Imani Wisdom's brainchild -- Pink Noire Publications -- has been known for her unpredictable style of storytelling. Now its founder is expanding the "pink and black" brand to shine on prolific artists. From the inspirationalist, Danica Worthy to bestselling author, Stacy Deanne, Pink Noire understand these talented individuals know how to express their craft through words, song, dance, and stroke of a brush.

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I woke to a darkened room as my eyes met to an empty ceiling. The traffic lights from a nearby window temporarily brightened the room from each passing car.  “What happened” I asked myself while lying on the floor near the bed. I carefully got up, holding the side of the head as if I was trying to control the room from spinning.

After shaking the grogginess, my eyes adjusted to a disheveled room.  Clothes were spilled from the closet, leaving a trail of dysfunction to the dresser, the nightstand, and bed.  While tiptoeing over pile, I saw broken glass shattered into fine pieces as another passing car light created a minute shimmering reflection. “What the…” I gasped. 

I sat on the bed in befuddlement, trying to figure what could have caused this mess.  Then I stared at the cracks of the broken mirror on the dresser as another car headlight passed and I quickly saw my image.  My appearance seemed as if I let life defeat me.  The teal blouse I bought a few years ago still remained crisp, except for a few wrinkles.  Then another set of headlights drove pass, and I caught a glimpse of my eye makeup smudged with lingering black tears of mascara.  Something had happened in this room, but what?

With growing curiosity, I widen my eyes among the darkness to help conjure a memory to this mystery.  The darkened gloom obscured my vision, but I knew where everything stood—the simple paintings, the plasma television, and even the alarm clock, which surprisingly was not working. It was dark just like the room. The only thing felt tangible was a cute pink chain that sat around my wrist with dangling trinkets. I cracked a smile with a sudden memory. It was given to me by my six year old daughter, Renee. “I will wear this forever, sweetie” I remembered.

After thinking of my babygirl, I got up to feel my way through the murky room toward the hallway.  It was just as dark as my bedroom.  As a matter of fact, the whole house was in total darkness.  Unlike anything I’ve seen.  We always kept at least one light on downstairs, and another one upstairs. “Maybe the power is out” I wondered as I made my way to Renee’s door. I creped the door open to discover the first light I’ve seen since waking up.  It came from outdoors of a street light blaring through the blinds. The neighboring light echoed beautifully against Renee’s mahogany round face, sleeping peacefully without a care in the world. I couldn’t disturb her slumber, so I tiptoed back to the hallway and stood on top of the stairs to force a new memory. “Let’s see” I carefully thought, “I woke up next to the bed to a ransacked room.  Maybe I misplaced something that could be why the clothes are scattered everywhere”.  Yet, I couldn’t explain the broken mirror. 

To ease this odd situation, I marched to the door of my bedroom to get answers. My hand felt around the wall near the door frame to find the light switch—but before my fingers touched the outlet—I heard the door slamming shut downstairs. Then a face had instantly had came to pass.  The only person who could have come home at that hour was my husband, Jerry.

“Ashley” he shouted, “I’m home”.

Out of the seven years of our marriage, I’ve never been so happy to hear the sound of his voice. I ran down the stairs hoping to rush in his arms.  “Baby, you’re home” I cheered.

The mystery of the lights were finally solved, they were on shining on top of his low faded haircut.  Jerry sat inside the kitchen at our three seat dining table, resting his scruffy five-o’clock shadow against the palm of hand. He sighed as if his day were long and tiring. “Ashley” he called out again, “You hear me…I’m home”.

“Jerry, I’m here” I answered with a reliving smile.  I couldn’t help but to smile with glee as I noticed how handsome he looked. It seemed as if he never lost his bedazzling charm since the night we’ve met at an off-school college party. My husband set his eyes on being an Architect, and I was this young, ambitious nursing student. He said to this date that it was love at first sight—and I believe it.  I fell hard in love with him too. This man wasn’t the best looking one among the party-goers, but it was something about him that had put a spring in my heart.  He knew how to make me laugh when that night, I didn’t care to laugh. I remembered I had stacks of homework to study for my nursing exams, and attending to any party wasn’t on the schedule.  Though, thanks to a friend, she convinced me I needed to relax and be around other people. Even though she and I lost contact, I thank her for bringing this man into my life. I couldn’t imagine what life would be like without him.

