What Becomes of Black Revolutionaries After They’ve Been Attacked by Cultural imperialism subtitle: WHAT IS SHE TO DO WITH THE TREMBLING BETWEEN HER THIGHS? written by mama khandi October 11, 49adm (2014) AUTHOR’S NOTE: For those of you who are familiar with my writings, you know that when i write about me personally, intimacy, erotica or kkkourt affidavits, i refer to myself in the third person. It is more comfortable for me there. Such is the case with this writing. It is one of my more therapeutic writings. i am writing it more for my own sanity than my more familiar writings which are for the purpose of the upliftment, elevation of consciousness of our people and for historic and information purposes. To the reader: i trust you enjoy it and something touches you deep within your soul, as that is the place from which this is written. Thanx, mama khandi She was asked if she were celibate. She replied, “NO.” She could not claim celibacy because she remembered the neknek n teriya she shared with her husband. She remembered. She fantacized.She masterbated like 90 going south. For him, her husband of 8 years, her thighs trembled at the thought of his touch. She remembered them bursting into hysterical laughter when they made love. She rememberes the first time they laid in each others arms remembering a previous incarnation together. She remembered. He was for her, an Ancestral gift. For him, she was his gift. She remembers sitting on his lap for the first time, fully clothed, on the steps in her home. He told her that being in her home was like being in Afrika. He is from Mauritania. Her home had a library instead of a living room. He loved her 8,000 books. He loved the Afrikan masks, carvings, drums, sekeres, Ancestral Voodoun dolls, the insence she burned and the lit candles of her prayers. He loved the Afrikan music that lofted throughout her home. His grandfather’s spirit and her aunt’s spirit had approved their union. Their Egun (ancestors) approved of them, together. What more could she ask for? It was nothing that he or she did wrong. Nothing. His english wasn’t that good but, it didn’t matter. They spoke through silence more than they did with words. The lovemaking, in neknek n teriya, spoke volumes for them both. The rise and fall of his chest in the arch of her back. The intensity in his eyes when he looked at her. Like he could see her soul. The tickle of his spirit when it entered her soul and pushed against the walls giving the sensation that she would expand endlessly without the thought of bursting. Whe he inhaled, her lungs swelled with air. They were One. She is the type of lover who enjoys the journey. She is an animated lover. She is expressive. She could be loud. As she types this, she has to laugh at that reflection. Unlike other lovers and husbands, other than the one whose spirit brought them together, he knew that her enjoyment of him did not necessarily mean she had had an orgasm. He knew. But how? She thought. She wondered if her husband’s spirit that she was married to for sixteen years before he died, had told him. The only other man with which she had shared neknek n teriya. He taught her how to have vaginal orgasms. Her orgasm is in her clitoris. Still was. Still is. Just because of this fine specimen of an Afrikan male, she now knew the joy of both orgasms. So, why would his spirit bring this other brother into her life? Because he saw her as he watched from Amenta (heaven), her pain, her longing, her emptiness without him. When she asked him, in one of their many spiritual connections, if he brought this other male to her, he said, “yes.” He said nothing more. So, as she lays beneath this husband who somehow knows that she is a enjoying journey traveler, she asks him, in her mind, “how do you know i didn’t have an orgasm?” And as if he were inside her mind, he said, “your body told me.” Wow. Had her body betrayed her? What had her body told him that few others knew? And again, as if he were inside her mind, he said, “they don’t know you. They don’t want to know you. Their penis is not for your pleasure, but rather for their own. Their penis and their ego are one. Their ego can not please you. Therefore, their penis is unwilling and incapable of giving to you what you give them. He instructed her to tell him her secrets. The secret to her orgasm. He instructed to be candid, honest, truthful and to leave out nothing. Tell me everything. i want to know you. Know every inch, length, and breath of you. Tell me.” It was as if he were hovering over her , in midair, touhing nothing, including her. Looking deeply into her eyes. Could he see