I Am Not a Stereotype


I am not a Stereotype

Stereotypes Hurt.  No More Labels!!

Women of all colors, races, religions ethnic groups and nationalities face double jeopardy.

I will not be defined by the narrow conventions of your mangled mind.

Me and Patti LaBelle got a new attitude.

http://youtu.be/7jHToFiZuSU

I will not be typecast by the slant of my eyes, the color of my skin or country of origin.

I am a Woman of faith of dignity who demands and commands respect.

I refuse to suffer indignities of your racist sexist perversions.

I follow the laws of God as dictated by my belief system whatever it may be.

I am not an exotic playtoy or life size Barbie doll existing only to gratify, satisfy or fulfill your twisted sadistic carnal predilections.

I am not the one and today is not your day.

I will not be afraid and will not back down.

I am not a victim.

I am more than a survivor.

I am defiant.

You do not have license to ill.

My height, weight, shape do not delineate me as a loose woman or a hot number.

I am not your Ethiopian Chocolate Fantasy or submissive Asian delight found in the back covers of men’s magazines.

I am not your Indian Maiden with feathers in her hair or a sari wrapped around her waist.

If I’m a Lesbian nothing between your legs will make me straight and certainly does not impress me.

Whatever fever you got, be it Jungle Fever, Yellow Fever, Red Fever, Hot Spicy Latina Fever, I’m about to throw cold water all over it and knock you out cold. Get over yourself. You’re not all that and a bag of chips.

I choose who, when, where and if I will lay my body down.

I am the Goddess and only the worthy may gain access to the Temple. As Women we are called to maintain order in the Universe. Ladies ~ Realize your calling.

Asshole Repellent
Asshole Repellent

Ladies sexual abuse, workplace bullying and sexual harassment is the Elephant in the Room that everybody sees but fails to acknowledge its presence. Instead we step lightly around him hoping he will go away of his accord. Do not remain silent. Speak up. Speak out.

The Black Woman in Society’s Mirror


The Black Woman in Society’s Mirror

It’s dangerous to be a Black Woman over 40 and seeking that special life partner. You’re an entity of exotica, scorn, repellent to some and desired by others. Both Jezebel and Sapphire. Succubus and Saint. Are we sex monsters or vixens. Or have we become the seductive Sirens of Green mythology dangerous and beautiful femme fatales who lured nearby sailors with their enchanting melody and singing to shipwreck on the rocky coasts of their deserted island.

 Do we aspire to Hatshepsut or the Mata Hari?

 At the demands of a modern sex driven society some of us re-imagine ourselves as the Vixen capable of seducing any man, but is this only a self-imposed illusion that aligns and binds us within men’s’ fantasies?

http://82nd-and-fifth.metmuseum.org/monsters

There are special dating challenges for dark-skinned Black women and Black Women over 50. All women have insecurities about their looks and self-worth. Am I ever good enough? Do I measure up?  Thomas doubted Jesus. We doubt ourselves. In the process we lose some of our dignity. We are raised to compete for a so-called small pool of Black men. Daily images of perfectly shaped buff voluptuous curvy young sisters are thrown in our faces by the media. Women must always be perfect.  Perhaps we are more lumpy than curvy.

We must fit the image society has for us. Even though in this country we have the right to choose a marriage partner, but from youth girls are trained to believe marriage and children are the end-all and be-all of life. We aspire to that. We are misguided. Then as you approach 40 some of us become more desperate because that’s when you fall off men’s radar.

 After age 50 you totally disappear. Relegated to the trash heap of modern antiquities. Relics of a bygone era. Back in the day women like me were called spinsters or Old Maids. Heck there was even a kid’s card game called Old Maid and you didn’t want to get that card! Even though we no longer use those terms they are still in the back of our minds.  So many emotions jockeying for position inside our heads and ingrained in our Psyche. I think it is much worse for Black Women. We become veterans of romantic wars at odds with our uniqueness vs. the Stepford Women of society and media.

And we do know that Beauty misplaced may yield the seeds of misfortune.

 In my 20s I was just coming into my sexuality and my imagined power to get men to do my bidding based on my body. In my 30s I yearned to settled down, not necessarily to have children but to play the role of wife. Such a role was never realized. By 40 with both my parents gone and not wanting to spend the rest of my life alone I entered into a long-term relationship with an abusive man who in small doses of love mixed with pain destroyed my self-confidence, belief in myself and planted seeds of doubt that it took years to root out. Age 48 my abuser left me for a younger woman after years of tearing me down. I was rid of him physically but emotional, physical and sexual abuse had taken its toll.

