The Guide To Becoming The Sensuous Black Woman
(And Drive Your Man Wild In And Out Of Bed)
by "Miss T."
Available in bookstores December 2005
Excerpt
What is a Sensuous Black Woman?
Am I beautiful? No? My nose is a little bit to big. My lips are a little to thin. My butt is a little to narrow. But when I walk into a room I’m often thought to be stunning. I’m the woman who men take one look at and start drooling.
It’s not just the way I dress, although, girlfriends, I dress to kill. When I go to work I wear off the rack clothing, bought from Bloomingdale’s, Saks Fifth Avenue, and Lord and Taylor. When I go out on the town I wear custom made gowns and jewelry from Tiffany’s. My hair is always fierce, and if I don’t feel like doing my make-up myself, I have a licensed cosmetologist come to my home and do it for me. Uh-huh, I dress to kill. But it’s not clothes that make this woman.
It’s my attitude.
It’s the way I carry myself.
It’s my sensuality.
My highly tuned sensuality means I’m great at sex (actually I’m fantastic!), but it also means so much more. Sensuality is fully experiencing life through awareness, presence and the exploration of your senses.
When I eat I don’t’ just gobble up my food, I take my time and savor the taste. When I catch a whiff of a fragrance I close my eyes and let it take me away. When I touch, I delight in the texture beneath my fingers. And when I am touched, anywhere on my body, I feel it all the way through to my soul, and I uninhibitedly respond.
People can merely look at me and tell I am in tune with my senses, my sexuality, my desires, my being, and I’m not only comfortable with my senses, I revel in them. I am a sensual being. I am The Sensuous Black Woman.
And it simply drives men wild.
Wild enough that by the time I was twenty-one two different men had bought me cars for my birthday. By the time I was twenty-five I had enough diamond jewelry to make Marie Antoinette jealous. By the time I was thirty I had taken trips to ten different foreign countries. Men don’t just do this because I’m great in bed, but because they want to spend every waking moment with me. By just allowing them to be with me I satisfy all of their desires, in and out of bed. Do I sound conceited? I’m just being honest. By way of proof of this fact, I’ve had more marriage proposals than I’ll even bother to recount. And not just from the around-the-way guys, but from doctors, lawyers, architects, rap stars, and Wall Street brokers.
Not bad for girl from the South Bronx, huh?
I’m not the first Sensuous Black Woman. The Queen of Sheba had King Solomon writing songs about her back in Biblical times. Other Sensuous Black Women include Cleopatra (sensual enough to drive both Julius Caesar and Mark Anthony crazy), Josephine Baker (ever seen a picture of her doing the Banana Dance? Ooh la la!), Lena Horne (she can give lessons on how to wear a mink stole with bare shoulders), Eartha Kitt (oh how she purrs!), Aliyah (she's timeless!), Vanessa Williams (whether you argue she’s “black enough” or not, she’s still black, and sensual as hell. I claim her!) and Beyonce (it’s not just her big booty, it's how she uses it, honey!).
In fact, I’d go so far as to say that no woman has more capacity for sensuality than a black woman. It’s evidenced by the sensual sway of our hips as we walk, the way music just naturally makes us move, our natural compassion for people we perceive as less fortunate than ourselves. It’s just that sometimes with the crap we have to deal with living in a country that has always put us down we sometimes find it hard to accept ourselves as sensual beings. Can you believe that the Miss America contest went forty-nine years before a black woman was able to compete? And fifty-four years before a black woman actually won the contest?
Which reminds me, this might be a good time to talk about the difference between a Beautiful Black Woman and a Sensuous Black Woman. Vanessa Williams, the dethroned 1984 Miss America is sensuous. Suzette Charles, the black woman who ascended to the throne after Miss Williams, was beautiful, but not sensuous. She is pretty as all hell, but just didn’t have that “it” thing going for her that makes a woman a Sensuous Black Woman. Halle Berry is probably one of the most beautiful black women in the world, but I can’t give to her as far as sensuality. Both women make men go “ahhh”, but they don’t have that special thing that would make a man do anything in the world to be with them. They don’t have the awareness of themselves, or the very apparent confidence in themselves, to be considered a Sensuous Black Woman.
And I’ll also take the time to talk about the difference between sexy and sensuous. You can be sexy but not sensuous, but it’s impossible to be sensuous without being sexy. For instance, Lil Kim is sexy as all hell. As one male friend of mine put it, “You know she’s a freak in bed. I’d like to take her home and fuck her until she bleeds.” Okay, a bit crass, but you catch the drift. Eve, on the other hand, is a sensuous black woman. The type of woman a man wants to escort to an awards celebration, wine and dine her afterward, take her home for a night of alternating fucking and love-making, and than have breakfast with in the morning.
No, it’s not just sex that makes a woman sensual.