Meanwhile as Jerry remained quiet at the table still wearing his gray hoodie jacket, I walked closer to see the sadness in his eyes.  It looked as though as he’d been crying. Yet a sudden feeling overtook me—something wasn’t right. The smile I had minutes ago, fell to into doubts. Still, the uncertainty since I woke beside my bed gnawed at the pit of my stomach. This helpless feeling needed to stop.

“Baby” I sighed while standing in front of table, “I don’t know what happened an hour ago, but whatever I did I’m sorry…at least I think I did something wrong. I’m not sure. I know I woke to a dark room next to our bed, and don’t have any knowledge of what happened before then”.  I sighed once more, and turned reaching toward the cabinet to grab a couple of cups to brew some coffee.  “Are you hungry” I continued.

Then suddenly Jerry leaned back in the chair to release a heaving a sigh. “Ashley, what are we going to do?”

His question quickly stopped my quest to enter the cabinet. I turned to him in shock to wonder why he would ask me such a random query. “Baby, what are you talking about?”

“How can you ask me something like that?” I asked him. “I mean, I know we had problems in the past, but we always got past them. Look, Jerry, I love you more than the day I said I do. If you feel we need more counseling, then I’m all for it, okay?”

Jerry eyes floated in my direction, and then wandered around the kitchen like he was trying to regain his thoughts. He knelled his face back inside of his palms and grunted, “I don’t know”, and quickly slamming them to the table and stormed upstairs.

I was speechless and didn’t know whether to follow him or stay put in the kitchen. The demeanor he had carried was unusual. The only time when he exhibited that much tension was after our heated fights.  Though it never became physical, our arguments got so heated that the police were called to the house a couple of times.

While standing in the kitchen to sort out our martial problems, Jerry voice echoed downstairs with a terrifying scream. “ASHLEY…OH MY GOD…ASHLEY” he cried.

I ran upstairs to our lighted bedroom to find him on the side of the bed where I woke an hour ago. He was on his knees crying hysterically with his hands covering his mouth. “ASHLEY” he tearfully muttered, “WHY…”

“Jerry, I’m here—what is it” I pondered.

For the first time, I went to the side of the bed where I woke in the darkness to discover a surreal sight. It was me, lying in my pool of blood with a gun clutching in my left hand. My eyes were frozen in stone silence as blood drooled from the side of my head from the opened temple wound, drenching onto my lovely teal blouse.

I felt as though as I woke to a nightmare. I’m witnessing my husband sobbing over my lifeless body, pleading for me wake up. “Oh Ashley, why” he screamed.

“Jerry, I’m here…I’m here!”

“Ashley, why did you have to go and kill yourself” he spoke to my corpse, “We could’ve worked it out”.

Then it hit me.  I remembered everything before I pulled that trigger to side of my skull. We were arguing in the bedroom about the usual—finances. I never thought we had a problem with money, but Jerry would say I was spending too much on unnecessary things. So we fought over it. Actually, I knew he was using money as an excuse of the real issue.

After he bitched of how I was draining our life savings, he blurted out he didn’t love me anymore and wanted a divorce.  It seemed to him our marriage was shit to him. I recall the same sinking feeling I had in my gut earlier.  Now I know how the room became a mess, it’s because I’ve thrown all of his clothes demanding him to get out. I yanked all of his best suits, belts, and sweaters. I even tossed the alarm clock toward his ass, breaking the mirror. “This is thanks I get, Jerry” I remembered angrily shouting, “You want a divorce after seven years of marriage. What it is…another woman?

“No” he replied.

“You’re bored?”


