The Sunday Morning Sex Blog [Relationship Challenges]

I am playing the game I suppose,
out of habits
learned long ago,
but I have been in these waters
far longer than
even my tired eyes could tell you.

Okay, so I’m going to start out by copping to the fact that I’m not all that great in the relationship arena. I don’t even have a pet… Therefore, take the rest with a grain of salt.

Something happens when I realize I’m feeling deeply for a woman and how painfully clear it is that considering a relationship is a lot like standing at the abyss and jumping. In other words, along with feelings, there comes the realization that I am also becoming vulnerable to that person I have feelings for. And that’s not a great revelation for me because, I have to admit, it’s scary.

There, I said it: relationships scare me.

It’s not a fear of commitment, that’s not it. I have and can commit to living with another person. The part that’s fearful is the part of being vulnerable. Believe me, there are plenty of people who are in committed relationships who choose not to be vulnerable. It’s not that hard. You can be in a long-term, committed relationship and not really share deep intimacy. I see it all the time. But because of the kind of person I am, when I open and give, it’s about going…

All.

The.

Way.

That’s why I’ve previously admitted that beginnings are extremely difficult at times with yours truly. If I’m seeing you and we both know there’s a surrender looming in the near future -- we’re both feeling these feelings and we know it’s headed somewhere -- then I’m not holding much of anything back. I’m not saying that I’m blabbing everything out by the third date, or that I immediately go overboard. LOL! That’s closer to codependency, not love. I am saying that I work at being transparent. I don’t play hide and seek. If I’m feeling something, I will look you in the eyes and let you know, “Sweetie, I don’t know how or why, but I’m starting to have these feelings… ” I won’t play The Game. The one thing you can always count on with me, is that you will always know where I stand (sometimes this is not such a good thing).

The Sexual Subversive [Tell Me How it Feels]

The following is what I remember many years ago when I asked the question...

* * *

-=[ How Does it Feel? ]=-

So quiet now.
Soften yourself and listen.
Connected and motionless.

To the symphonic pulsing of our blood,
the crash of an eyelid,
the joyous trickle of a bead of sweat.

© 1977

Yup, in my naïveté, while I was in her, I asked the question and she looked at me in that singular way of hers -- that “look” that only experience and time can bestow on a woman’s beauty -- and she said…

I would love to tell you how it feels.

When I’m riding you out to the stars and your body is clustered in a point, and then it rockets away from you on waves of pleasure. I guess the ocean best expresses it best. The smell. The origin there: conceived and then burst into a billion cells. What I mean is we’ve all been intimate with the most profound creative experience: we’ve all been born.

I think that the people who are lost, that’s what they’re really most lost from. And sex. That is one of the simplest and most thrilling ways to get it back again…

Sometimes I think if I could make love once a week, that would take care of it. But then when that someone is around, I mean someone that I have feelings for, then I want to do it more. And then I think it’s mostly for affection. Then the coming -- the orgasm part -- is different. It’s a level that can be utterly satisfying, but I don’t have to have the stars. If I don’t need to come, I don’t. Then there are days when I wake up, and I know that at a certain point someone’s going to touch me on the shoulder, and I’m going to quake. There are those degrees. There’s that certain kind of thing that doesn’t make you knock your knees. And then the one that grabs you so hard and takes you all the way there. I think it’s the easiest way to understand a state of grace. And then when you begin to scream and shout because you know I’ve got it, then that’s the best. I’ve met very few men who can adequately gauge a wave.

To be honest, I came to the point where I really didn’t care to make love to a lot of men because it takes so long to learn someone in that way. It always manages to feel like such a struggle, and then the best are almost always the ones you’re going to love exponentially.

I used to be so afraid of being sexy. Now it thrills me. I like to get to the point where I can wear a slip. It still takes me a while to get completely down. And I really only can with someone I like a lot. It’s like a dance. There’s the step you do for yourself. And the step you do for your lover. And the step for the audience too.

I guess certain people like certain things. I knew one man who would grab my hair just above the wedge and pretend that he was going to touch that in the triangle there. I loved that feeling of a tease. It wasn’t technique. It was as if he were learning to play an instrument well.

Most men will tell you that the biggest thrill is to make it good for a woman and I can see how they would think that. I’d really like to know what other people feel.

Kissing is my favorite part.

I like to stop before it all explodes and just lie together, breathing together, like we are now. If I close my eyes and concentrate on what the space in pussy is holding, I can feel like I have a penis. It’s like being both sexes at the same time. And it is. [we both laugh at this]

Society definitely conditions us to be shy. I mean women. I think about those studies about women’s sexual peaks at thirty and I bet it really has more to with it actually taking a decade to overcome a certain kind of timidity or shame.

