Showing posts with label sex in black relationships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sex in black relationships. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Why I Dislike Porn

Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness: I bathe before sex and expect the woman to do the same. No exceptions. To me, the smell of a woman is an important part of surrendering sexual desire. There's nothing like perspiration combined with the natural aroma of a woman. I ask: How am I supposed to plant kisses from head to toe during foreplay if I'm forced to hold my breath the entire time? Seeing as how I believe in enjoying a woman's body for hours at a time, I am quick to take a rain check at the slightest hint of odor. So, while filming, I assume the cameramen wear gas masks.

Faking The Funk: The sounds exiting the mouth of a woman completely manhandled in bed arouses me in a tremendous manner. Once my physical actions are synced with her physical reactions, and vice verse, it's only a matter of time before our bodies are locked in ecstasy. This, for the most part, is a sign of making love in climatic, gasping-for-air fashion. So, whenever I'm inside of a woman whose Moan Game is off-key, it leaves me feeling as if she's in bed with someone other than myself. 

Porn recalls this fact.

Eye Shot: Ladies: I hold sympathy for any woman trusting men involved in situations that cannot be trusted. In other words, The Eye Shot. 

Or, Superman Gone Wrong. 

Every woman knows that men are most vulnerable at their weakest points - it goes without saying. So, when feeling like the strength has been drained from his body, how does the woman expect the man to aim with precision? It's impossible and therefore explains why his load ends up missing her mouth, catching her in the eye. Which is fine, I guess, if it occurs behind closed doors and not on camera where one can hardly tell if the woman is crying or what?

Tears aren't as thick, I suppose.

Phylicia Rashad

Claire Huxtable: Yes. Claire Huxtable is one of the main reasons I'd never cared for porn. Strange, I know. But long before I lost my virginity, I wondered how sex will be. And, due to The Cosby Show, I fantasized immensely about this sweet, chocolate woman. Lord knows I did. There were no sexual thoughts aimed towards daughter Denise as one would expect, at my pre-adolescence. No, it was always Claire. 

In my mind, Mrs. Huxtable is the definition of a woman in all her magic, glory; as sexy and classy and jazzy and fierce as they come.

That said, can you possibly imagineClaire Huxtable in a porno flick? 

Me neither. 

So there is no point in watching, far as I'm concerned.

Lack of Chase: I love the chase. In my opinion, it's the most important element of seduction. The greatest love stories ever told were born through desire, being desired. It creates the foundation on which relationships are born, honored. It also teaches how to give and receive which is the core of all relationships. While removing her clothes, I do so, slowly, reminiscing upon each and every sexual thought encountered and entertained, beforehand. All of which speaks of pure bliss and enjoying the fruits of one's labor. I appreciate women who force men to work hard for them. 

Alas, Tupac Shakur said it best: I don't want it if it's that easy. 

Doesn't Stimulate My Mind: Contrary to popular belief I'm more of the Romeo & Juliet type. As far as soul-stirring goes, it's the love story which gets me every time. I'm drawn to Boy meets Girl, Boy falls in love with Girl, Boy and Girl live happily-ever-after fairy tales. Even if they are just that - tales. It's the women of substance I adore which, in a way, is comparable to home-cooked meals prepared to the delight of the man's taste buds. Due to the fact, much of a woman's ingredients or "sauce" is lost in porn. 

Insecurity:  A woman once assured me that size isn't everything; it's all about the motion of the ocean. But what can I possibly do to a woman that has slept with a baseball bat? Some, the entire bullpen. I mean, seriously. What can I do? Give her a glove? Listen, I'm not the captain of the ship, although I am on the boat. Just not the Titanic, like these porn dudes.

Everyone Had Everyone: Having sex is dangerous. Having sex with any and everyone, even more dangerous, especially unprotected sex. To the day, I'm proud of the fact I've never been to a clinic, and prefer to keep that way. Too many sexual partners and women start resembling empty buckets. 

Blame society. 

And sexually-transmitted diseases found within society. 

Some deadly. 

True enough, no one knows exactly who walks around carrying a bullet in their bloodstream, but if you've ever watched a porno flick, it's obvious those playing [the sexual version of] Russian Roulette.

Bad Acting: So bad, in fact, that during the acting parts you can mute the volume and never miss a thing which is amusing in itself once you realize the characters and script consists mainly of neighbor knocks on door, neighbor asks to borrow a cup of sugar, neighbor invites neighbor inside kitchen, neighbors begin having sex atop kitchen counter. 

The End.

Close Up Shot: The worst. As undramatic and anti-climatic as they come, similar to water doused onto flames which doesn't bode well, audience-wise, seeing as how one expects mental stimulation or emotional capture during sexual acts. With porn, the emotional becomes lost the minute; no I'm sorry, the second certain things are flashed into the viewer's face i.e. nappy, dusty-looking pubic hairs, rashes below the navel area, scars. 

Not to mention the endless amount of spider webbed tattoos along the woman's lower back, hips, thighs. 

Those are stretchmarks? Oh.