“Really, what is it?” I asked him.

He pierced his eyes without blinking and confirmed he didn’t love him anymore. “What’s the point of being in a marriage, if it’s no love?” he continued.

My world went from sixty to zero within seconds. Everything I thought I had didn’t exist anymore—a marriage, a good man by my side, and a great life. It became apparent according to Jerry that our marriage was lie as well. He left the room and not bothering to ask if I was okay. When the door to our bedroom closed it signified was our marriage over. 

Meanwhile, Jerry was sobbing over my dead body as he kept crying, “Why Ashley”. I was speechless, and all I could do was to stand there weeping at the scene. The disarrayed room and the broken glass all showed how much pain he’d afflicted on me. The more I watched him cry, the angrier I became. ‘Things can go just like that, Jerry’ I sarcastically muttered. Suddenly, I heard a soft voice speaking, “What’s going on?”

It was Renee and she stood groggy inside the doorframe rubbing her eyes. “Daddy, I had this strange dream” she said. While she proceeded to explain, I remained on the bed gazing at the blood oozing from my remains. “And momma was in it” I heard her continued.

All of the sudden, Jerry eyes grew wide with shock. “Oh my God, Renee!” he gasped.

He ran through the Renee’s image, straight to her bedroom. It had taken him no time to discover our daughter’s dead body. As I said earlier, Renee laid peacefully like a sleeping angel. She died in a respectful manner, unlike me. All it took was one pillow.

“Renee” screamed Jerry, “Oh my God, Ashley what have you done?”

“Momma, why is Daddy crying?” puzzled our daughter as she joined me on the bed. She had peered to my lifeless body, and then shrieking with fright, “What’s going on here?”

“Baby, momma had to do what had she had to. That’ll teach Daddy not leave me!”

“But Momma, does that mean…we’re…”

I looked to her and smile as if I hoped she understood what had taken place. “Yes, baby” I replied, “Yes we are”.

©2011, Imani Wisdom.
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If you read between these lines, I hope my words can express the burning anticipation that’s been withheld for so long.  The anxiety of my declaration churns from the pit of my stomach wanting to tell you in the simplest of words. Yet this utterance is more than a confession, but an unyielding deep attraction. I cannot say there’s anything more since the closure of your heart exists. Fear has become your bondage, and trust is a reciprocal feeling. It's mutuality beyond any magnetism.

If you read between these lines, you need to understand where my heart is coming from. It’s been shredded into million of pieces, and tossed like yesterday’s garbage. Fear for me is draped with a cover. It cloaks to keep this emerging feeling in darkness. Although I want to shout among highest mountains and to the lowest valleys, I need to say simply its time to unlock our hearts. Let it all go.

If you read between these lines, my words aren’t faux to your imagination. There are real as the air you breathe, or the softness of your skin, or when you smile it lights up a room. Your soul is an angelic creature. It’s as if as your wings flew into my life, dashing me to places I’ve never been before. The unrealism has now become an unbelievable reality.

If you’re still reading between the lines, these words are all have. I’m pouring every syllable and vowel through this text. I’m risking more than the comforts of a locked heart, but mortification. But before you go, I want you to close your eyes and imagine me leaning against your ear to gently whisper some sweet indulgence. What I say is between us. You know there’s no need to express them here. These lines, well, I’m sure you already know…
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Fifteen years is a long time to be in solitude. It’s not that I had, or having trouble finding the “right one”, it’s that I’m focused on taking care of “me”.

You must be asking yourself, why I chose to be single all of that time. Several reasons—for one, I’ve been a caregiver during that time. And I felt bringing someone in my life would put a burden on them they couldn’t handle. Besides, I had nothing to offer for the relationship. I had no substantive income, bad credit, no goals, and writing was not on my mind.

The love and the sacrifices for my mother, aunt, grandparents, and my kids was enough. They became my life. I forgot at that point what it was like to do anything for myself, like go out to dinner with girlfriends; enjoying a relaxing day at the salon; shopping at the mall; spending quiet moments alone, or opening my heart for a specific person. All of those small things taken for granted, I lived without for years.

