So intricately entwined we are that even when we are apart I feel you wading through my waters, creating ripples and whirlpools. Awakening me deep. Cascading over my body like a cool splash of liquid electricity. Your touches, beyond my skin. Stroking places that I didn’t know existed within me. Places only you know about because you have dwelled within so long. You have learned my distance locations and explored them from dept to surface. I am transparent before you. Even as I hide behind this wall you can still trace my silhouette and capture my essence in a way that if I ever forgot myself you could make me remember better than I did before. My soul knows what my mouth won’t say. It loves you. I love you. My soul stirrer….
Black women are unequivocally the most controversial humans on earth and it starts with our hair. From the moment when we are little girls getting braids, ponytails, kinky afros tamed with tight headbands, burned with hot combs, and eventually even more burned with chemicals, our hair defines us. I remember loving my braids with the beads on the end. Hearing them clack together. Some of my friends got jerl curls but that didn’t look very appealing to me the way it always dripped with liquid. In the 5th grade, all my friends had relaxers while I still had ponytails with barretts on the ends. I remember one of my classmates leaning over and telling me that my clothes were always nice and stylish but my hair always looked a mess. She told me I needed a perm. I was freakin 10!
I became self-conscious about my natural curly, wavy, poofy hair suddenly. I noticed all of the women in my family were getting relaxers and some transitioning from curls to relaxers. Braids were still popular but only if you added extensions. Not one person. In my small, rural, Alabama town had dreads. Old ladies even got their silver curls pressed and curled with metal the temperature of hell. My mom finally allowed me to get a relaxer when I was in the 6th grade. I was so happy the first day of school to show up with my bow tie ponytail (which was not invented by Lady Gaga!) and Shirley Temple curls hanging down the back. I got tons of compliments on my thick, long, black, perfectly coiffed hair. That was 1994. By 2001, I was so sick of sitting under the dryer for 3 and 4 hours, getting my scalp burnt, and having to chop off my hair because of breakage that I just began getting braids. I would relax my hair only a few times a year.
A friend of mine who lived in Atlanta was working at a funeral home. She told me how she could tell the difference between people who put chemicals in their hair compared to people who didn’t. She said their skulls would be green and looked like mold was on it. That was it for me. I cut the rest of the perm out of my hair and began rocking a short, curly fro. I got barely any love from the fellas but I felt so free from the perm. But I noticed that people approached me and judged me differently. It was like my hair became a political statement, like it defined me and placed me in a category that I didn’t even know existed. When I felt myself becoming a victim of Eurocentric ideas of beauty and professionalism as I pressed forward in my career, I didn’t pause to think how much guilt is associated with it and how my black brothers would respond to either state of mind. But as I got older, I quickly saw that my guilt and desire to just be comfortable in my skin (and hair) was bigger and more controversial than I ever thought and my brothers were pointing the fingers right along with the world.
With that being said, I want to address something with the men who love to get on black women about wearing weave and makeup. Makeup is not exclusive to black women. Makeup is used by all women and it is merely a beauty enhancement but I agree that too much of a good thing is never good, so please don’t place that on only black women, ok. The thing about weave and perms, well you know what, I have been permed before, I wear my afro, and I wear weave too. But there is no other woman on the face of this earth who cause more drama looking the way that she came out of the pussy than black women. We get called nappy headed hoes if we wear a fro, hair hatted if we wear wigs and weaves, and trying to be white if we chemically straighten our hair. Then you turn around and have the balls to praise white women for being born into a world that celebrates them the way they came out of the womb, a world that is Eurocentric. Black women are not white women but we can’t live in peace either way. I remember when I first cut all my perm out and was sporting my short curly fro, it was another sister with a perm and weave down to her ass who warned me that I wouldn’t get the job I wanted because my hair was “too afrocentric” and dammit if she wasn’t right. A black man can cut off his braids, dreads, beard, put a tie around his neck so that he can fit into the world or get a certain job/career but dammit if a black woman put a track or perm in her hair to get some peace, she suddenly isn’t worthy. Amazing how men pretend they are not affected by our Eurocentric society but are quick to shave and cut away the evidence of their African roots every two weeks in the barber shop. If you are not wearing dreads/braids/fros, a Jesus beard, and a dashiki to your job everyday, my brother, you can just shut the fuck up.
