by Tiana Laveen
Loud whistles and deafening applause erupted from the crowd…
“Keep that fire roaring! Sometimes she needs you to shock her, to tell her all the things you will do to her in explicit detail. Tell her how beautiful her damn tits are… tell her how soft her lips are… tell her how you love the musky, sweet scent of her warm pussy… tell her how you want to taste her ass and fuck that puckered star with the tip of your tongue but most importantly, tell that woman how much you love her. She needs surprises, she needs fun, she needs sensuality and love in that bedroom. If you aren’t laughing sometimes, you’re doing it wrong. If she isn’t clawing at the sheets on occasion, you’re doing it wrong. If she isn’t screaming your name, you’re doing it wrong. If you stop fucking her in mid-thrust and she doesn’t look at you like she will kill you if you don’t start fucking her again, you’re doing it wrong. I hate to break it to you, but most of the shit you’ve been taught on how to keep your woman sexually happy is wrong.
“What? You know what we heard … be nice, talk sweetly, beg. Fuck that shit. I’m a goddamn man!” The crowd went wild. “That is the type of shit that will get that woman to look at you and smile and think, ‘awww, he’s so sweet’ but then she’ll be sitting around fantasizing about Darryl blowin’ her goddamn back out and tearing that pussy out the goddamn frame!” Men jumped to their feet, whistling. “We have these strange ideas and we have them because they are generational curses. Of course, women want to be treated with respect, but when it comes to turning her on, to making her cum, she wants you to own that shit! If you are speaking softly all the time and giving her a gentle little massage, then saying, ‘Uh … well uh, did uh … you wanna fool around?’ she might say, ‘Yeah’—but you are not going to get the fireworks and staying power you desire. Each time you are inside of her, you want to make an impression. You want to be memorable. It’s quality over quantity.
“Well, for me,” he said with a smirk, “it’s both. I want it all the time and I want the shit to be fire, but this isn’t about me. It’s about you and the tools you need to protect the womb, own the womb, respect the womb, and in return receive reverence from the womb. Love is a cycle. Sex is a cycle. It’s all built on the back of mathematics. Don’t believe me? Everything, even our love lives, is a damn equation. It’s a numbers game. How many times have you told her you loved her? What are her hot spots? Name and count them and build up tempo … tempo is what?”
“Rhythm!” many called out in sync.
“Yes, rhythm, and rhythm is based on a beat, like moving your hips to a beat when you’re having intercourse, right?” He began to clap his hands, and the audience followed suit. “You hear that? You’re keeping up; you’re matching my tempo. That’s sex … that’s lovemaking, that’s balance. In and out, in and out, your strokes are on time. Pace … speeding up, slowing down. Math. It’s a dance. An orgasm is the result of repetitive motion, which is a pattern and a calculation of predictability. It’s a buildup; it is following a specific arrangement, reverberation. Patterns and duplication are mathematics!”
He suddenly stopped clapping, forcing the men before him to follow suit. “Her cycle is mathematics. Conception is mathematics! Your ejaculation is mathematics! And if you miss the mark, then something isn’t adding up! Own your truth, divide it by love and stop makin’ shit so hard! Look to her for the answers that evade you. The way she walks tells you how she wants it. Is she walking slow, like she’s tired? Then go easy on her. Is she walking fast, like she’s anxious and has too much to do? Fuck her ass to sleep! She needs a good nap, goddamn it! Go hard and put it on her so balls deep that when she wakes up, she still feels like you are ramming that cock in her but you’ve already showered, ate dinner, and almost finished watching a movie!” Applause erupted.
“Her movements tell her secrets. Her eyes tell no lies. Watch her cycles. Do the math, men. Protect her womb, and the fruit that comes from it. Protect her from her enemies and she will wash away your sins. She is designed for you, and you for her.” His heart beat fast within him, but his words softened to almost a whisper. “Queens are made in such a way that if the woman of your desire strips down and walks past you, you will look. You’ve seen her naked a million times, but your desire for her still exists. It’s in our programming, we can’t help it, and we owe no apologies for it. She takes her clothes off, we crane our neck, we see her in the buff, we get hard. Period. That involves no sweet nothings. That is primitive, the prequel to straight up fucking.
“If we’re not having sex, not making love, our body still wants to fuck. Period. Fucking is aggressive, it is urgent, it is needy, it is sexy, it is foul, it is earthy, it is real, it is connecting, it is fun, it is magical, it is primal, it is feral, it is man, it is woman, it is womb, it is sin, it is salvation, it is balance, it is an expression of the King and Queen’s love—and ain’t shit anyone can do about it but respect you all’s authority!” The audience jumped to their feet as the room erupted in thunderous applause. “The same way you got that woman to fall for you is the same way you keep her. She didn’t know everything about you—you were exciting. You appeared confident, even if you didn’t believe you were. You tried your best. Women like men to be upfront, fellas. Alphas don’t beg for pussy. We just don’t. One thing I did consistently, even in my womanizing days, was be frank and upfront. I got slapped a few times, but those women remembered me nevertheless.” He chuckled.