inside of her? “yes, i see you beloved.” So she proceeded to do as instructed. She told him everything. She gave him the key to her orgasm. Something she had given few others. He listened. He payed close attention. As she spoke, she noted that he appeared to make mental notes and diagrams of her instructions. During the process of her sharing, he smiled, he wrinkled his brow, tweaked at the corners of his lips. And when she was done, looked deeply into her Being and then he touched her in a way that made her feel as though he touched her from head to toe. She could hear his prayer. As his lips moved her clitoral hood, she heard his prayers. As his tongue moved meticulously from one moment on her clitoris to another, she felt his prayer. Slow motion. It was as if her clitoris was HUGE. He prayed and moved on a space that was large. How did he make her large? She matched his prayers with ones of her own. Afrikan languages abounded in her bedroom. Prayers…. Hard clitoris…. Huge space. … Moans…. Tears trickled down her cheeks… He had listened. He knew her. He was patient. Previous lovers had asked her, “you done yet?” and just stopped. As if their orgasm was all that mattered. There were lovers and husbands with which she had never had an orgasm. His penis, was an Ancestral promise. Long, thick, energetic. He would use kama sutra body oils and lubricate her vaginal. Praying. Smiling. Touching. Massaging. Breathing deeply. The oils were not really necessary because the Khemetstry between them made her vaginal fluids flow like Afrikan rivers. She was moist, wet, juicy for him. Her vpubic areaaginal muscles were strong and when his penis began to enter her sacredness, her muscles pulled him in. He would sometimes pull back to massage her outer walls thoroughly before entering. She felt herself flowting beneath him. Prayers. Angels wings embracing their loving. He moved deeper inside of her. Deeper. And when she thought he could go no further, he found the pocket within her. Then he moved so slowly. She felt a paradigm shift within her. Time slowed down and hours passed but felt like intense movement. Gliding, flowing, sliding, shifting, flowing inside her. Like her hubby’s spirit that brought them together, he also could have an orgasm without losing his erection. She was amazed. As she types this, she is amazed in reflection. He stroked her with an intensity that made her breath non-existent. He was her breath. He gave as good as she gave. Her vaginal muscles squeezed his penis as if to beg him for his orgasm. “Please?” His response? “No.” They prayed together. Their loving was in rhythm with their prayers. Their visions came in tune with each pelvic thrust. They laughed at their Oneness. And in that Oneness, their orgasms exploded, together, at the same time. Amenta. Can the reader imagine this ritual of the physical expression of the Afrikan concept of love? Everytime they lay together? Everytime? Uh-huh. Everytime. That is why her thighs tremble as she writes this. Those bastards took him from her. When they took her son, home, good name, freedom, subsidies, resources, and everything, they took him from her. The state attacked her and brought fraudulent charges against and she sat in solitary confinement without him. Masterbation is no substitute for an Ancestral gift as her hubby. A very poor substitute. As if masterbation alone is not horror enough, her elders warned her 30 years ago that her body would reintroduce herself to her. That it won’t be a time to be without a hubby. And that her own hand would betray her. Its all true. Imagine no hubby and your body is wired for sound. Deserve mode and Karmic credit are over rated without a hubby to fulfill her. Now she sits here alone, in the dark, without him. Six years without a hubby. No brother has stepped up to the plate. Many have apologized for their cowardliness. “We apologize. “ “They should have never gotten their hands on you. “ “We dropped the ball inn this one.” “It’s brothers like me who left you to face a wicked system alone.” In the final analysis, she sits, here, alone, in the dark, blind, alone. Alone. Did she say “alone?” …sigh… She wonders why no brother, especially those who know the quality of her character, the extent of her sacrifice, the love she has for her people and her life she almost gave for our people. She wonders, why no brother is willing to love her. She sits here. Alone. Typing this. With her throbbing clitoris for comfort. https://youtube/watch?v=fZaN5Vj9TN0&index=8&list=PL69267790E870EB4C
Posted on: Sun, 12 Oct 2014 00:55:40 +0000
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