She's Too Sexy To Be A Wife... (Do Sexy Women Get Married?)

In my observation, our society has perpetuated the notion that there are two types of women… women that you marry and women that you have sex with. And unfortunately, many men staunchly adhere to this rule, dichotomizing the women they meet, dismissing any that the deem “too sexy” to bedroom duty and coveting those that appear to be wholesome, without giving either a chance to properly present or defend their character.


What do Black men want in a wife? According to popular magazines and online polls… Men, particularly Black men, want women that are funny, caring, spiritual, trustworthy, intelligent, feminine… and of course, sexual. Sexuality and sexual compatibility are very important to most men. However, this does not imply that they want their wives to appear sexual. You know the cliché… “Lady in the street, and a freak in the bed.” Men love strippers, porn stars and video vixens; but, would most brothers marry one, no.


Since slavery, the Black female body has been abused and exploited for the sexual fulfillment of the masses. Her round buttocks, breasts and full lips, sexualized and objectified, and deemed impure and unfeminine, in comparison with that of their white counterparts. Case in point, Saarte Baartman (look it up) the famous “Venus Hottentot,” an African woman who was caged and paraded around Europe on display because of her large rare end. In fact, even after death, her body remained captive, as her vagina and buttocks were preserved and placed on display in a French museum.


This objectification and sexualization of the Black female form lives on today in music videos and lyrics and in popular male magazines. And though the same can be said of white women in media, they can be viewed in other avenues which counteract notions that they are ONLY sexual beings. They can be seen on TV and in movies as lawyers, doctors, and even as potential presidential candidates; whereas, there are less mainstream images of Black women in which she is portrayed as intelligent, professional, powerful and feminine without being overly sexual.


Black men, similar to that of Black women, have been stigmatized by American culture as possessing an animalistic sexual prowess. This is one of the primary reasons white men took great efforts to keep them from their precious women. The Black male libido and penis has been stereotypically labeled as both as weapon and a threat. However, contemporary Black men, in opposition to what Black women have done, have accepted this stereotype by parading their virility and sexuality. Look at Lil Wayne and his abundance of “baby mommas,” the legend of Wilt Chamberland and popular shows like “Flavor of Love” and, Chad Ochocinco’s “The Perfect Catch,” in which dozens of sex-crazed “hoes” bid for the affections of libido-driven Black men. Today, Black men can have sex with as many women (of any race) as they like, without stigma or scrutiny. But, Black women, on the other hand, have to be very careful, and thus tread lightly to avoid any such notions that they are sexually charged or deviant.


Given this history, many Black women, intentionally and sometimes subconsciously, conform to American standards of womanhood (pure, pious and passive), in an effort to protect themselves from the stigma and subjugation of over-sexualization. Many will agree that is it necessary to appear “conservative,” and even “more conservative” than their white counterparts, particularly in the work place, to avoid labels such as ghetto queen and vixen, as well as to deflect the eyes of white men from their butts, lips and hips. But, what about within our own communities and with our own men?


Do Black men dichotomize Black women in a similar fashion? The answer may be “yes.” In my experience, men rarely marry women they believe to be too sexy or sexual. Sexy women (women that appear sexual) are often labeled “whores ,” “loose” or “not wifey material” and women that appear less sexual are given the green light and consideration … But, can you judge a book by its cover? Now, I’m no fool and oftentimes you can call as spade a spade and if it walks and quacks like a duck, most times it’s a duck… But, what if it’s really a swan?


The characteristics that make a woman sexy span beyond that of the physical. There is intelligence, poise, speech, her walk, etc. And what Black men find physically attractive varies from here to the motherland. But, the question still remains: Can a woman be too sexy to marry?


Yes, this is why women, indeed Black women, make great strides to “act like a lady,” abide by sexual rules of conduct and conceal truths about their sexual past (See my earlier entry, “Lie… What Lie?”) They know that Black men can be very quick to judge and label and that if she wants a fair chance, she better hold back the truth, play the “good girl role” and play her part.


How does a duck walk? Meaning what do “overly sexual” women look like? Hmmm… well, let’s start with the dress. She may wear form fitting or revealing clothing. Have a “provocative” walk. Adorn herself with embellishments such as flashy jewelry of makeup, accessories that emphasize her physical beauty, and she may exemplify behaviors, such as speech, that can be deemed as flirtatious or brazen. Combine these traits, and you can build one sexy beast. She’s got the walk, the talk and the looks that make men look (sometimes stare) and even comment. But, does that make her a whore?