Thursday, August 14, 2014

And God Created Woman

"You're a sinner I don't care." - Prince

Let a woman be a woman, man be a man.
That is the plan as much as the case.
And nowhere does it say woman more than the man's hands gripped tightly onto the woman's waist, head buried between her thighs.
Tongue flung deeply into her abyss.
Caught up in the rapture, although some might describe this feeling as bliss.
The area of both pleasure and pain, as the fruits of the man's labor produce warm juices that flow throughout his addicted, fiend-like veins.
Providing oxygen to the woman's innermost desires.
Flicking the flames, slowly igniting the fire.
Like, a well-written introduction.
Setting the stage for her rift to explode into volcanic eruption.
Treating the woman's clitoris as if it were a canvas. 
Peep game.
The man's tongue  substitutes as a paintbrush, yet not all portraits are the same.
Not all artists are trained, either.
Some are born with The Gift.
Somewhere on God's green earth lies a man creating an absolute masterpiece between a pair of fat and juicy pussy lips,
as if his name is Leonardo da Vinci.
Did not Mona Lisa smile? 
Does not her face glow? 
Is not there a look of satisfaction within her eyes that speaks of the curliest of toes? 
Before the gust of strong wind settles into a gentle breeze,
it sweeps in and around the forest of suspecting, unsuspecting trees.
Blowing ferociously, disturbing leaves along the way.
Bending limbs, branches intertwined.
Wrapping up and slipping safely inside is the only thing on my mind.
As a man, there is something to be said regarding the opposite sex.
Although thousands upon thousands of years have passed since Adam and Eve,
and that which transpired in the Garden of Eden,
I can't quite conjure the words yet.
But I digress.
Then wander away like the mind of a woman subjected to horrible oral sex.
A far cry from the woman whose hands are filled with her own nipples and breast.
Intensely engaged, body completely covered in lust.
"Baby please hurry, cause I'm ready to ..."
And that's when the man tightens the grip on the woman's hips and thighs, and really bears down.
Until the woman's brain spins, around and around. 
Until his mouth makes slurping, smacking sounds. 
Until her eyes roll into the back of the head. 
Until his jaws start numbing and she's seconds away from succumbing. 
Until her lips quiver and body shivers,
Until the woman places a Kung Fu grip atop the man's forehead,
and her soul had been delivered...

She had longed for this feeling for as long as she could remember.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Top Ten Reasons Women Know Men Are In Love

"We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are." - Anais Nin

10. He lets down the toilet seat

9. He no longer claims to had never heard his phone ringing and replies to all text messages

8. You are no longer his "good time" girl, as he now shows honorable things never witnessed beforehand

7. All he does is think of you

6. He shows you off to friends and family

5. He keeps both heads firmly in the game and never steps out of bounds onto sidelines

4. He holds the ultimate respect for you as a woman, things which mattered only to you now matters to him

3. He values companionship, spends quality time and no longer avoids you during that time of month

2. He no longer begins sentences with "I" or "You," it's "We"

...and the Number One reason that a woman will know if the man is in love: By his actions - action still speaks louder than words

Monday, June 17, 2013

Let a Woman be a Woman and a Man be a Man

"And they listen to me when I talk, cause I ain't pretending." - Beyonce

Love how we discuss everything under the Sun. I am an avid listener, allowing me to appreciate the subtle presence of another one. I enjoy the intimacy that open and honest communication brings; the understanding, the chemistry, the combination of which leads to other things. Like impromptu duets in the shower, knowing damn well that neither one of us can sing. Yet, absolutely adoring the endless amount of laughter it brings. Organic energy, a language of our very own. Not to mention being stuck at work as the radio plays your lover's favorite song. Suddenly able to smell her natural scent, mixed with naughtiness, and a slight touch of after-shower evening body mist. I close my eyes and quietly reminisce...

So then, the sexting begins. Somewhat conservative, at first. Then liberal, and then downright politically-incorrect. Impatience. Becoming more aggressive within each text. Same window, exact same agenda. Taking a wild guess, I'd say she encourages such illicitness, based on how well it translates in bed. She isn't looking for a politician though. She insisted their kind told lies and only came around in search of votes. Instead, she seeks a man to implement his policy up close and personal on a daily basis. She abhors actors, recalling how often they forgot their lines. Either that, or flipped the script altogether and she simply doesn't have time. The Art of Imply, thoroughly mastered. For instance, sly remarks about how she was unable to sleep the night before due to constant tossing and turning, and what sounded like a woman moaning amid the smell of condoms burning. Using my words against me. Apparently, she majored in reverse psychology...

She begins by sending a flirtatious text commenting on how she's wearing a sundress and wanting me to guess if she's without bra or underwear. A thought tossed willingly in the air, out of nowhere. Followed by a winking emoticon that flashes a smile which causes me to take a deep breath and stare into the immediate distance. Apparently, she's proud of her God-given ability to get me aroused, while turning around and calmly settling me all the way down. Claiming she cannot believe she texted that question  in the first place. Asking if I needed a towel or something to wash these thoughts off my face. Teasing me. Just like a woman. All of which adds even more passion to my touch, a quickly shifting force to my thrusts. Like the cue ball staring the 8 from the back, sizing it up mentally, anxiously awaiting its physical contact. A game of inches, for all intended purposes. The anticipation of it all forces the beat of my heart to race into a thousand different places. Including spaces I never knew existed. Penetrating, resonating long after her panties are conclusively torn away...

Similar to skillfully planted kisses, there is no doubt she majored in Psychology as she comes with zero apologies. Sounds like a grown woman to me. One that's not afraid. One that learned quite well, page by page. Whenever a woman is able to carefully maneuver a man's imagination, to the point where he pays full attention to every word she is saying, where he knows she is not playing. There is something to be said. I must say. She knows the exact words and, most importantly, how to properly convey. In a way where she creates mood, sets the stage. Not only do we complete each other's sentences, we encourage each other's thoughts. A superb narrative that leaves our conscience simultaneously lost, wrapped within intense layers of unapologetic lust. The bed's set afire seconds after the lights are turned off. I reflect upon thy countless ways I cannot resist. Moments revealed, enforced, sealed with a kiss. Pure bliss. Sweetest of ecstasy. Awakening in the middle of the night to her drained body cuddled next to me. No other place I'd rather be. A desire which, as it turns out, summons a second wind... 

Clearly, I cannot wait until the work day ends. 

Thursday, May 30, 2013

If I Have Never Told You Before

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source." - Anais Nin

You are so strikingly beautiful,
utmost pleasure to one's eyes,
after all of these years, I take one look at you and remain hypnotized.
a natural born goddess; dare I say the earth is your turf,
stars perfectly aligned the moment birthed.

I wonder if you still feel the softness of my eyes, roaming your entire presence, 
expanded lungs, inhaling your terribly sweet essence.
exhale is met with tense desire; so hard to ignore,
butterflies swarming nervously inside of my stomach,
I am passionately yours.

If I have never told you before, 
I adore our emotional connection; the reasons why, 
intimacy defines the core of you and I. 
the invaluable manner in which all thoughts are heard,
how we've communicated, despite not having uttered a single word. 

Perhaps this is the reason you remain constantly in mind, 
a certain vibe survives us,
a commanding understanding describes us.
no pretense, no deceit, 
we give each other exactly what we need; no make-believe, 
we thoroughly add up.