Before I called you that first time, I thought about you passionately for days. Then I called my friend and asked for your number and then I called you and casually invited you to meet me. I was practically throwing up. The first time I had done something like that, the man in question couldn’t deal with me being the instigator, or taking matters into my own hands, and he misread me, got all insecure, or maybe he saw me as a slut. I don’t know, I just know I lost interest then and ti really didn't have any significance. It did help me understand the social aspect of the dating scene -- what men have to go through. Meet a girl, make a date, get laid. It’s terrifying. On the flip side, women are expected to ride along submissively, being sexually ignored, ungratified, or abused.

Until one day maybe she sees a freshly washed sheet on the clothesline with the dry air blowing through it and she decides that’s the way she wants to feel…

Love,

Eddie

The Sexual Subversive [Great Lovers]

Ultimately, we're all fools for love...

* * *

-=[ Great Lovers ]=-
Listen to learn and learn to listen.
-- Anonymous

We all like to pay lip service to this thing we call love. We like to say it -- a lot. For example, we like to say, “I love you.” We want to be loved -- or rather to have other people use the word in reference to us (“S/he loves me”). I submit that what we don’t like is the action of love. I hate to burst your bubble people, but John Galt doesn’t exist and love isn’t a feeling. Nope, love is a verb -- love, my dearest, is an action.

One of the reasons I am so amazed at some of the shenanigans on the internet is that I find it hard to understand how people can get caught up in the illusory trap of “falling” in love with someone they’ve never met. I certainly can understand developing some affection and having a feeling for a photograph and internet profile, but falling in love?

::blank stare::

In my book, that’s grounds for having someone committed. And yours truly isn't exempt. I will admit to having fallen into that trap myself. Photographs are fun and they never really let you down like real people do. For example, today's blog photo is one of a series of photos sent to me a few years ago by an admirer of my sex blog. No, I didn't fall in love with her, but I sure would love to fuck her. LOL In actuality, the photos are a fake. Rather, they are photos of someone other than the person who sent them.

Those who are “great lovers” know that within the framework of being in love there’s passion, desire, hope, wonder, appreciation, enjoyment, affection, ecstasy -- the whole gamut of the most positive emotions and energy states. However, as I said before: love isn’t a feeling, it’s an action, an act of will. All the feelings in the world and $2 won't get you on a NYC subway, which is another way of saying that feelings ain’t jack. Love isn’t texting someone a pic of your shaved vagina/ erect penis with the caption “thinking of you.” Love isn’t copying-and-pasting one of those cheesy email forwards to everyone in your contacts folder. In fact, I would say sending me any email forward is actually an act of hate. However, I do appreciate photos of your pussy/ ass, so keep ‘em coming champ.

I’m kidding! But the point I’m trying to make is that when we truly love someone we extend ourselves to the person and for that person. That’s the act of love, or love action. It’s not clicking a mouse, or sending a text. Love is an act of will for the benefit of another person with no expectations. In more technical terms, when we love someone we extend our ego boundaries -- close down our defenses -- to include that other person as part of our identity. In a way, love impels us to merge with another individual, in the process creating an enduring bond. This is the part that scares many of us because severing such a bond is, like, really fuckin painful.

It’s the same when you experience a deep, knee-knocking, grand mal seizure-like orgasm: it’s a transcendent spiritual experience: your ego defenses come tumbling down and, for that brief moment, your sense of self expands to include so much more than the small, fragile, fearful mini me (ego). As a side note, this is one of the reasons why organized religions put so many taboos on sex, because ultimately sexual energy can be one of the most transformative, liberating, and spiritual experiences.

But I’m getting off track here…

The first way, I feel, that great lovers express their love is through something simple and obvious. What is at the heart of the experience of love that's so simple, so basic and at the same time so easy to overlook is listening -- listening and attending. Sadly, at least in my experience, very few people attempt to hone their listening skills and at best listen at a very superficial level. Our society offers very few opportunities that teach listening at deeper levels.

We are born to bond. Without bonding, infants literally wither and die, or become misfits. As adults it’s the same for us: without connection we die physically, psychologically/ emotionally, spiritually. We are human and the defining experience of being human is connection. We are wired for bonding -- we’re walking/ talking neurological feedback loops. We become human through bonding, and as adults, bonding doesn’t end. As we mature, we continue to evolve where hopefully we can eventually bond with a special someone (or someones) in a healthy manner. This bonding demands the mastery of certain skills, skills that allow us to make contact, to establish relationships, and communication skills that promote understanding.

How do we do this?

The simple answer is by entering into our lover’s world. By matching and resonating with our loved one’s way of thinking and feeling we begin to understand him or her. Empathy, a key emotional skill, is the ability to see the world through another’s eyes without losing ourselves in the process. This is part of the act of love -- or love action -- and great lovers fine-tune their empathy to high levels. On a superficial level, there’s listening, but at a more profound level there’s listening in order to understand and that takes effort, time, and consideration. It takes a commitment to honesty and a willingness to become transparent (or translucent), so that the energy of love can shine through us with as little distortion as possible.