One of my favorite lines, a mantra in which I have come to live by, comes from the animated film, Who Framed Roger Rabbit. The film features one of my favorite TV and screen characters, Jessica Rabbit, the wife of the film’s title character, Roger. Jessica is a vixen, a buxom, red-head, in a skin tight green cocktail dress, with a sensual voice and a walk that warrants a saxophone as theme music. Yet she is the faithful wife of a goofy, rabbit. She utters the line after being accused of adultery, to which Mrs. Rabbit, in that sensual lounge-singer voice, responds… “I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way.” I love this line, because it is both comical, yet complex and begs the question… Are all sexy women bad, or are you just drawing them that way?


Sexy women are and should be considered wifey material. Gentlemen, how about you wait to hear a quack before you scream, “DUCK!” Some women love themselves, their bodies and their sexuality; and therefore, they look sexually appealing. But, this does NOT mean that they allow everyone to experience it. I understand that you want to respect your wife and for her to be respected. But, the most important thing is that she respects herself, and just because she’s sexy, this does not mean that she doesn’t. Grow some, and realize that other men can and will find your wife sexy. Be proud of it; because she is YOURS. Don’t punish her, love her and she will love you in return. She will remain faithful and you may see that the sexuality she eludes in public falls very short to what she’ll show you when you’re behind closed doors.

The Reason Why "Friends with Benefits" Fail

Ladies, does this sound familiar?

"Woman, why are you so damn crazy?"
"Did he just call me 'crazy'..."?


I’m crazy because I think about you constantly, so much that I find myself reciting your name, at the most awkward times, in public places, in front of complete strangers, which in turn makes them look at me… crazy.


I’m crazy because I compare every man to you and always deem them unworthy; therefore, I am lonely and have not been on a date in months. Yet, whenever we speak, you tell me about some chick you just met whose body was so damn… crazy.


I’m crazy because we’re just friends; but, I want more, you know it and don’t acknowledge it because to talk about it would be too much to handle right now and you’re life is already so damn… crazy.


I’m crazy because last night I made love, you had sex. I turned you out, just like I said I would, and now your all fucked up. We both see the tables are turning, and you’re catching feelings, damn, aint that so… crazy.


I’m crazy because I know you love me; but, just won’t say it. I push you, you pull away and tell me things ain’t that deep between us, knowing you’re lying… to both me and yourself. You’re shutting down. Now who’s that one that’s acting… crazy.


So now we’re here arguing because I want you, I need you, but, you don’t want me and I’ll never have you. Damn, we used to be so tight, such good friends. When we met, we connected so deeply, so strongly. The spark was so strong.

I guess it’s because crazy recognizes… crazy.

Addiction Anybody?/ A Response to the Celibacy Question

Are you Man-Obsessed?
1. You have been single, not dating, sexing or “talking” to a man for longer than 1 month and you feel like you might die.
2. You are single (meaning, without a man or potential mate) yet you already know the cut and design of your wedding gown.
3. When you go out for “girls night” with your friends, your soul purpose is to meet men.
4. You go to clubs and bars alone to meet men.
5. You have a “friend with benefits” that you secretly want to marry... Psst, its not a secret, everyone… including him… knows that you desperately want more. Sorry.
6. Almost EVERY conversation you have with your friends… male and female… starts with “What does it mean if he…,” “Why do men…” or “Niggas aint shit!”
7. You are successful, healthy and attractive; but, you find yourself constantly jealous of your married friends.
8. You date men that are totally below your dating standards.
9. You do not have any dating standards (but, of course you have a list for everything else).
10. Men ask you “Really? You’re interested in me?”
11. You own more than one dating book.
12. You avoid being seen with your nieces, nephews or God children in public for fear that Mr. Right, might think you have kids (because he’s out there looking for you… not!).
13. You created a blog about transitioning into your thirties and almost every article is about men, sex or dating 

I honestly can’t remember a time when I wasn’t completely, utterly and undeniably obsessed/ addicted to men. It’s like one day something clicked in my head, as if someone turned my internal television to MenTV, and then stole the remote. Since that day, almost everything I did, said and thought would revolve around the retrieval or maintenance of a relationship with a man.

Like I’ve said before, I started building my life around Mr. Right, my beacon of light, my Savior. With him, by my side, in front of me, hell… even behind me (a weak man is better than no man, right?) I could accomplish anything. But why?