Emotional scars take longer to heal than physical.  More rapidly than I would have like 50 seized me by the synapses and the emotional roller coaster of Menopause played havoc with my emotions and feelings. I had to throw off the shackles of past abuse and find a new me that I could love. So I re-imagined myself into Storm and Cat Woman. Sounds odd but fictional strong female characters allowed me a safe space to grow into this new phase of womanhood. Now at age 54 I can truly say I’m about 95% at peace with myself and for the most part I enjoy the pleasure of my own company. Perhaps one day I’ll dip once more into the dating pool but today it’s all about me. Me being a Unicorn.

Eye of the Beholder

http://youtu.be/xHp9q3QTmVQ

Masks for the Masquerade

http://youtu.be/VOdF7UCf1VQ

Be Original. Be Yourself.

Being me.
Be Original. Be Yourself.

Ms. Afro Rojo signing off.

Me channeling Cat Woman Halloween 2011
Me channeling Cat Woman Halloween 2011

Listen to My Voice


Listen to my voice

Listen to my voice. Listen to the sound of my voice.

Leda & Radu
Leda & Radu

Leda began her hair color ritual in the usual way. She carefully laid out the tools of her trade on the bathroom sink and the top of the commode. Being a small bathroom there was not much space but Leda made do within her sanctuary. Hair color, towels, mirror, comb, gloves, check. Now Leda was ready. Using a wide tooth comb she divided her thick unruly curls into sections applying even amounts of color first to her roots then all the way through to the ends. Pulling the comb through her mane Leda envisioned Radu’s well groomed hands entangling themselves within the kinks and knaps of mother Africa all the while gently massaging her scalp and kissing the nape of her neck. Leda massaged the remaining color through her tangled tresses then set the timer for 25 minutes walking the short distance to her bedroom to meditate while the process worked its magic.

During the 25 minutes of meditation Leda visualized her lover Radu sitting next to her on the bed speaking softly and gently in his Eastern European accent all the while kissing her brows, the bridge of her nose and finally her lips. She could feel the bristle of his closely manicured beard against her face all the while falling into a deep blend of olive skin intermingled from Slavic, Romanian, Turkish and Macedonian blood lines. From his lips issued the voices of ancient Kings worshipping the Queens of Africa, Sheba and Candace.

He sometimes stopped to look deeply into her eyes mentally willing the both of them to become one flesh.

Suddenly the buzz of the timer interrupted her reverie and off she went to turn on the shower preparing to rinse out the excess color treatment. As Leda stepped under the powerful flow of the water Radu’s spirit stepped in with her and they were transported to the thunder of Caribbean waterfalls, enveloped in thunder of the cascading streams. Radu’s hands were like the streams of water entering into every sensitive place of her temple. She could feel his lips and hands as they worked their way down from her neck, breasts to that soft mound of flesh above her pubic area where he loved to rest his head after a night of lovemaking. Water and color ran down over all the nooks and crannies of her curves.

Ring, ring, ring, the sound of the phone brought Leda out of her fantasy and quickly toweled off and managed to answer before the machine kicked in.

“Ello Layda. I just arrived at JFK. Taking a taxi to your place. See you in a few minutes.”

Leda rejoiced. Her fantasy was about to become real. Her Lover was almost home. Her thoughts wandered to a romantic tryst in the hot tub at their friends chalet.

Ferrari Sex Machine
Ferrari Sex Machine

Go back

Your message has been sent

Warning
Warning
Warning
Warning

Warning.

Holy Week Reflections on the Love Poem of Solomon and Queen Sheba


Thoughts on Love, Romance and the Song of Solomon

The Inspired Word of God written by man.

As February and Valentine’s Day 2011 came to a close a few months ago my thoughts brought me to the Old Testament book, the Song of Solomon.  Why would erotica be part of the Old Testament canon? But the Song of Solomon is more than just erotica; it is a love poem, a testament to love, desire and sexual passion between a Black man and a Black woman. However the Song of Solomon transcends race and/or ethnic group.

The Song of Solomon almost did not make it into the Biblical canon.  However its inclusion proves that spirituality and human sexuality can co-exist. It puts to rest many theologians prudish or restrictive claims of sex defined in terms of sin or lust.  The joining together of man and woman in erotic love or pleasure is pleasing to God and is one of the highest forms of praise to our Creator.

Most Christians have been taught that this book is an allegory, a representation of Christ and the church, which could be one interpretation, after all I’m no Bible scholar, and for me the sensual descriptions of the lover’s bodies reveal its true nature.  There are many reflections or mirrors in which to view the verses.  Yes most for Believers, Jesus is the ultimate Lover of our Souls and Spirits.  Truly Jesus love for his followers shows him as the embodiment of his redemptive names, the Lily of the Valley, and the Rose of Sharon, our Bright and shining Star, our Balm in Gilead.  Jesus, the various worldwide prophets who laid the pathway before him and those who came after each singularly expressed God’s love for all his creation.