If I have never told you, allow me to apologetically begin,
long before we ever spent one second together, 
I always knew we'd become lovers, friends.
our paralleled pasts led me to wholeheartedly believe,
two souls powerfully connected,
based upon the simplest of need.

Love; pure and unconditional, eternally,
exactly how love is meant to be.
carefree, conduit, built upon humility,
full immunity; not prosecuted into futility. 
our bond developed an encouraged confidence.
true happiness, indispensable bliss.

where I am perfectly free to be my imperfect self, 
regardless of any, everything else.
with you, I can be open and honest; never taken for granted,
compassion nurtures the seeds that we've faithfully planted, 
as our growth continues on and on,
standing upright, strong,

They say, if you look deeply into a person's eyes,
you can peer into their soul,
and discern between emptiness and a spirit that overflows.
I've done as much, while holding you in warm embrace,
causing my heart to skip a beat;
momentarily taking my breath away.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Poetry: There's A Man In My Dreams by Guest Blogger Kari Campbell

There's a man in my dreams,
stealing my sleep,
sprinkling my covers with sensuality,
moans of pleasure caress my pillowcase.

There's a dark-skinned man in my dreams,
disturbing my doze,
chiseled from the mold of David,
glistening from moisture dripping sweat over my body.

There's a tall dark-skinned man in my dreams,
troubling my waters,
twisting and turning and dipping his back,
the faint moonlight highlighting every muscle in his chest.

There's a tall, dark handsome man in my dreams,
rocking my boat,
gazing into my eyes then whispering in my ear,
"I wanna make your dreams come true."

There's a tall, dark-skinned man in my dreams,
savoring my climax,
licking his lips and placing his head between my hips,
arms wrapped around my thighs.

There's a dark skinned man in my dreams,
holding my heart,
laying his head between my breasts,
melting away into a dream of me.

There's a woman in his dreams,
stealing his sleep,
sprinkling his covers with seduction,
cascading moans of pleasure through an empty room.

There's a brown skinned woman in his dreams.

To view more of Kari Campbell PhD, feel free to check her site: and follow on Twitter:  @dr_kari

Monday, June 25, 2012

I Have Yet To Meet A Man Who Can Stand Up To It

"Man down." - Rihanna

By now, I'm sure everyone has read or overheard conversation regarding the recent public altercation between Chris Brown and Drake which, allegedly, centered around Rihanna.

Two men fighting over a woman? Nothing new. Men have brawled over such divine passion since the beginning of time. God knew exactly what He did when He created woman. As most men will attest, there is something so matter-of-fact about a woman's touch which completely snatches the soul of man.

Men love women, we lust them.

Had God created two Adams both would've eventually come to blows over Eve, as men everywhere have conducted themselves in aggressive manner, attributable to the affection of women. As often as it comes up in the bible, you'd think mankind would just take it as a given by now.

Rihanna, though, isn't the only girl in the world, despite appearing as such to Brown and Drake. Platinum-selling recording artists, rich and popular enough to enjoy a significant portion of women in the world. Assuming, of course, they haven't already. Which begs the question of what makes Rihanna so different? What exactly does she possess those other women didn't? I'm not sure. But whatever it is, one man clearly doesn't want the other to have.

If I had to say - whenever men result to physical confrontation over women it's usually a case of being weakened by the power of a woman's pussy. Which isn't to suggest there is anything wrong with being pussywhooped. So, no need to be ashamed. Some women just know how to crack their whip appeal in a way that slowly removes a man's willpower and transforms him into a slave.

As witnessed.

I imagine there are many who, to the day, continue to ridicule Chris Brown for allowing Rihanna to control his life in godawful fashion. However, unlike slavery, tragedy doesn't lie in the whipped man. No, real sorrow lies within the hearts of men who haven't experienced as much.

Think about it. At some point in our respective lives, we, as men, all lay it down for women.

I believe the correct term is marriage?

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Ten Reasons I Dislike Porn

Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness: I always bathe before sex and expect the woman to do the same. No exceptions. For myself, the smell of a woman is an important part of surrendering unto sexual desire. There's nothing like perspiration combined with clean, natural aroma of a woman. I ask - how am I supposed to plant kisses from head to toe during foreplay if I'm forced to hold my breath the entire time? Seeing as how I also believe in enjoying her body for hours at a time I am quick to take a rain check, at the slightest hint of odor. While filming, I assume the cameramen wear gas masks.

Faking The Funk: The sound exiting the mouth of a woman completely manhandled in bed, arouses me in a tremendous manner. Once my physical actions are synced with her physical reactions - and vice verse, it's only a matter of time before our bodies are locked in total ecstasy. This, for the most part, a sign of making love in climatic, gasping-for-air fashion. Whenever I'm inside of a woman whose Moan Game is so off key that it leaves me feeling as if she's in bed with someone other than myself ... all bets are off. Porn recalls this fact.

Eye Shot: Ladies, I hold sympathy for any woman trusting a man involved in a situation that simply cannot be trusted. In other words, The Eye Shot. Or, Superman Gone Wrong. Or, give it to me baby like, "Boom. boom. boom." Forgive me, the visual makes me laugh. Every woman knows that a man is most vulnerable at his weakest point - goes without saying. So, how does the woman expect the man to aim with precision? It's impossible, and explains why the load ends up missing the mouth and catching her in the eye. Which is fine, I guess, if it occurs behind closed doors and not on camera where one can hardly tell if the woman is crying or what. Tears aren't as thick.

Phylicia Rashad
Claire Huxtable: Yes. Claire Huxtable is one of the main reasons I've never cared for porn. Strange, I know. But long before I lost my virginity, I often wondered how sex will be. And, due to The Cosby Show, I fantasized immensely about that sweet, chocolate woman. Lord knows I did. There were no sexual thoughts aimed towards daughter Denise, as one would expect - it was always Claire. In my mind, Mrs. Huxtable was the definition of a woman. In all her magic. As sexy and classy and jazzy and fierce as they come. Insatiable, even. Now, can you imagine seeing Claire Huxtable in a porno flick? Me neither. So there is no point in watching, far as I'm concerned.