Black men and women are effected by European standards of beauty. Point blank period….by why do we women have to take all the heat for being victims of it?
Hoes come up with any reason to get naked on social media: Monkey Monday, Titty Tuesday, Wet Wednesday, Thick Thursday, Fuck Clothes Friday…. Well how about Sick of Seeing That Shit Saturday and Save It For Your Man Sunday? This loose term of the word model, even erotic modeling needs rehab. You are not allowed to call yourself a model unless you actually get paid to do it, the only people that view your photos are followers, and you have no modeling contract.
Selfies you took in the mirror featuring you holding your phone is not erotic photography no matter how naked you are. Shower curtains, toilets, bathroom counters, garbage cans, and your bed post are not props and that dirty bedroom in the background is not a studio or scene. Stop it I say!!!
But don’t get me wrong, I have seen people take very good pictures that could readily be sold as a stock erotic photo and even model quality. As a photo finisher, I have made good pictures great just by adjusting the lighting and cropping. But some of this mess is awful. The added awfulness are the thousands of likes and hundreds of sexual comments made by strange men on these photos. I even saw one guy post a photo of his wife in a bikini with her legs wide open. He said she had no idea he posted the photo and would be mad if she knew but he just wanted to show her off….. What?!
I just don’t get it. What is attractive or good about that type of attention? What man would really respect a woman doing this? Do these women expect men to treat them with respect after this? Will the attention of one man ever be enough for women that post naked on social media for attention? I need answers! Haha
Genuine men do not rob women of their ability to be vulnerable. Her vulnerability enables her to love you, understand you, care for you, and forgive you when you mess up. Her vulnerability creates in her, protection for your own emotions. It is what turns your house into a home, it creates peace, and it enables her to respect your masculine presences. It allows her to listen to you, follow your lead, and trust your judgment. So be consistent, trustworthy, loyal, and respectful if she shows you a glimpse of her vulnerability. But if you see it and don’t want to do right by her, remove yourself accordingly. If not, your entire encounter with women will be tragic. But only follow this advice if you want something real.
I write this because I see so many men complaining about the lack of quality women while dating or dealing with women who they would categorize as not being quality. There is now a population of innocent hoes, thug gentleman, and single married… Just like unicorns, it does not exist. The innocent ho will eventually get naked for Facebook, fuck one of your friends, or some other guy with shiny trinkets. The thug gentleman will eventually go to jail, sleep with his baby mama, or do something that will eventually leave people questioning your character. The single married man will not leave his wife, will not treat you like you are his wife, and will never respect you, ever. The single married woman only wants dick from you, will watch you get beat or shot by her husband while pretending she has no clue who you are.
Finding love, true love, include more personal change than anything that the opposite sex is doing. You must prepare yourself by loving yourself, thus becoming someone who is able to be loved. Ask yourself is it safe for someone to love you. Is it safe for someone to trust you, to give you their heart, and to act unselfishly to you? Is it safe for someone to place some of their well-being in your hands? Are you capable of replacing the output of energy that is given to you from someone who loves you? Do you deserve true love ladies and gentleman?
Be boundless with me
And learn to relax your mind
Don’t worry about what they think
Cause being freaky isn’t a crime
Kiss me when I give you head
Fuck me til I fall off the bed
Eat my ass like a tasty treat
Cause I sit on the floor to catch it when you beating your meat
Thumbing my ass like a PS4 remote
Shoot thick, hot cum all down my throat
Get nasty, get dirty, don’t be shy with me
Submissive black girl got what you need
So you like pain?
Smack me baby get rude with it
So you like fucking ass?
Don’t hold back just lube it
So you like feet ?
Don’t be scared to admit it
Can’t take the heat?
