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When you get the “right” black woman, do you know how lucky you are? Count yourself among the truly blessed, my friend, and hold her tight. Not necessarily physically, unless the moment suggests, but hold her close to your heart. The prerequisite for this it to have a pure open heart yourself so she will want to look at the attraction and feel its warmth. Women love beauty and if your heart is such, she will hover around it like a butterfly to its favorite flower. Oh, “too mushy” you say? Quite the opposite, my hyper masculine homie.
Do you know the strength and power it takes to battle the world with full body armor on, fighting a system that has deemed you a threat since your inception? Navigating through an economy run by methods and minds you understand only enough to keep the bills paid? The power to push through burdensome perceptions, problems and traffic, come home, drop your coat and mental baggage by the door, look your queen in the eye realizing she is not part of the problem but your fellow sister soldier in a war and hold her tight, allowing the sweet smell of her face and hair to replace the oil and smog of the outside world and start to massage the knots out of your mind? The soft flowing roundness of all that is her temple for you to enter and share, the only real friend you have in this world. It takes power and intelligence to know when your heart is safe to open wide, or when you are in the presence of enemies so it will lock it tight and be surrounded with steel spikes and a land mine that explodes through your strategic savvy, or your fists if necessary. Sad to say many men lack this power. They are either too soft, bowing or scraping at women’s feet, screaming shit like, “The black woman is god,” or treating her like she is a second-rate bitch against all other nationalities. Weak men run to one side or the other, but powerful men stand in the middle and extract what’s applicable from either side at the right time with the right damn people.
Telling her she is “god” is a new age undercover pimp tactic. Do these people even know what “god” means? Do we even know it’s a German word that has about six different meanings, from invocation to almost anything worshiped? Do we even know most of the words we speak are Germanic, that we are dark people speaking German language most of the time, practicing German culture, eating German cuisine; but I digress back to the right black woman.
Can you see her? When you talk to her, the power of her intuition is thick in the air. As you speak, the chauvinistic tendency to capture her mind for your bidding creeps into your rhetoric, and hearing this, her eyes squint slightly. Seconds later you realize she’s looking through you, not at you. In that instant you drop the player swag and return to a more pure, respectful dialogue as her mouth opens slightly and her tongue rolls along the lower inside of her bottom lip, a visual warning that further underestimation of her intelligence will not bode well for you. You lean back with a sly smile, impressed at the power of this beauty, versed in spotting “drag” since her early teens, a power necessary to fend off the instinct-driven male advances that smell the sweet fragrance of her developing body.
You think she doesn’t know you because she has never seen your particular face before, my man, but she knows you. The right black woman has a power you experience once, and shortly thereafter you find yourself converted from a “mack” to a devoted man, who, for the first time, can look at another woman and barley notice her attractiveness, no matter how “fine” she is because the right black woman has touched, caressed, and whispered words and sexual hisses into your ears, mind and body that supersede the value of stray eye-candy by country miles. Things she has done jump into your brain sporadically throughout the day, manifesting as spontaneous “chuckles” and semi-erections. This woman doesn’t just feed your body, she feeds your mind and heart; the place that brings her close to love you. She feeds the things that instructs the mind on how to love and appreciate her. When the right black woman touches that, it a wrap for the mack.