Lack of Chase: I love the chase. In my opinion, it's the most important element of seduction. The greatest love stories ever told are born through desire, being desired. It creates the foundation on which relationships are born, and honored. I believe it also teaches how to give and receive, the core of relationship. While finally removing her clothes, I do so, slowly, as I reminisce upon each and every sexual thought encountered, beforehand. All of which speaks of pure bliss and enjoying the fruits of one's labor. Alas, I appreciate women who force men to work hard for 'em.

Doesn't Stimulate My Mind: Contrary to popular belief I'm more of a Romeo & Juliet type of guy. Far as soul-stirring goes, it's the love story which gets me, every time. I am thoroughly drawn to the Boy meets Girl, Boy falls in love with Girl, Boy and Girl live happily-ever-after fairy tale. Even if they are just that - tales. I absolutely adore women of substance. Which, in a way, is comparable to a home-cooked meal prepared to the delight of one's taste buds. I fully understand acquired taste. So therefore a simple piece of meat never compares. Due to the fact, much of a woman's ingredients are lost in pornography.

Insecurity:  A woman once assured me that size isn't everything. It's all about the motion of the ocean. But what can I possibly do to a woman that has slept with a baseball bat? The entire bullpen, at that. I mean, seriously. What can I do? Give her a glove? Listen, I'm not the captain of the ship, although I am on the boat. Just not the Titanic, like these porn dudes.

Everyone Had Everyone: Having sex is dangerous. Having sex with any and everyone - even more dangerous. Especially unprotected sex. Til the day I'm proud of the fact that I've never been to a clinic, and prefer to keep that way. Too many sexual partners, and women start resembling pieces of meat. Blame society. And sexually-transmitted diseases found within society. Some, deadly. True enough, no one knows who walks around carrying a bullet in their bloodstream. But if you've ever watched a porno flick, it's quite obvious the ones playing the sex version of Russian Roulette.

Bad Acting: So bad, in fact, that during the acting parts you can remove the volume and never miss a thing. Which is amusing in itself once you realize the characters and script consists mainly of neighbor knocks on door, neighbor asks to borrow a cup of sugar, neighbor invites neighbor inside kitchen, neighbors begin having sex atop kitchen counter. The End.

Close Up Shot: The worst. As undramatic and anti-climatic as they come, similar to water doused onto fiery flames. Which doesn't fare well, audience-wise, seeing as how there is a certain intensity surrounding sexual acts. One involving mental stimulation, just as much as emotional capture. The emotional becomes lost the minute - no I'm sorry, the second certain things are flashed into the viewer's face i.e. nappy, dusty-looking pubic hairs, rashes below the navel area, scars. Not to mention the endless amount of spider web tattoos along the woman's lower back, hips, thighs. Those are stretchmarks? Oh.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Don't Forget About Tomorrow

If you hold genuine affection for a certain person in your life, allow me to give a little unsolicited advice as it pertains to matters of the heart.

The same sincere advice I wished I'd been given, oh, once upon a time...

Stop the bullshit. Seriously. Stop allowing complete insignificance; things which hold little or no importance whatsoever, to play such a major role.

Regardless of whatever it is.

Stop sabotaging the wanted relationship, and enjoy that person with every fiber of your being. All the back and forth action ever does is waste precious time better spent showing affection towards one another, instead of standing on the sidelines wishing you were in the game.

Unless you've never heard of death you should have already realized, by now, life isn't promised. One day we are here the next day, gone! As the case it's safe to assume our time on Earth is limited, although actions often suggest otherwise. However, do not be the one to reflect upon how more time was spent apart than together, for whatever reasons.

Moreover, stop hurting the one you love.

Perhaps an argument took place which left you feeling somewhat slighted and feelings bruised? So what. After enough time has passed, I am willing to bet the two of you hardly remembered why the verbal disagreement began. A conclusion which thoroughly suggests the emotional rift never concerned too much of anything significant in the first place.

Yet, foolish pride prevented you from being true to the complete satisfaction felt beforehand. Had you been, it wouldn't have been anything for you to pick up the phone and mend reconcilable differences. Better yet, accept such heartfelt apology as they proved to be the bigger person.

Instead, and due to bouts of loneliness, the object of your desire became involved with someone  and never wanting to appear outdone, you went and did the same. Well, at least you tried to do the same. But soon found rebounded love isn't so kind. Incredibly, you now take more off the latter than the former. A truth which leads you to reminisce all the warm and inspiring qualities regarding your ex.

Especially when their favorite song seems to stay on the radio, almost if a conspiracy of some sort.

After eventually deciding to dial their number, hoping to rekindle the flame ... you find yourself surprisingly out in the cold. Not only do you hear the happiness found within their voice, loud and clear. But any chance of reconciliation is thrown out the window, along with your bleeding heart, once informed that saying how you feel is no longer allowed. And it's best that you lose the phone number.

So, listen, if there's a special person in your life who you truly love with all your heart I suggest you do just that - remain fully invested through each and every breath. If not, then you will only have yourself to blame once you've awakened one morning, yawned, noticed the time and realized, yes, a new day has come.

Wake up!

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Letter To The Black Woman: Apology To My True Sistas

note: repost

While living in this white man's world, I admit, there are many obstacles which myself and other black men are faced with, daily. Some which knowingly exist, yet we foolishly continue to travel along the path for reasons both known and unknown. Others, we individually bring upon ourselves. All this, and it has been this way for years. Centuries, even. As long as I've walked this Earth, for sure. A fact that has led many black men to believe the world itself is evil and confused.

I personally cannot think of but one other faction whom experiences a similar hardship - the black woman.

As a black man, constantly rewinding and trying to find myself, intent in my own individual struggles, at times I fail to realize how it's not exactly paradise for black women either. All things considered, I could never walk in the shoes of a black woman. Especially once she has reached the point where she realizes she's given all she has to give. And then what?

Not only do black women have to raise our children, alone at times, but in many instances they are forced to raise a full grown man and nurture his naughty natures as well. Day in and out I witness black women who, by any means necessary, struggle to maintain their pride and dignity while cultivating little black boys and girls into strong black men and women. Unsure if the ends will justify the means or if they will succeed or not.