And let me back track deeper in the past.  Before returning home to care for my mom, I’ve been in a thirteen year relationship with my children’s father. We met in high school, so therefore, we never dated. It went from friends to sex to kids. Then he went back and forth between another chick and I. Before we both knew, I had the three kids with him, and he had his eight.

Now I’m not making him to be a bad guy because what I’ve done after our breakup was just as bad.

I developed a mentality while I enjoyed my carefree (and I put “carefree” mildly) single days after my ex and I went our separate ways, hurt them before they hurt me. Yeah, I have to admit it was stone cold. Yet anyone who been hurt tries to beat the “hurt” before it gets them again. This just doesn’t apply to the ladies, but to the fellas as well.

And ladies, we scream how “strong” we are. We boast it on Facebook or tweet about it on Twitter, “I don’t need a man to be happy”. Before all of that existed, I used to boast, bragged, and stuck my head up high telling the world of how strong of a woman I was. Myself, and many women out here, misconstrued the phrase. When we’re actually saying, ‘I’ve created a wall because of the bullshit of my past’. It’s the wall I created to keep good men from coming in.

Later, I was finding my so-called tough exterior was a lie by jumping to every beckon and call for these men—even the two a.m. booty calls. Then one day, I took a hard look at myself and wondered out loud, ‘what am I doing…I don’t think this is God’s intention to live a self-destructive lifestyle’. So I stopped the madness. I stopped accepting their text messages, phone calls, and the two a.m. booty calls. And the rest is history…

So here I am at this point in my life. I am small business owner of a publishing company, Wickedly Sweet Ink, LLC, and weeks from becoming an official a published author. I am a one woman machine performing my own public relations, accounting, and any other jobs a Chief Executive Officer has to perform. Life is going good, and I’ve never been happier…seriously!

My Imani's "How to" Moment...getting your happy on doesn't mean building walls to protect your feeling. It means to love yourself, finding your purpose of life, or stepping out of your comfort zone to pursue a dream you always wanted to accomplish. And being alone isn’t a bad thing. What inspired me to write this post was from T.D. Jakes’s powerful sermon. He preached—and I’m paraphrasing—God put you in a situation for a reason. Sometimes He wants that loneliness for you for your personal development. In other words, He’s working you when you think He has forsaken you.

All of those years as a caregiver, I thought I was being punished by HIM—and really all along He’s been preparing me for this point in my life.

I could have easily kept holding on to bitterness, or throwing my fists up to God complaining of silly things, or staying in a comfort zone by putting others before me. Then again, life isn’t supposed to be easy, now is it? 
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DEVIANT MADNESS: A Downfall of an Empire

You may have heard the recent sex scandal of college football’s giant, Penn State. If you haven’t, here’s a link for you to catch up on these allegations in this article about Joe Paterno’s firing.

Not only this story is disturbing but growing each day with new horrible allegations. I’ve been hearing of the story on and off for the last few days. It wasn’t until last night when I caught wind of the details, and it sickened my stomach.

Before I go further let me remind you that I am a survivor from sexual abuse. Hearing these allegations nearly put me in tears, enough to have flashbacks of my experiences—and yes, I said experiences. I wrote a post about a specific moment called, Persevering Through the Storms. A victim remembers every detail during their ordeal, even down the attacker’s scent. My lasting memories beside his cold hands was the stench of cheap whiskey. I can almost smell it now as I type this.

So these victims of this scandal—that span a fifteen year period—have their own nightmares. The disgusting accounts had been going on under the nose of the university. According to the Huffington Post, Mike McQueary—another assistant coach—had seen Sandusky raping a young boy in 2002 and told Paterno but not the police. Then Paterno told the board at Penn State—and again, not the police. Now HuffPo is now reporting there have been “multiple threats” against his McQueary’s life and will not attend the Nebraska’s game this Saturday.