Ok… So, I was an addict. Love was a drug. Men were the syringe and I was playing a losing game and unlike Charlie Sheen, I was not winning (neither is he… But, whatever). And at the point where you start comparing yourself to coked out celebs… you know it’s time to change. Change is hard and fighting a proverbial itch was even harder.

How was I to break this habit, fight my addiction and get sober?… Any addict knows that there has and always will be only one way… cold turkey.

Cold Turkey, meaning no more men. They all had to be cut off. Every crush, every ex and every booty call. They all had to go. A hard dose of honesty (In the form of a really great friend) told me that none of them were good for me. None of them really cared about and, ultimately, none of them deserved me. Furthermore, she went on to asked, why the hell was I keeping them around. I fought her on this…

“All of them? Even my friends (some with benefits) too?”
She replied yes, and then went on… “If they’re so important, then they’ll know your importance and come searching for you after just a week”.
“And if this happens, I can keep them?”
She looked at me maternally. “Sure sweetie, you can keep them.”
I’ll show her, they’ll come a knockin’ within a week. Hell, even a couple of days… God, I hope they do.

Cliché. Cliché. To this day, I have yet to hear from all but one. And cliché, cliché, he was the one I never slept with. Say it with me… “Cliché. Cliché”. Damn you, Steve Harvey.

After a week of moaning, crying and cursing, I realized that I had a whole lot of free time on my hands… Not necessarily physical time; but, more significantly mental time. Without all the man drama that I warranted, welcomed and created, I was able to think about more important stuff… like, who the hell I was and what the hell did I want out of life? I had more time to read and more importantly, to write.

Without men, my conversations changed. I no longer called my girlfriends just to talk about my potential boyfriends, and in turn, they stopped moaning so much about theirs. We started to connect on different levels, getting to know each other better, realizing that we had other common interests before we turned into man –hungry succubae. It was enlightening. Liberating. Rehab 101: Once an addict, always an addict. But, this doesn’t mean that your addiction has to control you. It is never too late for you to reclaim/ regain control.

And so with this, began my bout with celibacy. I say bout because, I don’t plan for this to last forever… God, I hope not. My short term goal is until I turn 30 (my wedding night is my long term goal). Hopefully, by then, I won’t be so clueless, I’ll have conquered my addiction, checked some things off of my “to do” list, and even gained a clearer sense of identity.

Loving Yourself (Part One)

Loving Yourself Outside-In

I love my body. I love the breadth of my shoulders, the curve of my hips, the contrast between the darkness of my areolas with the brown of my breasts, even the ’v’ shape my vagina makes between my legs. I love my body, and the powerful way it can command and illicit pleasure. Adoring my body has become a ritual, in that I take time sometimes seconds, other times minutes, to gaze upon its beauty. Loving and celebrating my physical has become a way in which I love and celebrate me.

However, I have recently realized that I have allowed social standards of beauty, unrealistic expectations and my own insecurities to pervert a ritual that in essence should be beautiful and relaxing. You see, each time I celebrate, I pose. Meaning, I suck in my “gut,” arch my back, raise my breasts and elongate my legs in a model pose. In my mind, looking at and loving her (my body) in this altered form, is so much easier, than loving her in her natural, relaxed state. But, there is no beauty in dishonesty. And truth cannot be found in that which is altered.

After this realization, I knew that I had to let go, relax my form, stand straight up, let go of the Tyra, circa 2002, pose and gaze upon God’s perfection… Well, the first time I tried this, I immediately, grabbed my towel and walked away.

“I’ll check again tomorrow.” I said. “After the gym… The ‘gut’ is always smoother after a run and a round of crunches.”

When was the last time you looked at yourself naked? Completely naked, in a full-length mirror, stomach full, skin dry, breasts low, eyes wide open? How long did it take for you to suck in your stomach, arch your back, critique yourself, cover up and walk away? Minutes or seconds? Time yourself. See how long it takes before you feel the burning judgment of being watched and judged by a jury of one. Seeing yourself in all its honesty, vulnerability, sexiness, ugliness and beauty can be both a liberating and a painful experience. Most times the latter precludes the former, in that we tend to embrace pain before pleasure, negativity before positivity.

Try it. See what you do, how long you can do it and how you feel afterwards. Then, the next day, try it again. Keep repeating this task until you find yourself so comfortable in your skin that you no longer feel “nude” at all. You feel “clothed” in that you find security and contentment while being in one of the most vulnerable positions imaginable. When this happens, you’ll realize that confidence can form from the outside-in, because embracing your physical, is a part of embracing your soul, which is a large part of embracing yourself as a whole.