Still, the black woman arises to the occasion.

Many black women cope with racism, split personalities, incarceration, emotional separation, street life, untimely death, infidelity, disease, outside children, babymamadrama, young black males themselves raised within dysfunctional families with no principles of what family consist of. Uneducated brothers. Hardworking brothers who make less than herself and cannot fathom not being the man of the house. Made men who make big dollars, yet little sense.

Unemployment. Brothers who, inevitably, are but seconds away from going back to corner slanging crack. Alcohol and drug abuse. Trust issues. Paranoia. Pipe dreams. Domestic violence and countless other mental, emotional and physical epidemics. It's almost as if black men ourselves are lost and evil.

Black women suffer our problems then still have to turn around and attend their own personal business. Remember they have lives, too, consisting of their own hopes and dreams. This is the reality of the situation. In my humble opinion, this revelation is what has led to black women dating and marrying outside their race. It has also led sistas to lower their self-esteem, no longer knowing or understanding their true worth, having their brain tampered with, and in many cases, date other women.

For the less than empowering role in which I've played I would like to take the time to respectfully apologize to black women, those true sistas who strive hard to uplift and inspire our people. And not only become, but, also remain part of the solution to the ongoing problems which threaten to destroy our race.


Yesterday I held the door for a black woman, a complete stranger, thinking I'd performed a good deed. Sadly, the words which exited her mouth left me stunned for a moment. "I don't need you to hold the door for me," she snapped.

I paused for a second before replying, "Sorry I didn't know it was a crime."

"It isn't, I just don't have time for the bullshit."

Now, I didn't discover electricity or invent the telephone, but I have enough sense to know from her tone of voice that she was referring to the often Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde behavior so often displayed by brothers. One in which women are baited through respectful manners, only to have the man become aggressive then act disrespectful once women show how they are simply not interested in anything other than being thankful for the respect given.

Which leads me to believe that, nowadays, black men and black women have become skeptical of one another when it comes to just about everything. There is no unity. We've arrived at the point where our feelings extend far beyond the loss of words. Either that, or there aren't any feelings left.

So, this is my Letter To The Black Woman. An immediate apology to the true sistas - those of you who are far from bitches.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

Closure: You Said You'd Be The One To Set Me Free


if this must end,
then, i am most thankful to The Most High above,
for never in my life had i felt such a God-given love.
one born of need, raised in deep desire,
a single spark became a raging fire.

if this must end; i understand,
how can a love like ours stand a chance?
from fizzle to flame,
from worry to blame,
desperate souls seeking the same.

i guess there is more i could have done.
should have known without a doubt ...
you were the one.

if this must end, if i must go,
there is but one thing i want you to know.
i will never be too far away to hear your cries.
i will always be near; standing by.

silently applauding when it's all said and done,
the man you are, the man you've become.


if this must end,
then, it must end.
but know in your heart that you have earned a friend.
as your lover, hopefully, i was like no other.

apologies due for whatever pain caused,
i am not perfect; we all have flaws.
i offer no rebuttal,
only wonder if you find within your heart to forgive me for all the trouble.

i never expected us to fall in love as deeply as we did,
guess our inner beings could no longer remain hidden.
i appreciated everything you meant to me,
for one moment in time it felt like we were meant to be.

i am thankful more than i could ever show,
but if it must end,
if i must go,
there is but one thing i want you to know.

you are the definition of a woman, as intended
and never allow any man to tell you differently.

note: penned by myself and author Diane Dorce

Friday, December 30, 2011

The Thing About The Old Days: They Are The OLD Days

A strange feeling, it is, to gaze into the eyes of an ex-girlfriend - the best you've ever had, and hear the words I'm engaged fall slowly from her lips. And somehow manage anything other than a blank stare, as she extended her fingers directly in front of my face and flashed a shiny engagement ring.

I smiled, somewhat forced, due to not wanting to appear less than happy for a woman who is arguably my soulmate. I needed to gather my thoughts, momentarily. I understood how much this moment meant to Kinski, and knew she wanted me to be as happy for her as she were for herself.

Unlike exes who crossed paths where one can no longer stand the sight of the other, and loved nothing more than to parlay the encounter, Kinski showed no intentions. She had good reason. But the windows to her soul assured me that she was sincere. After sharing over 3 years of intimacy with such a beautiful woman and spirit, I should have known her to be whom she'd always claimed to be.

We hugged. Holding one another a few seconds longer than usual.

A funny thing, it is, God's sense of humor, bringing us face to face with each other, at this point in time, before the wedding, where innocence is revisited and "happily ever after" pictured within one's mind. However I doubt very seriously if I'd cared had it been another ex, and not Kinski, a woman whose mother I told I'd marry her daughter one day. This, before her mom even knew who I were. Or, before she and I had officially met.

Not even the mother of my own child garnered such compliment, actually. When Christina's mom married there were no second thoughts on my behalf. No reflections. To be honest I hardly recall the wedding day. But there was a difference with Kinski and, as usual, it could never be hidden.

A difference which forced me to recall how we once stood in front of our closest friends and family members, everyone smiling, seconds after I had proposed. It proved to be the first and only time, ever, I'd done such a thing. A crowning moment, it was. However dethroned less than a year later when I reneged on the promise to exchange vows.

Deciding to finish what I'd birthed elsewhere, instead.

An honorable deed, it is, for a man to kneel to the love of his life, asking if she'd be his wife and have him as her husband. Confessing true love to a woman who, chances are, long awaited to surrender her heart to an honest man. More than likely since the day she first experienced love. A good woman deserves such honor and respect.

Marriage - the key to a woman's heart. If not, doubt tiptoes into the back of her mind. Always the bridesmaid and never the bride, they whisper. Eventually she wonders if she's wasting precious time or, even worse, being used for sex. To the point where she now questions, what, if anything, does love have to do with it?

Everything. Yet, absolutely nothing. Especially when the man isn't or, I should say, wasn't man enough to establish the relationship in the eyes of God.

Finally, I gathered my thoughts. Took a deep breath, exhaled and released a good amount of regret. Then met her smile with a smile. Our signature piece, still. After all these years. And, to the day, proof that it's better to have loved and lost than to never had loved at all.