The lyrical verses found in the Song of Solomon celebrate romantic love.  The way her face, breasts and stomach are captured in vivid detail by the Beloved leans more towards Eros than agape.  The Song of Solomon is the longing of two lovers separated, yet joined desperately seeking to be physical reunited to once again ignite the flame of fervor, and quench the fires sexual craving between them.

In my mind the lovers are King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba who visited Solomon to inquire of his wisdom and as the story is sometime told, the two became lovers, their lovemaking resulting in the birth of a son once Sheba returned to Ethiopia. Yes we all know that Solomon had many wives and concubines, too numerous to count, however Sheba was different.

The Queen Sheba of Ethiopia was intellectual equal, one who not only desired wisdom but was able to communicate the wisdom, knowledge and understanding of her people, her culture to this Hebrew King, thus she became the desire of his heart.  Two minds on the same plane, not jockeying for position, become one.  When a man meets the feminine version of himself he seeks to unite bringing together one side of his mind with the other.  Solomon’s greatest error was in allowing distance and time to come between him and the woman God meant for him to reign with in this life.  Imagine how history would have been changed if these two great leaders had joined energies.  What a mighty force two people, one flesh to contend with!

Unchained Melody

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t-idDbIfGvw

 

Colorstruck — The Colour of Beauty


The Colour of Beauty

Please take time to view the above link.

Colorstruck

 I feel you Brown girls.

 I just wanted to say to my Brown Skin/Dark Skin Sisters that I had many issues and insecurities concerning my skin color when I was younger.

 Especially coming up and going to school during the 1960s, Black was not Beautiful. It still took some convincing even after James Brown declared “Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud”. I can’t tell you how many times I was called “Tar Baby” and various other insulting names by the other Black kids on the playground and in the neighborhood.
       
I used to go home to my Daddy crying. Daddy used to tell me, Deborah, “The Blacker the Berry the Sweeter the Juice, if the Berry’s too light it has
no use”. My Dad was dark skinned like me and he soothed me as well as
instilling self-esteem and pride within his daughter.
       
Well the 1970s came along. Soul Train, Watu Wasuri use Afro Sheen.
Black Power. Famous Black Models gracing the covers of fashion magazines such as Vogue.
       
Props to Beautiful Brown Skinned SisterGirls:
       
Grace Jones

Bethann Hardison

Beverly Peele

Naomi Sims
Toukie Smith
Roshumba Williams
      

My current favorite: Alek Wek
       
Essence magazine came into being.
       
Suddenly it was a good thing to be Dark Skinned. My Dad and I wore our Afros proudly.
       
Ethnic looks, fashion, the flavor of the month. All Cyclical. Especially in America a nation caught up in the youth craze. America, a nation that equates youth with beauty. America, whose standards of beauty change with each passing fad.
       
Now that I’m middle-aged I thank God for this dark brown skin. Why   because many of the white women want to know what I do to look the way I do. As soon as they hit their late 30s, 40s the wrinkles and lines appear. Why do you think those anti-aging creams and formulas are so popular? Botox. Restylne.

Those things are not being marketed to us. For the most part we don’t need it. I’m 51, look 41, if I colored my hair could pass for 35.

This dark brown skin I used to curse; now I celebrate every day when I look in the mirror.
       
My baby cousin Veronica, age 15 showcases the beauty of African, Hispanic and Native American in one gorgeous package. Yes she has the light skin coupled with the shoulder length hair.

Years ago I would have been jealous of someone like her.  But many years have passed and I’ve been her caretaker off and on since she was a little girl so Veronica is my defacto daughter.
       
When I see Veronica I feel love and joy, not because she’s light skinned and pretty, but because she’s smart and talented.  Roni just has a different type of beauty than mine. My family has mixed heritage from many branches. If you saw all of us together, you’d see a living human rainbow bound by blood.  Even though we are on two shades of the skin color spectrum when my friends, neighbors and co-workers see us together they assume that’s my daughter. As far as I’m concerned Veronica is my Daughter. One of my goals is that when Roni is around me to teach her not to capitalize on her looks. Not to manipulate men or people in general.

I want Veronica to get her education. I envision her receiving a BA,
then a MA in whatever discipline she chooses. Leave the boys alone. They’re no good anyway. She is a girly-girl. Loves the latest looks but young women dark and light skinned need to get wisdom, knowledge and understanding in their heads.
       
I still get plenty of attention from men. All men Black, white even some from the Middle-East. Some unwanted but that’s another story.
     
So, Thank you to both my African and Native American Ancestors for dark brown skin, high cheekbones and Nappy/Kinky hair. I am the best of all worlds.