Smart move, dude!

I don’t condone violence, but this scandal is upsetting to question the university’s, the assistant coach, and even Paterno’s common sense. How can a person witness a grown man sexually assaulting a young boy without blatantly telling him, this shit is wrong—or physically manhandling the pervert off the child! It’s no different than McQueary performing the act himself. His silence was almost as though as he said it was okay to have sex. Therefore, anyone who has knowledge of a child getting sexual abused and do nothing is just as sick as the pedophile. Period.

Even if it sat on McQueary’s conscious the night before telling Paterno, the damage was done; even if Paterno brought it to the attention to his superiors, the boy(s) innocence been shattered; regardless when the Prosecutor had known, the memory of the darkest moment of their lives is stained to their hearts forever. All in all, the grown ups actions spoke louder than words—let’s protect a football program and a school’s reputation.

What’s more, this scandal hasn’t hit its peak. According to several news sources, there’s a new rumor to epic proportions. It’s now being said that Sandusky were pimping these children to rich donors from his foundation called, Second Mile Foundation. As of now, this is only a rumor and I pray this allegation is not true. To read more of this story, here’s the hyperlink.

And the sad thing about all of this is, McQueary and Paterno may had followed school’s policy by sending their information to their superiors and probably felt what they did was right, but there are too many people who knew of this and did nothing. Because of their lackluster efforts, lives are ruin.

So empires eventually crash and burn. The Romans and the Greeks could vouch for it—and I could go out on the limp to say that the U.S. is getting a taste of it. This upstanding school and their football program will feel the fire for a long time. More importantly, how they will recover?
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You should know by now that I'm trying to prevail from obscurity to a level of greatness.  And when I mean "greatness", I don't mean rich beyond any means.  "Greatness" is knowing fact that when you create something; whether it's an artistic expression such as writing or painting, having the ability to speak in front of others, or spending time with someone who feels hope doesn't exist, and made that person think, feel, or carry your words permanently inside their heart, to me that's greatness.

Two years ago, I had no idea if I was going to live past 40.  Why?  I was so filled with so much emotional pain, I couldn't answer that question to this date.  And yet, what I can say now is I had to "flip my own script".  It was either wallowing in my pity, and wait for death to knock on my door, or regain my dignity and enjoy the ride going into my 40's and thereafter.  What's more, even though I feel the devil do exist and can make our lives a living a hell (no pun intended), I refuse to keep blaming the devil on my life's screw-ups.  The devil made me eat a whole bag of "Cheetos"...The devil made me NOT get up in the mornings and walk...The devil caused me to be not strong enough...not loving myself...not believing in myself...not realizing that I am more than just someone's caregiver.  And because I was inundated with my responsibilities, the devil made loose my identity of who I am. (SMH)

Let me say this....the devil is a liar, even if it takes for the beast to implant the seed of doubt, it's allowing the DOUBT to escalade into a domino effect of darkness and constant bad choices, and that's exactly what he wants. With that said, I'm not giving him credit on anything.  To prevail on my general purpose, I've stop speaking of it and stop listening to the doubting voice in my mind so I can pursue what I intend to do! As I go on through this part of my journey, I will have the occasional negative thoughts, or look back in the past and heavily sigh of the shoulda, coulda, or woulda.  And yet since I've been literally been on skid row, I've learned so much about myself, and became stronger and wiser.

I have a mission. I will keep moving, keep believing, keep fighting, keep writing, keep believing, keep running, keep writing, keep creating, keep loving, keep believing, and oh, did I say keep writing?  I'm basically riding on "FAITH" (Imani) to get my goals and dreams. As one of my FB friend's posted on my wall, "I'm International now"......I'm holding my Aussie friend's words true because I'm may be an unknown author for now, but wait and see, with name "Imani Wisdom" is hard not to take notice.

Have a blessed day 

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Bryan Billings, the powerhouse running back that lived the life many often dream.  This two-time MVP lived just as hard off the field by endless partying with women night after night. Then everything had changed when he met stiff competition--and it wasn’t from the opposing team--it was from the new love of his life. 