Active listening is difficult, it takes practice. Like sex, it’s not a natural act, it must be practiced as you would practice a musical instrument. In my experience, too many people are too caught up in their small needs and neuroses to strive toward being a great lover. Most of us, it seems, would rather just sit back, send photos of our nether regions, and call that love.

Love,

Eddie

The Friday Sex Blog [The Dream]

* * *

I was saved by a dream. Literally.

This is no figure of speech. I rarely ever remember my dreams and maybe this is a good thing, considering what the fuck kinda shit dwells in my subconscious. However, there was one unforgotten dream about several years ago that has had a tremendous impact on my life. In fact, after that dream I was never the same person -- changed me completely. And, get this: I don’t even remember its details.

Nonsense, you say? Read on…

About ten or more years ago, my life was imploding. Everything that I had worked towards, or valued, seemed to be unraveling. My marriage was on the rocks. Actually, it was barely breathing, it was waiting for someone to mercifully shoot it. I was in my senior year of my undergraduate studies and I had become so burnt out that I couldn’t retain any more information. A straight A student, my grades were plummeting and I was having a hard time finding meaning in it all. In addition, I couldn’t get a job to save my life.

It was a strange time, looking back, because though I realized things were coming to a head on many fronts, it seemed as if I were just floating around there for a bit. As if it were all happening, and I was there witnessing all of this, but unable to do anything about it.

Eventually, I divorced, barely escaped my senior year, and had to leave graduate school for a job and that’s where it all started. I was working for an East Harlem non-profit as a life skills trainer, when I met this young lady at the job. She was half my age, and I really didn’t think she was interested, but eventually she let her feelings known. Actually, what she said was, “Don’t you ever get it?” during dinner once. No, I’m dense and sometimes I don’t “get it.”

So it happens that I’m dating this really young lady and at first, my attraction to her was minimal. I mean, she was very pretty, intelligent, and we shared many common interests. We spent a lot of time going to museums, discussing poetry, reading books together, taking walks, etc. Still, I never felt any overwhelming feelings of love.

But I digress, I need to make my point…

Well, one thing led to another and she let on that her feelings for me were more than casual. I think the “L” word was mentioned or implied, and though there were red flags screaming all over the place (too complicated to discuss here), I allowed myself to entertain the possibility that the feelings were mutual. This woman was 25 years old to my 43. While the tired cliché that age is only a number may be true, my priorities and frames of reference were a lot different from hers. To make a long story short, eventually, she “fell out” of love and I was stuck in it. I had talked myself into love. We split and I was taking it pretty bad. Looking back, I realize now that what I had was an obsession, not love, but knowing that didn’t help my heart, if you know what I mean. I didn’t do anything overly stupid like stalk her, or act out on my compulsions, but I was in a lot of pain and anytime I said or did something idiotic or awkward, it was like adding insult to injury.

Things progressed and I end up like so: there I am, it’s a cold, rainy Friday night and I go home, just wanting to lay down and pull the covers over my head and sleep forever. I'm bemoaning the fact that after so much inner work, insight, and (supposedly) growth, I was still stuck on a fucked up pattern of behavior.

And that’s when The Dream happens…

I’m in deep pain and I go to sleep. Maybe it wasn’t just this girl, but the accumulation of everything that had been happening: divorce, stalled education, not being there with my son everyday -- I felt like I was in a boxing match and losing big time. I went to sleep shrouded in a profound and intense sorrow.

I dream.

I don’t remember the specifics of the dream, the content, but the feelings -- Oh my God! -- the feeling is what I remember totally. In the dream, there is a woman in my life, I don’t know or remember exactly what she looks like. I vaguely remember only her eyes and her smile. But that isn’t important. What’s important is that in this dream this woman loves me in a way I have never experienced in my life. The love is so palpable, so real that I feel it infusing my whole being with joy, washing away my sorrow as if it were mere dirt.

I get this very real feeling of being loved so completely, so totally that it seems as if my very being is transformed on a cellular level. In the dream, this woman knows everything about me: from my most insightful thoughts to the most pornographic. She knows it all, the good and the bad -- everything -- and yet she still loves completely, without condition.

It's a total, pure love.

In the dream, I remember hearing her voice because all I remember is that she was walking laughing with some of my friends. But I get the real sense that she loves me and I am filled with this utterly unconditional love and I’m ecstatic. I am joyful in a way I have never known before.

Then I wake up…

And here is the kicker: the feeling in the dream? That feeling of being loved? It’s still there! I’m filled with this incredible joy that seems to come from the very core of my being. It’s not an over-the-top “gee-I’m-so-happy” kumbaya-type feeling, but rather a calm presence at my center, washing away my fears and doubts. It’s as if the woman in my dream connected me to the very essence of love itself.

I never tried to analyze this dream, but without thinking about it in words, a part of me sensed that that woman in my dream wasn’t someone else, but an aspect of myself. Really. I didn’t get this by thinking about it; I sensed/ felt it in my body.