Get your ass out the kitchen
Don’t wanna be hurt anymore
Keep throwing up walls
Keep shutting my door
Sick tired of always paying the price
Deciding whom to love is like rolling a dice
I don’t wanna be hurt anymore
Keep realizing my fears
Keep drying my own tears
Sick and tired of lames always playing these games
Telling me I’m not a side but I’m your main
That don’t make me feel good
Fake love got me going insane
Wish you could eat your own lies
And have your stomach in pain
Give you a glimpse of what your ass have been doing to me
But you too caught up being selfish for your ass to see
I want a good man
Not one that is pretending to be
A man that give trust, love, and honesty.
Understanding, caring, with generosity
You saying you out there
But you need to prove it to me
I don’t wanna be hurt anymore
Keep bleeding love
Keep scratching my sores
Sick and tired of ripping my skin
All I really wanna do is feel pretty again….
About 9 years ago, I was friends with this chick and she kept telling me about her guy friend who was single. She gave me his number and told me to call him. I was hesitant because I was wondering why she was trying so hard to put him off on me if he were so great. She told me he was a stripper and they were friends from when she used to strip. When she told me what side of town he live on, I gave her the side eye. You have to have major cake to live in the condos he lived in.
So for months she begged me to call him but I still refused but finally told her to give him my number. When we finally met, geez, he was fine as hell! He told me he only liked big girls but most were intimidated by his looks and thought he didn’t really want them, so he just worked all the time to keep his mind off being single.
We talked on the phone quite a while and one night after I got off work and was fskw, I told him I was coming to his place. He paused, laughed, and told me to come over. He met me at the door with a kiss so passionate I didn’t even know my shirt was unbuttoned and hanging off one arm when he stepped away.
I knew he was a dominate and my submissive side was in full effect, even though I didn’t understand quite what it was until later. There was a very ornate chair in the middle of his livingroom. It looked like a mini throne. He instructed me to sit on the chair. I sat there while he removed my clothes little by little, stroking my face, and kissing my body as he revealed more and more of my skin.
Usually I am really shy about my body but the more he saw of me the more I saw this look in his eyes that let me know I could relax. It was like he was worshipping me with his eyes. He removed his clothes and my mouth, I am sure, was hanging open. His body was like a work of art: golden brown skin, muscles every where, and a killer white, dimpled smile.
He told me to stand up, turn away from him, and face the chair. From behind me, he rubbed oils into my body from head to toe. I could feel how hard he was because it kept rubbing against my naked skin as he rubbed and kissed, rubbed, and kissed. My knees were so weak that he was practically holding me upright. He would also rub my clit occasionally and that had my wetness actually running down my legs.
He bent me over and told me to wrap my fingers around the arms of the chair. He tied my wrist to the chair with two ribbons. I remember thinking in my head that they would slide off because they were silk. Its like he heard my thoughts because he asked me to try to get out of them but I couldn’t.
I felt him move behind me, place his body on top of mine, and reach around. He was rubbing my stomach. I hate my stomach because its big and I laughed a little because I was nervous and insecure. He sat up real quick, stood to the side, massaged my clit with two of his fingers and at the same time hit my butt hard as hell. My body was so confused at the mix of pleasure and pain.
He tormented me like that for like 5 minutes but it felt much longer. Then he just walked off and sat on the sofa, leaving me tied up to the chair, naked and exposed. I could feel him staring at me. I felt so very naked. Finally he got up and walked over. I heard a condom wrapper, a pause, then he placed his hands on my waist and guided himself into me. And he began to dance.
He danced inside of me. Slow winding and smooth pelvic thrust…. He was stripping inside of me ya’ll and I just came and came. I was strapped to that chair for more than an hour. When he untied me and stepped away, I fell to the floor, still orgasming. He picked me up and sat me in the chair and slowly put my clothes back on. On my way out of the door, he pushed me against it, put his hand down my pants and flicked my sensitive clit twice and I started to orgasm again. I ran walked out of the door. I am walking across the parking lot still moaning and cumming.
I don’t even remember the drive home but later that morning when I woke up, I ran through everything that happened in my head and became afraid. He called and called and I just avoided him until he stopped calling. I was young, really inexperienced at sex….I had just lost my virginity a few years before this. I didn’t know how to handle it so I ran.
Wouldn’t you know I end up engaged to a dominate just a year and a few months after this experience? lol