“I would tell a woman that she was beautiful, and that I wanted to take her to a hotel and fuck her. I wouldn’t smile. I would stand there and just look at her. Sometimes I’d get cussed out. But you know what? Some of those same women that were so damn offended would look me up, because I always made sure to say my name right after hello. Since my name is unusual, they could easily find my contact info, and I’d be balls deep in them before the week had ended.
“Now, what does that truly say? It says that women are repressing their sexual urges and responses due to societal norms. Can you now see our civilization is purposefully killing femininity and trying to redefine it? Society is disrupting balance between men and women. Society tells them that men that talk to them how I was speaking are bad people. Sometimes that’s true, sometimes it’s not, but it’s all about objectives and motives, men. I wanted to fuck. I didn’t want a relationship. So, my strategy worked. If you want a relationship, then you have to mix direct and indirect approaches. I’ve been teaching that for a mighty long time. Some so-called relationship coaches and sex therapists ascribe to one or the other approach. No, it’s a combination of both. Which one you use depends on the woman, where you are at, and the time you have to spend on the situation.
“Every woman is different, but the method that seems to work best across the board is to initially introduce yourself, be confident, smile, make eye contact, ask a simple question or two, then exchange numbers. As soon as you get her out on that first date, you begin to slowly let that curtain down. No lies, but a simmering reveal.
“What you’re trying to do is keep her interest and being honest. Though she may pretend to be offended, her body, gentlemen, will be responding to you regardless. True femininity is receptive to male aggression. Not male violence, not male abuse, no; I am talking about natural male aggression when we are in hot pursuit. Femininity is receptive to male dominance. Women are fighting their true nature due to the way our society operates. As men, we are forced to be docile and watered down, due to how our culture functions as well, and we are both miserable because of it. We hide behind religion and these strange Puritan rules, yet we still have some of the highest rates of rape and molestation in the land for a first world country. Just look at the evening news! We’ve got droves of women coming out declaring they’ve been sexually harassed by A-List movie producers and actors. Priests and ministers are being busted for running sex rings with minors! Do you see what’s happening here? Sexual repression of expression leads to sexual deviancy, mental illness, warped sexual expectations, and carnal abnormalities. When you r
emove the stigma, you lessen the chances of these occurrences.
“My wife is a perfect example of this. I’ve told this story a few times so I am sure she doesn’t mind. When I first met Xenia, she was against interracial dating as a whole. Our very first interaction involved a rather heated argument, part of which was captured on air. I didn’t appreciate her attitude, and she didn’t appreciate mine. I knew, regardless, that she and I had crazy chemistry. I was very much physically attracted to her—it was magnetic. I liked her voice, her body, her hair, the way she moved.
“I decided to make a motion like I was performing oral sex on her. Putting my fingers up to my lips in a ‘V’ formation, I stuck my tongue between them. Childish, but she deserved it.” The crowd erupted in laughter. “I know.” Saint smiled. “I don’t recommend that. I was going a bit overboard but I didn’t like something in particular she had said and I wanted her to be offended, because she, to me, had crossed the line. I wanted to shock her, upset her, make her irate. The funny thing though, despite my being upset, I meant what I’d said to her. Again, I don’t recommend this technique because it was partially based on anger. Whenever you pursue a woman, anger should not be the fuel to reach your destination. Some say but yeah, ‘You got the girl.’ I didn’t actually get her, if you will, until a second encounter when I got to make a more favorable impression. Back to what happened though.
“The oral sex thing … you know, me sticking my tongue out of my mouth and waving it, was me letting her know that I wanted to taste her because…” He shrugged. “Because I just did. I wanted to be nose deep in that pussy. I wanted to wrap my lips around her clit, slide my finger inside of her and lap up her juices in a single bound. Xenia was known in the entertainment industry as sophisticated, engaging, intelligent, and funny on air. Who in the hell did I think I was to walk into her studio and say these crude things to her? I was supposed to be educated, right?
“I have a PhD, several degrees in fact. That’s why people refer to me as Dr. Saint Aknaten. I had my own sex therapy practice right here in New York City. I can be articulate when I fuckin’ feel like it. I’ve travelled the planet, studied under some of the most esteemed sex therapists in the world, and there I was, letting this woman know that I was the wrong one to fuck with, that she wasn’t going to talk to me that way any longer, and that I wanted her ass on a platter … to eat, not to beat.
“And it wasn’t just the physical. It was something about her that called to me. The argument got my blood pumping. I’ve argued with plenty of women,” he said with a grin. “It comes with the territory, but this was mixed with desire, attraction, and a subject matter that was near and dear to my heart. I also knew deep down that my wife was full of shit.” The crowd roared with laughter. “She wasn’t staunchly against interracial dating and relationships. She was afraid of interracial dating and relationships, and fellas, there is a big difference. This is the case with many Black Queens, especially here in America. They don’t believe they can be pro-Black and still fall in love with a man who isn’t Black. They will deny themselves promising opportunities, all to prove to family, friends, and random strangers that they are down for the cause.” He raised his fist in the air and pumped it.