At least that was my experience.

Since that day, yes, I have experienced sadness, anger, disappointment -- the full catastrophe of life -- but nothing, not even death, has ever taken away this joy at the core of my being. It is an invincible joy.

Perhaps I was mistaken about the nature of this dream. Maybe it wasn’t an “aspect of myself” that loved me in this powerful way. What if the dream was pointing me to a path? What if the dream was directing me to the opening of my heart because the more I open, the more this presence grows in my life. When I close and contract, I lose contact; when I open, the connection becomes stronger. Maybe the dream wasn't about me in the usual sense that I experience myself. Perhaps the woman in my dream was dissolving the fake wall that separates me from you.

Whatever the case, she was certainly the woman of my dreams...

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

But They Make It Look So Romantic!

by Joanna (JuJuBe)

Ah, yes, unrequited love, a woman's undying devotion to a man who barely knows she exists, that is the stuff of romantic epics like Les Miserables!! If only it were as touching and beautiful in real life! As someone who has spent many years pining after one man or another, only do be rejected for someone else, I can commiserate with Eponine, the chick who is in love with the revolutionary Marius.

Honestly, when I watched Les Miserables, I had no desire to see love bloom between Marius and Cosette, the chick that he fell in "love at first sight" with. Nah, I thought to myself that he needed to be with his home girl Eponine, because she was the one who REALLY had his back! I mean damn, she even hooked him up with Cosette, and I KNOW she did not want to see the two of them together! But she really loved that dude and wanted to see him happy, even if it wasn't with her! See, I gotta give her credit, because while I will go out of my way for the man I am feeling in many ways, helping him bag another bitch is NOT one of them! Eponine, though, she did what he asked without letting on that it was killing her inside. Talk about a down ass bitch!

How Do You Know When You're Dating Someone Crazy Enough to Kill You?

So, a lady who works at my wife's office was killed by her boyfriend, and then later killed himself at the scene because she broke up with him. This is the second or maybe third murder-suicide incident here in Memphis in recent weeks. There was another case a few weeks ago where a woman broke up with a guy only to have him hold her and her roommates hostage in her apartment. Only to shoot and kill her and her father who showed up to mediate before turning the gun on himself. And then there's this other guy who "allegedly" killed his ex-girlfriend and stuffed her in a car trunk the other week. I guess he didn't like the idea of her putting a restraining order on him so he did** what he did.

In the case of my wife's co-worker, it was revealed that the ex-boyfriend didn't take the break up well, and was even hospitalized on a psych ward. Only to be released by whom we don't know, to commit yet another senseless act in the name of love and heartbreak. I've had some pretty shitty breakups, and yes, I've even had my heart broken and trampled on a time or two. And yeah I've been an emotional wreck after a breakup before - thank God for Mary J. Blige's "What The 411" album. But never in my life have I ever imagined or even envisioned causing harm to the women who in my opinion did me wrong. I may have wanted to shake the shit out of 'em, but never kill them.

If You Wanna Be My Man, You Better Eat It, & LIKE IT! [NSFW]

by JuJuBe (Joanna)

There is nothing I hate more than a man who does not appreciate a meal that I prepare for him. I KNOW I am a good cook. I have gotten too many compliments about my food to NOT take pride in my ability to throw down in the kitchen. One of my favorite boasting points in my life is the fact that I was chosen to be on the editorial board of a cooking magazine, and several of my recipes have been published over the years (Pork Chops Pizzaiola, Chicken and Rice, and Crock Pot Chicken and Sausage). So, nothing makes me more pissed than someone insulting my cooking skills.

Cooking for someone is the primary method I use to let the know that I really care. If I really am feeling a man, the first thing I do to show him how I feel is cook him a nice dinner. I think one of the reasons my ex and I were together for so long (four years) was because of the Tupperware containers full of home cooked food that I would bring to his house every time I saw him. He once told me he would NEVER eat West Indian food cooked by someone who was not West Indian. Of course, once he tasted my oxtail and beans and my salt fish with onions, he changed his tune on that issue. My friend Henrietta tells me my Macaroni and Cheese is the best she ever had, and that is saying a lot because she comes from a family of great cooks! I like to experiment in the kitchen, and I love cooking different “ethnic” cuisines… Indian, Mexican, Italian (of course), Chinese, etc. Not claiming that my dishes are “authentic” (well other than the Italian ones) but I know they taste DAMN GOOD!

Anyway, back to my original point. If a man DOES NOT appreciate my cooking, there is NO WAY I can be in a relationship with him. Just NOT going to happen! I had one man over for dinner on two occasions. The first time, I made a delicious pot roast in the crock pot. I got a lukewarm reception from him. The next time, he asked me to make HAMBURGERS. Just ordinary, run of the mill BURGERS. Then, when he came over, he wouldn’t even eat the damn thing because it was NOT PLAIN ENOUGH for him. Needless to say, I did not continue to date him. Hell, I didn’t even allow him the distinction of being an FWB or a booty call. Nope, when you degrade my cooking, you cannot possibly expect to get the ass! Not gonna happen!