Back in days of old, French courtesans and Japanese geisha girls were considered the most sexually talented women in the world, but they were so much more than that. They were gracious and graceful, well-read and well-spoken, intelligent and attentive; all necessary qualities of a sensuous woman. The one quality they also possessed that I just can’t get with was their subservience, if that can be called a quality. Personally, I speak my mind, although I try not to be rude while doing so. And I’ve found that most men whom I want to be around, and whom I would allow to be around me, enjoy my outspokenness. Smart men don’t want stupid puppets.
Was I always The Sensuous Black Woman? I believe that innately all black women are, but I didn’t fully realize my potential until I was in my late teens.
I had just broken up with my boyfriend and was sitting in front to the television eating a pint of pistachio ice cream, crying my eyes out between spoonfuls. I had been with James for six months and in the time he’d been through both my savings and checking accounts, stolen my VCR and screwed my best friend. And then after all that, he dumped me!
And I was stupid enough to be worrying about what was wrong with me. What had I done wrong that this man whom I worshipped would leave me?
Was I stupid or what?
One of those “Calgon, take me away” commercials came on, and I put down the empty container of ice cream and went into the bathroom. Damn, if I didn’t need something to take me away, you know? I didn’t have any Calgon, but I did have some bath salts someone had given me for Christmas the year before. I dumped the whole bottle in the tub. Would you believe just as I got ready to jump in, the light bulb blew? And of course I didn’t have any more light bulbs. So, I dug out some scented votive candles that someone else had given me for another Christmas, lit two, and hopped into the bath. I just lay there, partially submerged in the tub for about five minutes, still sniffling and feeling sorry for myself. Then I started feeling a tingly sensation around my breasts and between my legs. I didn’t know when I had dumped the bath salts in the tub, but they were actually effervescent mineral bath crystals, and they were doing their thing, fizzing and popping and popping and fizzing.
I’d never been one for masturbating, and truth be told what I had called masturbating was simply rubbing my poor clit raw whenever I read a hot section in a sexy book. But that day my hand started doing some wandering.
It started innocently enough. It was warm in the bathroom, and with the heat from the hot water in the tub my face had begun to lightly perspire. After I wiped my brow I let my hand slowly trail down my cheek, then my throat and then between my breasts. It lingered there for a moment, then, as if my hand had a mind of it’s own, I found I was cupping my left breast. My nipples were harder than they’d ever been when I was with James. My fingers twirled around them for a moment, and then my other hand started trailing down my stomach past my navel, and suddenly I found myself gently raking my fingernails through my pubic hair with one hand, while squeezing and softly pinching my nipples with the other. And the strangest thing was that I wasn’t fantasizing about anyone or thinking about anything erotic or sexual while I was doing this. I was just feeling good, and allowing myself to make me feel even better.
I finally let my fingers travel further down, and I opened my legs wider and parted the lips to my vagina, and in doing so gave those wonderful effervescent crystals more access to the most sensitive spots on my body. Oh it was heaven! Instead of starting at the top of my clitoris, I moved my fingers to my slit, though I didn’t enter my vagina. I moved my fingers up through the crevice of my clitoris so that my hood was fully open. I hesitated for just a moment and took a deep breath, then I simply touched my fully exposed love button with one finger, and I started cumming. It was like nothing I had ever felt. I didn’t have violent spasms, and I wasn’t wildly gyrating or screaming or holding back screams, the way I usually do during orgasms. This was different. Almost serene. It was like my body was giving out the most deep, relaxing and enjoyable sigh. Even after it was over, I could still feel that warm sensation.
I lay in the tub for another ten minutes before I finally dragged myself out and dried myself off. I noticed that I was more aware of the fluffiness of the towel that I had ever been before, and I realized it was because I wasn’t roughly rubbing myself with the terry cloth, but more so caressing my skin with it. I was pampering myself. And I liked it.
Needless to say I took another bath the next evening, and even though I had already put in a new light bulb, I turned off the light and instead of using two candles I had five. And this time I added music – a mixed tape featuring an assortment of light jazz and love songs. Same result, honey.
The following evening I added rose petals to the water along with the mineral bath crystals, and sipped a glass of champagne while relaxing in the tub. That night I didn’t touch myself, but I still got out of the tub feeling warm and sensuous. I walked into the bedroom, naked, and looked at myself in my full-length mirror. For the first time that I could remember in a long time, I looked at myself with admiration rather than a critical eye. What a beautiful woman there was in the reflection smiling back at me. I wondered why I never noticed that before. Why had I always dwelt on my physical shortcomings? I vowed I would never put myself down again, and I would certainly never let any man make me feel bad. To hell with James. He should be worshipping at my feet, I decided. Come to think of it, I thought as I twirled my naked body in the mirror, so should every man.
Right then and there, a sensuous black woman came to be.
It took some studying, some observation, and a lot of trial and error, but it wasn’t long before I was driving men wild, in and out of bed.
And as you read my little book you’ll see how you can, too.