“My wife was a mentor. People looked up to her. The fact that she was intrigued by me and attracted to me made her anxious. She was afraid of what she was feeling, because then she’d have to question and examine herself, her beliefs, everything she stood for.” He snapped his fingers. “I could instantly see the concern in her eyes. I’ve been doin’ this too long, fellas. I know that look. She wasn’t smiling or flirting, but she was holding my gaze way too long and then trying to avert eye contact. She was toying with her hair, moving her body in ways that signaled attraction. And she knew it was mutual. This scared the shit outta her, all because I was the wrong color. I was aggressive. I was intelligent. I was flirting with her. I was arguing with her. And I wanted her—I wanted her bad. She’d read my books; she knew what I was about. It was no secret. My reputation preceded me. She was threatened by me. She and I later talked about this after we got into a relationship, but she admitted to me that she knew she’d see me again after that first interview that had ended so badly. And she knew I was going to try and take her out, that I was coming for her. I’m a hunter. I see something I want, and I go after it. That’s with everything in life.
“It’s not ego, gentlemen. It’s just me being fully aware of myself, knowing my weaknesses and strengths. Xenia made me work for it, something I enjoyed doing, but rarely ever had to do. She made me chase her. And as I did this, I didn’t use fake flattery or manipulation. I used the truth and romance. That’s balance, men… The truth is how you achieve balance. The truth, in all of its jagged edges and ugliness, is how you keep that flame burning.
“I wined and dined her in a park late at night, and I told her I wanted to take her to my hotel and make love to her. Period.” He tossed up his hands. “I didn’t try to be sly about it. Because see, fellas, there is no sense in trying to be something or someone you’re not. If we take the games out of courting, everyone would be so much happier. The woman knows that, regardless of what comes out of your mouth, you are talking to her at that bar because you want to fuck. You may want a relationship too, but you want sex to go on in that relationship and you want it to happen sooner rather than later.
“That woman wants someone to take her out, someone to chill with, someone to be romantic with her and listen to her, and she wants someone to fuck her, and fuck her good, too! So, stop with this bullshit! The real you will eventually show up anyway; that’s why I am so staunchly against men and women playing games in this arena and bringing forth an imposter, a mere fraction of their true selves. If you want to fuck, say so. If you want a relationship, say that, too. I wanted both by the time I met my wife, and that’s what I told her. This was not going to be one of my many conquests. This was someone I was trying to put my mark on and keep. This was someone I was trying to get to know and make her my number one.
“Sex is an expression, family. It’s a way to communicate with your woman. If most women want a man to tell them, directly or not, if they are interested in settling down, why wouldn’t they also want a man to directly tell them everything else? Why do we believe that it’s different if it involves sex? It doesn’t! The same rules apply. Tell. The. Damn. Truth!
“When you make love and fuck your woman, mix it up, create an unpredictable sequence. You do that just enough to keep her wondering, you see? When you are your most confident, have a bit of mystery to you, that’s what will stick out in her mind. Being able to keep the balance in your relationship, demonstrating confidence in yourself, is what turns women on because it looks like you know what the fuck you’re doing. Stop standing around being envious of the guy who gets all the chicks. Become better than him, today!” The room erupted in applause. “This is not to say your woman doesn’t like the slow, sensual stuff, too. Of course she does, but that primal need in us to dominate and be dominated will always want to be heard and satisfied.
“When we try to ignore this need, we can become inhibited or, worse yet, deviants. For example, we can become addicted to pornography to the point that we have to see it in order to become aroused or we have false pretenses about how women and men look physically without all the fancy camera angles and airbrushing. It can warp how we respond and behave sexually, too. We’re not spray-painted. Our sighs, words and moans aren’t always pretty; they’re natural, primal, and blossoming, too. Our facial expressions during the pinnacle of orgasm are seldom gorgeous. Porn can be a very useful tool in helping couples with their sexual needs and challenges. But when you need the porn to get wet or get it up, that’s when things have gone awry. Taking your time with a woman, learning her body, is beautiful and necessary. Just like you need to study your enemies, you need to study your best friend, too. The Queen is what?”
“Our best friend!” many in the crowd roared.
“That’s rig
ht, Kings. The tickle of your touch on her navel … a slow tongue down her shoulder. A short, sweet kiss. All of that fits, too. It’s about balance, fellas. It’s about surprises. Never let her see you coming. Make her feel sad when you are going. Never let her be able to predict if she is getting made love to or fucked that night. Keep her on her toes.
“Keep your enemies on their toes – enemies try to wreak havoc in your happy home, disturb your peace. You see how this is all tied together now? We’re at the finish line, boys! We started from the womb and came right back to it. The womb is just what I said it was. The beginning, the middle, and the end. Life began there, life goes on there, and life will end there. It’s the cradle of mathematics, and we are made up of the final sum. Take away the womb, and life no longer exists.
“Hate your God given masculine energy? Then you have been disemboweled and spiritually neutered. Hate the Black woman, pity yourself, whine and moan, and complain about being some victim due to her existence? Do that if you want, but just know that you’re the walking dead. Why? Because you are hating life. Life is in her eyes, her smile, and her what?”
“Her womb!”