Sexual Bipartisanship: Could You Sleep with the Enemy? [NSFW]

by Joanna (JuJuBe)

I was reading a message board in which the discussion revolved around the political opinions of people's friends and families. A lot of the people on the board were married to people from the opposite side of the political spectrum. Their friends ranged from the most conservative to the extremely liberal. So, I wondered if I could be intimate with someone who had political ideals that were vastly different from my own.

My political viewpoints permeate my entire life. I do not read stories about what happens in DC and think that politics ends there. My politics are essentially my morals, they are such a huge part of my life. What I believe is who I am.

I could not imagine being friends, let alone being married to or dating someone who is a "conservative". To me conservatism equals racism. Conservatism equals xenophobia. Conservatism equals economic oppression. Conservatism equals ignoring the needs of your fellow man. I could never associate with individuals who hold such beliefs.

The Thin Line Between Sex Addiction and Just Plain Sluttiness

by JuJuBe (Joanna)

I am constantly seeking love and acceptance. I want to feel like someone sees me as an important person, even if only for a few hours. Which could possibly be why I seem to be so intent on participating in sexual activity so damn much!

I actually told a friend the other day that I wish I had someone who would touch me, caress me, kiss me and love me. And after I said I wanted someone to love me I added "or at least pretend they do". On other occasions when I have spoken about wanting to feel loved, I have added "at least for a few hours".

It seems I am seeking something, a way to fill a void in my life. And, unfortunately, sex often seems to be the best remedy for my empty feelings.

Which wouldn't be so bad if I actually had a steady partner. Instead, I end up allowing a random series of men into my life, into my home, indeed, into my BODY hoping to fill the void. Yes, I am satisfied for a short while, but eventually that feeling of perpetual loneliness returns, and I find myself right back on line seeking my next "fix".

I have always wondered if I was a sex addict. Those questionnaires that are supposed to help you determine the answer are pretty useless. According to some of them, everyone and his uncle is an addict when it comes to sex. But, I do see a lot of "issues" surrounding sex in my life.

How Can I go from a "Promiscuous Girl" to a "Virtuous Woman"?

by Joanna (JuJuBe)

I have NO IDEA how to be a girlfriend! A friend with benefits? Got that down pat! A booty call? Sure, no problems there! But a girlfriend? I am TOTALLY clueless!

My last serious relationship lasted for four years, and ended six long, lonely years ago. And even that relationship was not traditional. I won't go into details, but my ex and I definitely participated in some activities that were out of the norm. I never "cheated" during this relationship, because there was no need to, I was able to experience "variety" without telling lies or keeping secrets.

I have made some "interesting" choices in my dating/sex life over the years. If I was a man, I would have been called a "playboy", a "stud" or a "player", but since I am a female, I was looked at as a "slut", a "hoe" or a "freak." Serious double standard there, but that is for a whole other post!

Now I am at the point where I REALLY want a COMMITTED, LOVING, and LASTING relationship. Only problems is, I have NO IDEA how to go about transitioning from a "good time" girl to a "good" girl. I suspect the first step is to STOP having casual sexual encounters. I went from having sex on a regular basis to being celibate for the last two months. But, I feel like there is something wrong with me if I am NOT having sex. I read that the average single person has sex 49 times a year, which is roughly once a week, so I feel like I am doing something wrong by NOT participating in all the fun! I am used to being ABOVE average in all aspects of life, and being BELOW average when it comes to frequency of sexual activity is difficult for me to accept. Friends point out that over the years I have had enough sex for three lifetimes, but still, I don't want to "fall behind", dammit!

Complete Idiot's Guide to "Friends with Benefits", Booty Calls & One Night Stands [NSFW]

`

By Joanna (JuJuBe)

“I like a woman with two arms, two legs and a pussy. And the arms and legs are optional.” Yes, I actually had a man give me this response when I asked him what type of woman he was typically attracted to. I never forgot that comment, because even though I was unable all through high school to find "boyfriend", while in college I realized that if you are a woman, getting laid is one of the easiest things in the world. Now, finding "love" is a whole other story, but getting laid? Anyone can do it!

Doesn’t matter if you are tall or short, skinny or fat, old or young. SOMEONE out there WILL fuck you. More than one someone, actually. Getting laid is one of the easiest tasks a woman can pursue. But for some reason, women have been convinced by societal standards that casual sex, while so easy to obtain, is somehow OK if you have a penis, but evil and wrong if you have a vagina. I simply am not buying it.

Single Black Male in Search Of... (Or, Where Are All the "Good" Black Women?)

