, we want their skin color.  The beauty of Black culture is being whitewashed away from us and we are no longer going to have an identity. 

"I’m so sick and tired and seeing movies about the Holocaust. All Hollywood wants is to portray us as victims. I don’t want my children seeing movies about Jews being imprisoned in concentration camps because it will teach them about being victims. Our history is greater than the Holocaust," said NO Jewish person EVER! They understand that the enslavement of Jews does not mean they were inferior even though that was the popular opinion of the day. Black people love to distance themselves from slavery, they love to denigrate the history of our ancestors by stating that our stories don’t need to be told. Black people are ashamed of our history as fighters, survivors, as slaves and servants because we BELIEVE that Blacks were truly inferior. We love anything that shows us as adulterers and every low life, immoral person on the planet. A slave? Oh the shame!

To all the women who are contemplating going natural,  

I applaud you.  Going natural is a scary process.  It brings up all sorts of fears and insecurities.  All your life, you’ve been told, you’ve believed that your natural hair, the hair God gave you was bad, ugly, and wrong.  You’ve been told that your natural hair would keep you from getting a job and a man.  All your life, you’ve been told that the only hair that is beautiful is bouncy, shiny, and blows in the wind.  You are brave.  You are feeling the urge to fight that brainwashing and beginning to understand that you were born perfect, you don’t need to apply toxic chemicals to your scalp, next to your brain, to alter the perfection that you already are.  There is empowerment, freedom, and true beauty on the other side of your journey.  Your natural hair is not ugly.  Your natural texture is not difficult to care for.  Some sistas make the transition and they run back to the chemicals because they haven’t embraced the change in their heart, they aren’t ready to give up the European aesthetic.  If your mother, grandmother, and your aunts never told you, I’m telling you now, “You are beautiful the way you were born!”  Because society, the media, and the Black community never told you, I’m here to tell you right now that, “You don’t need to alter your natural self, you are perfect the way you were born.”  Because Black men have lusted after women with flowing, curly, long, straight hair, I’m here to tell you that you can be gorgeous with the hair that you were intended to have.”  You don’t need yak hair, Asian hair, or synthetic hair be to attractive.  You are beautiful with your own hair.  Your hair doesn’t have to be “curly” and “exotic”.  Let go of the belief that your hair has to look like a mixed chick, you can look fully African and be stunning.  I’ve got your back.  If you get scared, lean on me.  If you feel insecure, lean on me.  I’ve been where you are.  I made the transition and I will NEVER go back.  I want you to know that sense of empowerment.  I want you to be able to look in the mirror and see beauty reflected.  I know that I’m stronger, more radiant, and I’m truly free now that I KNOW, deep in my spirit, that I’m valid and beautiful the way I was supposed to be.  If you take the steps to let go of the chemicals, I pray that you find that same sense of peace and self-love as well.  

Your sister in nappiness,

Scottie

Odd, the people who are sick and tired of movies about slavery are never sick of seeing movies with Black people being clowns and buffoons. (I can really only think of four movies about slavery: Roots, Amistad, D’jango, and 12 years. How is that too many considering Roots was 35 years ago and Amistad was well over a decade?) I NEVER hear the people who complain about slavery movies complain about seeing movies where Black people are drug dealing/using, cheating, criminal, lazy, shiftless, barely literate, murderous, one-dimensional characters. It’s oh so offensive to them to see the TRUE stories of past, the stories that need to be told but let another Friday movie come out and it’s #1 in the box office before the weekend is over.

I have said it before, I will say it again, I will continue to say it as long as I have breath in my lungs. I AM NOT ASHAMED OF OUR HISTORY AS SLAVES, SERVANTS, AND SECOND CLASS CITIZENS. We were not those things of our own choosing and our beauty is in our survival as a people. I will NEVER denigrate the legacy of our ancestors by saying their story doesn’t deserve to be told because they weren’t kings or captains of industry or millionaires. There is nothing shameful about being a slave. There is something incredibly shameful about being a slave owner. There is something incredibly shameful about being racist and denying people their human rights. I’m PROUD my ancestors were slaves and servants because I know that the blood of true survivors runs through my veins. What they endured is more than the contemporary mind can comprehend and any and every movie that comes out that tells their story I will go see.

I do not believe in a heaven or hell.  I believe that when we die, our consciousness returns to The One, we remember our true identity as The Creator of All.  We become pure eternal consciousness and love when our physical bodies die.  I do not believe God punishes people for their wrongdoing, he does not reign down terror, disease, and catastrophes, that’s a petty God; I do not think that only certain people get to go to heaven.  I do not believe in The Devil; I think that evil is a psychological manifestation of being disconnected from The Source, from our true identities as The One.  The earth absolutely was not created in seven days, man was not created from dirt, woman was not created from his rib, there has never been a talking snake and women are absolutely, unequivocally NOT the reason for the fall of man.  There is no way in heaven or hell (again, both of which I do not believe in) that a boat that was 450 feet long by 75 feet wide by 45 feet high could hold even 1/1000th of the world’s animals, their food … and their poop, nor could a family of eight could repopulate the earth in less than 5000 years.  And as much as it hurts people’s feelings for me to say, if the story of a savior, born on December 25, born of a virgin and visited by three wise men led to him by a star in the sky, who walked on water, had 12 disciples, and who died and was resurrected existed 3000 years prior to the story of Christ, I’m not likely to believe either one actually existed.  I do not believe that the bible is the one true one word of God, I believe that it is the extremely manipulated word of sexist, patriarchal, greedy, men who sought to control the minds of the masses.  I firmly believe that anyone who believes that God saved Africans by enslaving them and bringing them to Christianity is mentally ill.  I do believe in a universal force that animates and orchestrates nature in a perfect way.  I do believe in a universal consciousness that is all-loving, I believe that our thoughts create our reality.

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