All of his old habits soon became unimportant until one day everything he thought knew changed by one announcement.

Imani’s Thoughts…

Choices are a part of life. Though at one point, we have to make prudent decisions that change the course of our future. This particular story is no different.

According this short story—THE MISSION, Bryan sits among the running back greats like Marshall Faulk, Len Swann, and the late Walter Payton. I wanted to convey that no matter how high you are in life things can swiftly change. More importantly, it’s how you handle the situation.

So Bryan will loose the love of his life with his news? Or, will he persevere through the storms and catch the light at the end of the tunnel? Find out in July 3 on
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Warrior Goddess Pictures, Images and Photos

 By Tamyara Brown

 I am not just Breast Cancer. There's more to me than that I 'm a goddess. I am more than the many days I may feel ill. I am a warrior I fight even when it seems I can't go on. I do all it all in the name of being a survivor. I am not just Breast Cancer. I am a diva who's beautiful, charming and full of grace with or without hair. Watch out now my swagger is fierce and my smile is bright as the sunrise. With the rain at the end of my rainbow is a pot of gold.

My battles are long and struggles are overwhelming. My inner strength gives me reason to overcome my obstacles that is set before me. My sorrows may rain on my parade but I always bring beautiful roses to bloom. My battles are long and struggles are overwhelming. My inner strength gives me a million reasons to go on. I am Warrior Goddess!

In My Own Words...

If you ask me to define courageous women and I will point to the thousands of women who is battling or surviving Breast Cancer. I am a breast cancer survivor who has reached her fifth year without recurrence of this disease. In 2007, I was diagnose and went through the battle of being a living testimony of becoming a Warrior Goddess. I can’t take full credit because it was Lloyd Smith who encourages me to go to the doctor and get that lump checked out, who cried and went through my first chemo treatment with me. It was the wonderful support of doctors, family and friends who took care of me and cheered me on. It was my daughter’s who made mommy cups of tea and rub my back when I was sick. My sons, who said, “ Mommy your bald hair is sexy.” It was the retreat with the many single moms like myself I met with Cancer who I laugh with, talked and watched without a Trace.

As I write this I encourage so many of my family, friends and those dear and near to me to Love yourself-Love your Tatas. Please in this world where we are so busy with the hustle and bustle of life, I need you to stop to care for yourself. We as women do have a tendency to forget we need to care for ourselves. We to take time out to love our Tatas enough to take fifteen minutes to ensure cancer is not growing in our breasts by doing monthly self breast exam. That we are healthy to enjoy the fruits of our labor and push on to doing what is best for our families.

According to Breast Cancer. Org. In 2010, an estimated 207,090 new cases of invasive breast cancer were expected to be diagnosed in women in the U.S., along with 54,010 new cases of non-invasive (in situ) breast cancer.

About 39,840 women in the U.S. were expected to die in 2010 from breast cancer, though death rates have been decreasing since 1990. These decreases are thought to be the result of treatment advances, earlier detection through screening, and increased awareness.

Early Detection along with monthly self breast exam and yearly mammograms account for why so many of us are surviving the battle. So I know we get crazy with our day to day business, ours hands are full being a mommy, sister, wife and best friend. In order to fulfill those needs I can now take care of the tasks that come before me healthy and strong. My daughter Alice is always on me about loving my Tatas-Loving myself and not missing doctor’s appointments.

Being among Warrior Goddesses who are living with and surviving cancer are the wind beneath my wings. They’re challenged daily like I was we when we was going through but so many of us preserve and give the best fight we know how with a huge smile on face. I realize that if I can survive Breast Cancer then anything that comes my way is a breeze. So with that said begin to LOVE YOURSELF-LOVE YOUR TATAS!