By Tracy Renee Jones

I have this Black male guy friend. He just landed on the opposite side of 30 and finds himself single. Very marriage minded; he eagerly waits for the day when he can meet that special lady and have children. He’s a successful entrepreneur in New York City. He has a devilish sense of humor. He LOVES his Momma and always conducts himself as a gentleman.

His body is cut up like a Greek statute thanks to his daily body building and yoga routines. His smile can light up a room. And above all else he is a man of principles; this guy is honest and refuses to play games with a person’s heart. So Single Black woman having trouble finding a ‘Good’ Black man…interested yet?

This worldly Libra has his own place in Brooklyn (with Brooklyn swagger included). He enjoys spoiling a lover with time, affection and attention. He travels frequently and runs in some very interesting circles. He’s also a personal trainer so you know he’s got ‘stamina’ and what Good Black woman doesn’t want that in a man?

He shoots hoops with the (equally fine) fellas! He’s a collector of African art! He’s a writer, poet and photographer! He’s also a very active and in demand MODEL!!!! Are you sold yet? Oh, yeah. There’s one more thing I forgot to mention. This single, marriage minded, eligible Black man is also bisexual. That’s not a problem, right? Because he still possesses ALL of the qualities listed above, doesn’t he?

He wants to marry a woman and have kids some day soon. Like any other man, he wants to make a baby and one day be known to the world as ‘Daddy’. He has everything these single Black women say they want in a ‘Good Black’ man, no?

Domestic Violence Awareness Month: Is this Domestic Violence? And could it happen to you?

By JuJuBe (Joanna)

This is probably the hardest blog post I have ever written. But, it is a story I need to tell.

I have always been the type of person to see the good in every individual I come across. I try not to hold a person’s past against them. I try to be open minded and accepting of people who the rest of society sees as irredeemable. And, at one point that really got me in trouble.

When I was 19 years old, I met a man named Gary. He was one of the most handsome men I had ever met. He and I got along great, and we became quick friends. Every day I would leave my house early in the morning, head over to pick up Gary, and we would spend hours hanging out in my car, smoking weed, and driving from house to house to visit friends. Even though he had a suspended license, I always asked him to drive, because I had just gotten my license a few months earlier. It never seemed to be an issue.

Being the “sucker for love” that I am, I fell for Gary. Of course. But, he made it a point to tell me that he was used to being with only the hottest women, and could never be my man. But, I was good enough to perform sexual favors for him when no one else was around. And, since I had only had one boyfriend prior to meeting Gary, I thought that was enough. I thought it made me special. I mean, after all, he was the type of man every woman dreams of hooking up with. Plus he had a body to die for.

Gary confided in my that his most recent girlfriend had just had his baby. She was 17 years old, and had moved to Florida, so he had never had the opportunity to see his brand new daughter. The parents of his ex would not allow him to have any contact with their daughter, or with his own child. I really felt for him.

Can You Love A Man In Prison You Didn't Know Before He Went To Prison?

By Joanna (JuJuBe)

If you are a "sucker for love" like I am, whatever you do, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT attempt to begin corresponding with a a prisoner! Because no matter HOW MANY times you tell yourself you are JUST reaching out a hand in friendship, you WILL eventually fall for your "pen pal". Trust me, I know this from first hand experience.

Back in May, after reading "The New Jim Crow", I decided that I wanted to do some work towards prison/criminal (in)justice reform. So, I joined a group on facebook dedicated to changing the way the criminal (in)justice system works. And I posted a message asking for anyone who would like to discuss the issues and what can be done to ameliorate racism in the system to please contact me.

My first message was from a man named Dante. His fiance maintains a facebook page for him, as he has been a prisoner for the past 12 years, convicted of murder as a juvenile (he actually was an accessory, but was still charged as a principle). He was bamboozled into accepting a deal that was not in his best interest, and now he devotes much of his time and energy into changing the way juveniles are treated by the (in)justice system. I began writing to him, believing that someone INSIDE the prison system would be able to best inform me as to what needed to be done to bring about true reform.

So, we began corresponding. Things went very well, so I decided I wanted to open myself up to correspondence with other inmates as well. I went to a prison pen pal website, looked through the profiles, tried to find men who seemed to be "conscious" and dedicated to changing themselves AND the corrupt system,and started to write letters. And, it was one of the best experiences of my life. I enjoyed being able to discuss my viewpoints with other like minded individuals. I had 5 pen pals, and we would discuss issues of racism and corruption in the (in)justice system and in the American system as a whole.

Office Sex: a Tiny Corporate Novella Chpt. 1

by Eco.Soul.Intellectual

Nia's Longing
Nia Indigo had been hanging out with Fabio for about four months and had not even given him a quick kiss. She hadn’t given him the ass, or not even her specialty, some mind blowing head. And it was wearing on her.

It wasn’t because he was unaesthetically pleasing, otherwise known as, ugly. Oh, he was finer than a mu’fuckah. Even her mama drooled and tried to poke out her 50-plus old booty when she saw him. Fabio made the sisters in her office trample each other to get a good view when he brought her lunch every Friday.

