Community & World Issues

If you think you appreciate the Black Man more than ya Gyrl step up and make yourself known. Nothing takes the place of a man blessed in hues ranging from Honey to Onyx. Every color of a chocolate swirl for a woman’s enjoyment. My personal favorite, white teeth contrast on midnight skin presenting a smile so confident and sexy; my mind wanders off to fantasy land. No other man can go from Hood to Corporate and back to Hood in a matter of seconds. No other man but a Black Man can take the ordinary or mundane and elevate it to a class of cool just from his presence alone. The Black Man is intimidating, powerful, gentle, smart, charming, and silent. His silence is not his weakness but his strength. His energy introduces him before his mouth does. This is the only man who, I can say beyond the shadow of doubt, has my back. He will protect his fellow man to a fault. His family will never be without and by any means necessary he will do what he has to do to get what he needs to get. Only my Black men know how a sista’ longs to be touched and how she yearns for him so much. I yearn for Him soo much. Nothing is more beautiful than a black penis attached to a man who fully knows how to use it to tease me, please me, dominate me and make me do shit I thought I could never reason with. When a Black Man is talking sexy in my ear, I have complete trust that from first thrust to last I will be in my happy place, exhaled with a grin on my face. Thank you Black Men. You hold us up, fortify our spirits, defend our honor, and proudly carry us on your shoulders. I love you all!

Ladies if you love them too, you know what to do…Holla at ya Gyrl !

Godspeed ~ Latoya

I come from an average family growing up like many of my fellow Americans. My mother and father divorced when I was about 7 yrs old and my mother gained the primary responsibility of raising myself and my older sister (I have a little sister too, but she came 10 yrs later). Although my parents were hard workers, I often watched my mother struggle to make ends meet. I can vividly recount many times coming home from school and telling my mother how starved I was.
“Did you look in the cabinets? It’s some can food in there. We still have some left over dinner from last night.” She would offer.
“I don’t want that!” I would say.
Cool as a cucumber she would shrug her shoulders and say, “then you not hungry, because if you were truly starved you would eat whatever food is available.” With that said she would go about her day and keep it moving. I wanted a hamburger and french-fries, pizza or some kind of fast food. I always questioned why I couldn’t get name brand shoes, clothes, jewelry, my own room, more lunch money so I can stop at the store after school. The list went on and on. My mamma made it crystal clear we did not have money for that kind of stuff. I grew up always feeling we were poor wondering what it would be like to walk in the shoes of my many friends who seemed to have everything.
As I became older and more exposed to the world I realized I was never poor or poverty stricken, just Materially Deprived. The word “Poverty” suggest being destitute or unable to be provided with food, clothing, and shelter. None of that applied to me. I may not have had the latest and greatest fashions or lived huge home, but my mamma and my dad made sure the necessities were provided without question. I began working at 16 yrs old and my Dad gave me my first car, a 1977 Chevrolet Nova (my first bucket).
Fast forward today, I admit guilt of not allowing my children the opportunity to be Materially Deprived. They have the latest and greatest “things” thanks to their father and do not expect to have to do much but wake up, and get good grades. Being Materially Deprived allowed my sister and me to be creative and use our imagination. For me, I spent most of my time as a child writing, reading, and playing outside (an activity that has almost become extinct) while my sister took to designing and making the clothes my mamma refused to buy for us. My sister and I fought all the time, but were able to resolve our problems through communicating. No email, text messaging, or cell phones to distract us. No Xbox or Play Station to vegetate our brains, just good old fashioned talking.
Did you grow up Materially Deprived? If so, what effect has it had on how you raise your children? I want to hear your story,
Holla at ya Gyrl !