Congratulations, Kinski.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Hurt People Hurt People: It Will Only Get Worse

Thanks to A Young Woman's Expressions for guest blog.

Today, I take the first step in admitting I was mentally, emotionally, verbally abused. I always stated how women are stupid for tolerating abuse, but, here I am, a victim of abuse, although not physically. I never wanted to talk to anyone concerning what I was going through. I was in denial and felt as if I didn't have anyone to talk or listen.

During the relationship with my ex, I felt like a child. I know it sounds crazy, but I did. I was always disciplined if I did something he disliked. He'd call me stupid for not thinking the way he did, and suggest I was incapable of thinking for myself. He used non-verbal communication to punish me, instead of just talking to me about things.

He tried to train me to behave in ways in which he wanted me to behave. He gradually made me feel differently about myself - diminished my confidence. When we'd hang out or go dancing at a lounge or club or just anywhere, it was like he was my bodyguard. I couldn't dare look at anyone without him making a comment. If a guy even said hello to me in passing, he would give him an evil look. I hated going out with him, I felt smothered. I was at a point in my life where, before I made a decision, I'd worry about him getting mad at me if I didn't make the decision he thought was best.

In essence, I could no longer think for myself.

I shared every single detail about my life, and I mean EVERY detail, because he made me think if I didn't, I'd be a liar. He tested me months later to see if I purposely lied about something in the past. He never told me everything about his life, yet he knew everything about mines. There were times when we broke up, but I still never felt single.

He was in my head, literally.

I was unable to love nor care for anyone else because he made me feel guilty for not wanting to be with him. Whenever I wanted to call it quits, he made me feel like crap for doing so. Like most women, we hardly want to hurt a man's feelings, so we go crawling back. Along the way, he caused me to lose friends as well.

After a crazy episode of verbal and emotional abuse, he expressed how much he loved me and would be very loving, the next day. It was the man I wanted him to be all the time. But he wasn't. I loved when he was nice and encouraging, but, in due time, he reverted back to being the controlling, abusive man. He made me feel like no other man would love me the way he did, and that all previous relationships of mines were fake and nobody ever really loved me.

The sad thing - I actually believed him.

I became a different person.. I became verbally abusive towards him. I was angry inside and hated myself for being in the situation in the first place. I hated him for making me feel trapped. I put him down, hoping he'd just go away. Instead, he would stay even after I said mean things to him. Our back and forth's had gone on for years, even when we were friends. It became worse as time progressed and we became a couple.

I once expressed my feelings to his own mother and she told me I made him this way. Which basically made things worse, because she pretty much gave her son a pass for how he treated me. She made excuses for his behavior and advised, "Hurt people hurt people."

I am sorry, but there is no excuse for a man abusing a woman.

Although we are no longer together, he continues to put me down and deliberately wishes me harm. It's unfortunate, due to our sharing a baby. Sometimes I still feel trapped because I am forced to communicate with him on behalf of our child, and he knows this. However, NOW, now I am able to really see this man for who he is. He's out of my system and I know everything he says are merely words and have no impact on who I am.

This man has everyone fooled in thinking he's the nice guy - normally, abusers hold the ability to make others think you are crazy for telling people they are abusive. He does not respect women at all. In fact, it's so true when they say how a man treats his mother is how he will treat you. I'm living proof of this statement being truth.

Moreover, I believe alot of women stay in these type of relationships because they are looking for love. They may not have felt loved within their household growing up so they look for that man for comfort. I think that was my situation, but that's the old me. I deserve happiness and I deserve to be respected. Sometimes I sit back and think about all the wonderful men I met while I was with him, and now that the good guys are either married or in a relationship.

At times I feel a little sad, but, it’s okay, I would rather feel sad than continue to be abused. For the women out here who may be in a similar situation, it will only get worse.

Get out of the relationship if you are being abused.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Destiny Fulfilled?

note: repost

I imagine once he arrives home,
the very first thing he does is hug, rub you.
probably waited the entire day,
for the moment he wraps his arms around you.

always thankful for the day he found you,
no matter how your day has been, the moment when
you are within his warm embrace,
it places a soft smile upon your face.

I am sure he misses you in the worst way,
there are some things that only his desired touch can say.
I am sure he asks how your day has been,
as he patiently listens, your best friend.

once you arrived home,
you rushed to cook dinner.
during your rush to prepare something delicious to eat,
you suddenly remembered you are all out of ground beef.

as you heard him turning the key,
you are fully prepared with an excuse.
but little do you know that man has rushed home,
to prepare dinner, cater to you.

upon finish, he runs your bath water,
mildly hot, just the way you like it.
perhaps you want to be bathed, intimately,
what are you waiting for, invite him.

to wash your body in the most calm and soothing way,
only his smooth touch can provide closure to a long hard day.
would you like to watch a DVD while you enjoy your meal,
cuddle up next to him on the couch as you enjoy his feel.

you are a woman who deserves a man's complete attention,
a man willing to do everything he can to insure that love is found.
a man willing to hold you down,
great conversation, as he massages everywhere your body aches.

a man willing to do the little things which matter the most,
make you feel like a natural woman, the way a man's supposed to.
a man who washes the dishes while you prepare the kids for sleep,
helps you get ready for the next day, whatever you need.

a man willing to kneel and dedicate his life to you,
for he knows in his heart that he has found a wife in you.
I am sure your man no longer chases skirts,
he doesn't want anything to hurt what he has in you.

you are his vision of love as far as his eyes can see,
he considers you to be his gift from above, his destiny.
I am sure your man attends church and faithfully prays with you,
as he listens to his heart, it says it's you.

you are the one he cannot live without,
destiny fulfilled,
or are you still having doubts?

Monday, November 7, 2011

What's Good For The Goose Isn't Always Good For The Gander

Yesterday, the girlfriend of an ex-homeboy of mines confided she isn't faithful to her boyfriend. She admitted she cheats and will continue to do so, due to the excitement of it all.

I must say, her words didn't surprise me the least. During the past few years, other women involved in structural relationships had revealed similar testimony.

If nothing else, I'd always known she was an undercover freak. This, concluded by the porn star look written all over her face.