She swore Fabio was this God who had dropped from the skies of Brazil all dipped in Africa’s chocolate with hints of red clay from the Amazon. His body was chiseled from the hands of a genius. And he was indeed a great to look at.

His dick was massive. Well, at least she assumed it was from the way his pants hugged him when he flexed his body in intricate positions in Capoeira class they took together some nights.

Even the men were ogling Fabio when he took off his shirt in Capoeira because he was just that gourgeous. Nia knew that if you could have a straight man consider switching his sexual preference you were in another a whole other kind of category of attractiveness.

His personality was uber inviting. Fabio was peace. He was a proud man who boasted about his daughter in Sao Paolo and his Afro-Brazilian roots; but never once did he dog out African-Americans like her previous lovers of the African Diaspora who took time to bash black Americans at every chance.

If she heard one more West Indian or African call an African-American man a criminal or a woman look her with disgust, she would call immigration her damn self. Then again, some days she wanted to call the body snatchers to remove a block full of ingrates that included a few cousins and a crack-head uncle or two.

Am I the only Sucker for Love in the Building?

By Joanna (JuJuBe)

I KNOW I am not the only person out here who can fall in love with a person after 2 or 3 conversations, simply based on the intellectual connection. I AM SURE I am not the only woman on earth who has seen a man from across a crowded room, and DESPITE all signs indicating her thoughts are NOT reality based, has said "I am going to marry that man!"

I do not believe I am the only one who is a sucker for (unrequited) love! The type of woman who, despite having a GOOD MAN sitting right next to her expressing feelings of love and desire, wants to toss him aside for the illusion of a potential relationship with Mr. Unattainable! Please, tell me I am not alone here!

Books and movies are written all the time showing us unrealistic models of what "love" is supposed to look like. If you rely on the cinematic or literary worlds to show you what true romance is like, you are in BIG TROUBLE. Personally, I TRY to avoid romantic fiction, but at this point, the damage has apparently already been done, because I am a SUCKER for love!

Yes, I am one of those chicks that, if I were on the outside looking in, I would think was PATHETIC in her attempts to find a connection.

For some reason I still have this story book notion of living "happily ever after" with a man who makes my heart go pitter patter every time he walks in the room. I imagine this lusty romance with heaving bosoms are throbbing members.

I do not see the mundane, the fights over who will take out the garbage, who will cook dinner and wash the dishes. No, I expect a fire to rip through my soul, indicating that I have met the man of my dreams.

The Friday Sex Blog [The Way to a Woman's Heart]

[Warning: the following has profanity in it. However, contrary to popular opinion, profanity does not equate to lack of substance or lazy thinking or whatever the fuck. If you object to profanity either don't read the following, or read it -- I just don't want to hear your value judgment regarding my choice of language. Now, put that in your fuckin' pipe and smoke it! LOL!!]

 First, let state from the outset that I write the following fully aware my perception is filtered through the lens of what it is to be a man in this society. I write from my own experience (or lack thereof). I will admit to the possibility that I may not know what the fuck I may be talking about. On the other hand, I submit that some here will find a measure of truth within these few short sentences.

Simply put, a woman’s heart and genitals are usually deeply connected. When a woman’s heart is truly open to you, so are her genitals (or chocha, as some Nuyoricans call it), and when she opens herself sexually to you, she also opens herself emotionally. For most women, emotional, sexual, and spiritual openness are all part of the same ritual of trust, openness, and love. In fact, for many women, their deepest sexual experiences are their deepest spiritual experiences.

This is why sex for sport, or sex with random strangers, is not such a big attraction for women. Doubt me? Well, how many women are lining up in front of glory holes (note: if you don’t know what a glory hole is, you shouldn't be reading my blog!). Generally speaking, a man can stick his cock through a hole in the wall, and he would care less who’s on the other side -- he will find release. Remember: men (at least mediocre men) seek release, women seek fulfillment.

Most women open emotionally during intimate and loving sex. My experience has been that women just don’t want to open up like that to anyone. This is why a woman tends to fall in love with whoever she has profound sex with: her heart opens along with her vagina and she feels love for the man with which she has had great sex.

As a woman learns to surrender sexually, her emotions open and she feels the tow of the undercurrent of love -- yours and hers. No matter what you say you’re feeling on the surface, deep down you want to give and receive total love, and guess what -- so does she. Shit, she can feel your heart buried deep underneath all that anger and shame. She can feel her own heart deep underneath her own resistance and hurt.

Want her completely? Then practice surrendering with her until you both develop that capacity of surrendering as love. Practice surrendering until you both learn to magnify that love even in the entanglement of the everyday dust of life: the boredom, the anger, pain, and superficial emotions that distract us from genuine presence.

To help her do this, remember her vagina and her heart are directly connected: treat her vagina as you would her heart... and vice versa.