An expression which appeared to suggest how much she loved her some dick and, judging by the way her ass looked in a pair of nice-fitting jeans, I'd imagine dick couldn't get enough of her, either.

Knowing her boyfriend as I do, there was no doubt in my mind that her behavior was fueled and driven by his well-known reputation.

A habitual offender - I honestly cannot recall a period where he wasn't either sleeping around with an ex, one of his baby moms or mother of one of his little leaguers football team.

And the girlfriend knew, too. First-hand. Many times she'd answer his phone as these women called. Arguments ensued, for days.

So I asked, "Why do you put up with such blatant disrespect?"

"I prefer to keep my family together." She answered, intentionally avoiding eye contact.

It certainly made sense. Once upon a time I found myself in a similar position of no longer being about the relationship, as much as everything it meant on a whole.

Therefore I believed she listened as I assured that, kids or no kids, it's only so long that relationships void of emotional connections can pretend.

Soon, the newfound connection begins to feel like your significant other. While the significant other resembles a complete stranger who, somehow, shares a bed with yourself.

Even worse - the girlfriend becomes the exact same woman in life who sneaks around with men, already involved. The woman she once despised, otherwise known as The Other Woman.

A woman used basically for rough, hair-pulling, bang-your-head-into-the-headboard, hot, sweaty, brag-to-your-homeboys, sex.

All of which is unfortunate, cause it was the boyfriend who left the gate open, and allowed the emotional aspect of their relationship to leave in the first place.

Then, if that isn't enough, he himself walks away the moment he catches his girlfriend cheating. "I wish he would leave me after all of the times I've stayed and put up with his cheating ass." She stated, rather defiantly.

"He will." I assured, before ending the conversation.

Double standard, I suppose.

Monday, October 31, 2011

The Issue of Abortion: Two Different Outcomes, Two Different Emotions

Yesterday, I admitted to my days-away-from-being-18 year old daughter that I once pressured her mother into aborting the pregnancy back in the Spring of 1993.

This, after her mom passed along those past demands of mines to Christina for some strange reason, earlier in the week. Confused, I nonetheless sat and offered my perspective on the situation. And even shed insight towards my other experience on the subject of abortion, which occurred six years later.

Two different outcomes. Two different emotions.

I explained, we were young and bore zero intentions on being in a relationship nor did we need a child to confuse the fact. To put it bluntly, her mom and I basically had unprotected sex.

Judging from the look on Christina's face I could see she was saddened to hear me admit that, yes, if I had my way back then, her mom would've never given birth on the 5th day of November. A damning revelation which not only bothered Christina but myself as well. Yet, I'd hope she wouldn't take as personal as it appeared. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

Christina assured me that she understood, although I wasn't so sure. A fellow Scorpio I knew of her burning passion beneath the surface and the manner it brewed. Hopefully - on a thankful, non-rebellious level. So, in an effort to prove remorse and lesson learned, I confided how in 1999 I had impregnated another woman who wasn't exactly browsing baby names, either.

The only names expressed were the names of abortion clinics. Not to mention the countless number of times she called my name demanding I pay for said procedure.

To which I reluctantly did.

At the time I cannot say whether I wanted the child or not. I believed so. Though certainly not enough to raise all by my lonesome. Which the woman promised up until the unforgettable morning I drove to the New Orleans clinic, five and a half months later.

Yes. I already know. The fetus was pretty much developed. Christina repeated the same haunting fact. Afterwards, complete silence filled the room. There was no need for conversation. The collective looks of our face said it all.

Today, I'm fortunate to enjoy the invaluable presence that my daughter has always served in my life. Only months away from high school graduation and Navy training, I love her with all my heart. I imagine the feeling is mutual.

And there aren't too many days where I don't think about the other child as well. The one who regrettably never received the chance to live its life.

God forgive me.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011


• I love those who believe in love, fall into the possibility of endless romance. I hate when that hope doesn't suffice and resulting heartbreak leaves both disenchanted, no longer able to foster such sacred belief.

• I love those who believe in love, fall into the possibility, and it proves an unbreakable bond. I hate when nearly everyone within eyesight attempts to tear it apart.

• I love whenever family and friends gather and thoroughly enjoy one another's company. I hate when, no sooner than one has left the other's presence, they're talking ish.

• I love laying besides a woman in bed; she and I cuddling, massaging; mentally, physically, emotionally relaxed, as our fave Anita Baker album plays in the background. I hate leaving my comforting position, cause the CD turned out to be scratched.

• I love whenever someone insists I cannot do something. Then, lo' and behold, I do. I hate that I am not the type of person to rub it all in their face, although I am wanting.

• I love people who completely believe in themselves. Period.

• Some women are as beautiful on the inside as they are on the outside. And, speaking of one woman in particular, I loved entering into her full complexity. I hate that I was unable to lose myself in her virtuous being.

• I love that long-time sex partner and I reached the point in our "relationship" where we abandoned lust, yet, somehow remained friends. She always claimed one day she would. In all honesty, I couldn't hate, even if I wanted.

• I love love. I hate hate.

• What do you fortunately love? What do you unfortunately hate?

Monday, September 26, 2011

That's HER P*ssy

Once, I was advised of there being a countless number of men behind bars due to the fact that neither could handle the love of his life sleeping with another man.

As disheartening as such an act of betrayal begs, I conclude, it could not be me. At the end of the day, a jail cell doesn't suffice a warm, comfortable bed.

Actually, I'd figure any man so dangerously obsessed towards a piece of pussy would do everything within his power to remain a member of the free world, where pussy resides.

There is no pussy in jail.

As men, and as it pertains to women, there's a certain possessiveness extending our hearts. No, it doesn't lend credence to popular beliefs that all men think with their sex organ. But, I admit, it does speak well on The Power of Pussy.


Truth be told it isn't the act itself which bothers. Not really. Meaning, it's not as if you are her first. Or last. It's more of the deeply satisfying look found within the eyes that clearly admit to her back being blown, regardless of anything she says.

A look revealing how she just had to have him.

What we as men must painfully understand - the woman made a choice. As bad as it were, it's hers to make.

It doesn't mean she doesn't love you in her own special way or erased plans to spend the rest of her life. All it means is some mystery man managed to catch her attention and, in the process, stimulate a nerve, so passionately.



This isn't a rally cry for sisters everywhere to sit brothers down and reveal any current or future infidelity, in the name of claiming ownership of something God giveth.

Liberation isn't necessary.

Nor should truth stand as a stunning indictment against men who kiss the ground women walk, only to have six-inch stilettos pressed onto their necks.

If anything, amid men taking lives of unfaithful women at enormously alarming rates, it's an attempt for men to basically understand one undeniable fact in Life - a woman will do whatever she likes.

The Bible reveals as much.

Whether you know it or not. Whether you like it or not.

Just because women allow men entrance into their kingdom, it doesn't add your name to the deed. She might've had your name tattooed onto her thigh. She might've even whispered into your ear and promised that it's yours, all yours.

Listen. Don't believe it.

At the end of the day, or should I say, night, it is the woman's joy. Free to share with whomever she likes.

Again, that's her pussy.

But, while we're at it, I believe there's something that each and every woman should realize as well.

That's HIS dick.

Cuffing Season

Someone isn't headed anywhere, anytime soon.

Cuffing Season, I hear. And, apparently, there are many single persons unaware of outstanding warrants for their arrest.

Warrants awaiting execution on behalf of other single persons, who are fully aware.

The crime? Well, no current laws were broken, unless you consider below-zero temperatures as a criminal offense. I'm sure there are moments where many feel as though it's a crime and a shame for it to be so damn cold.

To which, of course, brings us to motive, a small yet most important thing. Motive causes a person to act in a certain way.

During Winter, as the weather drops to freezing levels, the one thing on everyone's mind is keeping as warm as possible. Couples, included.

One can raise the temperature on the thermostat, sit an electric heater next to the bed, slide an entire tree into the fireplace, leave the oven door open, whatever.

In the end, none compares to good ol' fashioned body heat. Which, I suppose, is the reason why you rarely hear of any divorce proceedings in winter months.

Motive established, there has to be a body. A breathing one, preferably. Someone to prevent Jack Frost from nipping at your nose. If said person is willing to put something on the gas and grocery bills, then, hey, that's even better.

Killing two birds with one stone, if you will.

Where does such a person exist? Need to be brought in for a lineup? Hold you horses. We'll get there soon enough. First, more investigation is needed.

Initially, being single isn't a life sentence, by any means. There are many happily single persons who do the time and never allow such time to do them.

In fact, a single-and-ready-to-mingle lifestyle offers the chance to love themselves and realize what's liked and isn't liked in the opposite sex, as well as sharpen their own relationship skills.

At the same time, there is courting, phone calls, stimulating conversations, sweet text message exchanges, quality time and, occasionally, passionate sex.

Having zero desire to put up with all the extra stuff which inevitably ruins relationships, they'd just as well remain single.

That is, until the ground is frozen and one day the harshest of winds leans back and slaps the skin off your face. So hard that tears form in the corner of your eyes.

Afterward, it would be nice to arrive home and cuddle someone willing to kiss the pain away.

Now, and to answer the question of where that particular person can be found ...

Oh. It's Cuffing Season - don't worry, they will find you.

Friday, September 16, 2011

The Best Sex?


"The best sex is the kind you have to sneak and enjoy. I wouldn't have it any other way."

A response received after posing a question to a friend: "What do you get out of sleeping around with women who are involved in relationships."

I didn't immediately discredit his juvenile reply, although I wanted. I've learned - an older person should never denounce the beliefs of a younger person without at least understanding why he or she thinks a certain way.

It doesn't necessarily lead to a change of heart, I suppose. However, it does offer the opportunity to lend good, sound advice.

So I thought about it.

First off, sex is satisfying, period. That goes without saying. It might not be the first thought of one's day, or last, but it's close.

Moreover, if you ask me, a person is either enjoying sex at the end of the night or laying in bed and looking forward to meeting the one they will eventually enjoy in bed.

So his reply wasn't really about sex, I concluded. Which brought me to sneaking.

In other words, the gratifying of something behind one's back. When one enjoys something that doesn't belong to them, a certain thrill arises.

The concept of working towards or earning something is thrown completely out of the window.

Maybe it's just me but I am convinced that anything not truly earned isn't as appreciated. In fact, its value becomes lessened, taken for granted.

Of course it isn't to suggest there aren't people in this world who operate as such - there are, I can name a few. But this type of behavior never offers true satisfaction. Which, for all intended purposes, is the goal.

Then it dawned on me. How is it possible for someone to define an act they've never experienced?
Back when I was around the same age and still somewhat inexperienced towards sex, I quickly recall the excitement of a certain girl.

She was spoken for. So our encounters were of the quick, afterschool, leaving-the-football game variety.

Between she and I sneaking around, we managed great sex. The best, I thought, until my freshman year in college when I realized I had no earthly idea.

I stumbled upon this conclusion the first time we spent a night together - in a colder than norm dormitory, nevertheless, and shared a quiet unveiling. The first of many.

At this point, we considered ourselves to be a couple. So, a specialness not only filled the air, it warmed our hearts as well.

Hence, there were no lit candles. No bed of red roses. Not even a chilled bottle of champagne to celebrate or enhance the mood.

Only two young adults laid comfortably besides one another on a winter Saturday, wrapped in a comforter, sharing a lone pillow as a 13" television remained on the same channel.

That is, until we removed our layers of clothing and made love to each other's mind, body and what felt like our souls. Sex, still. Yet more engaging, attentive, consuming, relaxed.

In a moment which captured the mood perfectly, I recall her taking her hand and gently wiping the sweat away from my brow as we smiled and stared quietly into each other's eyes.

I could be wrong, but it seemed to be the first time I actually looked into her eyes.

A gesture which truly spoke of two people having learned and earned each other in an intimate way.

It's not to say I stopped sneaking around with women already involved. Unfortunately, I continued.

Again, sex.

But it was this heartfelt experience which allowed me to pass on a bit of wisdom to a member of the young generation: The best sex isn't the kind you have to sneak and enjoy.

The best sex is the kind you take your time and enjoy.