Love,

Eddie

Street Meet: Black Women, Black Men, & Everyday Sexual Harassment

By Tracy Renee Jones

I am 11 years old wearing a Catholic School uniform. I make a run for the candy store a few blocks away from the school. The men say things to me but I don't know what some of the words mean. Their stares make me uncomfortable.

I am 15 years old wearing shell toe Adidas and a gold name plate. Backpack on one shoulder, one sock slouched as I make my way to my Catholic high school.

I am 23 years old wearing steel toe boots and dingy, baggy clothes on my way to work the docks at UPS.

I am 30 years old wearing a suit, early in the morning, while making my way to work which I now called a ‘career’.

I am 36 years old wearing the shapeless clothes one does when they get older, my hair is in a ponytail and I’m walking with my adult daughter.

“Good Morn’en”, says the toothless alcoholic who lives on the curb as I make my way to the bus during my morning commute.

“Hey Pretty Lady”, says the dirty day laborer as he rubs his dick, “You got a hus-ban?” I look down my nose at him, making my disgust clear. I refuse to break my gaze until I see the look of humiliation cross his face.

“Dam, you got a fat ass, Ma!” says the under age drug dealer as I escort my 11 year old daughter from martial arts class. His friends break out in a roar of laughter. I feel my daughter grip my hand tighter; she pulls me along in an attempt to get me away from the perceived danger. I bite my tongue because I don’t want to show out in front of my child, I’m supposed to be an adult and ‘respectable’ acting in public.

“Fuck you then! What? You think you’re better than me?!” says the random Nigger on the corner in some urban hood that could be in any urban town anywhere in America.

“Yeah, I do” is my usual response. I look him straight in the eyes and punctuate my retort with all the confidence my body language can muster. I enjoy the look of pain I’ve caused him to feel; I enjoy being able to turn the humiliation meant for me, back on to him.

“You ain’t all dat anyway..don’t nobody want you”, says the random Nigger on the corner in some urban hood that could be in any town anywhere in America.

The Friday Sex Blog [Religious Sex]

“… Her truth,
her altar,
forms at the
juncture of firm thighs
where a hallowed moistness --
a sticky-sweet dew --
exists solely to quench
my lustful thirst.
It’s where the stuttering
of my lips
offers prayers
from an unknown religion
to forgotten Gods.”

-- Edward-Yemíl Rosario
All rights reserved © 2008

According to The Big Three (Christianity, Judaism, Islam) the erotic impulse -- the world of Eros, the body, and human sexuality -- falls under the domain of Satan. From this perspective, the physical is cast as sinful, bestial. Human sexuality, according to this view, is an obstacle from the lofty hallowed pursuit of God and everything that is good and ethical. From the moment we are born, we are told that the more we open to the erotic impulse, the more we listen and open to the needs of the body, the more we embrace and enjoy our sexual natures, the further we stray from moral rectitude and emotional well-being.

I write this Friday sex blog mostly because I argue that the opposite is true. I submit that the erotic impulse, honored and liberated from the shackles of guilt and organized forces of suppression, is a powerful spiritual path leading to a profound psycho-spiritual awareness. The sex blog is a call for us to stop trivializing the erotic/ sexual world as we so often do, as if sex involved nothing more than sensory stimulation, ego gratification, and the pursuit of an orgasm.

Some of my assumptions are radical. That there is more to sex than the giddy pursuit of carnal pleasure may be hard to accept in the aftermath of the sexual explosion of the 60s and 70s. It was an era when reliable birth control, combined with an awakening feminism, consciousness-raising, and the movements for gay, lesbian, and bisexual liberation released us from some of our legacy of sexual oppression and fear. However, it is my submission that that it is precisely our failure to recognize the depth of the erotic impulse that is at the root of our current dissatisfaction with our sexual nature.

Once we began to shake loose the shackles of sexual repression, we were as the proverbial children in the candy store. In the time of so-called free love, we seemed to want nothing more than to consume as many erotic experiences as we could. We were, after all, sexually starved beings emerging from thousands of years wandering lost in a wasteland into a world of lush jungles bursting with exotic fruit. I was there, and it was an exciting time in the cultural history of Western sexuality, and an important first step in freeing ourselves from the repressive world on the 50s -- the huge, white-picket-fence, clean and tidy, sexual suburbia of post-war America.

Why you should care about Slim Thug's assault on Black Women

I haven't been on Twitter much lately because I'm tired from the joy that is my third pregnancy, but I logged on to see that Fresh (@Freshalina) from Crunk and Disorderly posted an excerpt of an opinion piece failed rapper Slim Thug (pictured above on the left) did for Vibe.com.

He's a moron of epic proportions, but I was able to syphon out what he was trying to say in the beginning. I knew, however, that the "Shit-on-Black-Women" parade would begin posthaste. He did not disappoint. Do the stupid ever?