© 2011 Tamyara Brown- Tamluvstowrite
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Janet Monroe lived an average life as a thirty-five year old professional.  She woke every morning on a routine of getting up, going to work, and coming home to an empty house.  Then one day, Janet discovered news that put her life in a major recourse. So she decided to take her dream vacation and headed to paradise south of the Caribbean.  Janet’s amazing venture was taking shape until she met an unexpected person who shown her there were more to life than meets the eye.

Will Janet’s discovery change her life forever?  Or, she will allow fear to take its course?  Find out more in the short story, SEVEN MONTHS, a part of a collection in the novella, UNTIMELY REVELATIONS, coming December 2011.

In Imani’s Words…

Before writing this short story, I knew I wanted to write about a person literally finding their footsteps.  I think anyone who is reading this post is trying to find their own.  We walk on the path life, and quickly, a sand storm blows its earthly grain on our way.  While it’s frustrating, we must learn not to give up.   And in Janet’s case, she had no choice to go on.  

I knew writing this story I wanted to convey a message of hope.  Times are hard in this country and around the world.  People need a break from their hardship to hear a good narrative. 

In the meantime, time awaits for no one. Not for you, or me, or even Janet Monroe's in this world.

Unexpected things in life can force us to stand still and notice how time can become an enemy. And sometimes, the last rose petal is simply not enough.
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My First Time Being Made Love To...

By Tamyara Brown

Every one can recall the first time you have sex. The first person to pop your cherry and it set’s the precedence that you are now a woman hear your kitten purr. Now usually we are just experiencing sex and it’s basically that for some. Do you remember the first time a man made love to you? It is a difference between the two. Yet the most beautiful moment that any woman can experience is when a man makes love to you for the very first time. He is in love and you are the only person he wants to be with. The gaze in his eyes, his touch soft and gentle. The sound of your voice makes him erect. He has anticipated making love to you all day long. You are on his mind until that evening approaches and there is no place he rather be but in your arms. Well here’s my story

I open the door and immediately the scent of vanilla awakens my senses, the room illuminated with only the flicker of the flames. My Nubian King stood with his arms open he kissed and hugged me. His voice deep and seductive whispered,
“ I thought about you all day long. I miss you so much.” His warm embrace took the chill off my body from the cold of the weather.
“I miss you too.” I whispered.
He stood and looked at me as if I was the most beautiful woman in the world.  There in the middle of the living room he undressed me removing my coat, my funny fuzzy hat and my gloves he placed them on the hook. He kissed me again and I knew what he desired of me. To take our relationship to the next level he had waited the ninety plus days. He wined, dined and catered to my every need. We where friends before we was lovers.
“I have fallen in love with you Baby. I want to make love to your mind, your body and soul. Can I do that please?”
That request was answered as I held his face in my hands and kiss his lips. My breast expose to this beautiful man of caramel hue, his body only in his boxers and his hairy chest. He held me close his lips savor the flavor of my neck, my shoulders as his hands began to caress my breast. His voice again began to speak.
“ I knew that you was the woman for me the first time I laid eyes on you. That I wanted you to be my wife, the mother of my children and live the rest of my life with you. It took me one day to realize that and ninety days to confirm the woman before me was meant for me.”
I wanted to speak but could only manage to purr as his mouth caressed my breasts and his hand slid down my belly.  He opened the button and slid my jeans and panties off my full hips. I step out of my jeans showing my kitty perfectly waxed with only the letter of his name. He smiled and touched it ever so gently. His finger traced the letter and then he kneels before me. I held my breath as he kissed it. He pulled me down gently and lay me on the floor.
He spread my legs and stuck out his tongue licking his lips preparing to taste me. He licked my kitty until she and I purred and purred. I needed to touch this man that I fallen in like and in love with. My hands grasp his erection stroking him until I decided I needed to taste him. I lifted up and push him back the smell of him, the sight of his length and girth became my aphrodisiac. The feel of his rigged erection inside my mouth turned me on more than he realized. He swallowed; he moaned and grabbed a hand full of my braids as I took him deeper into my mouth. His eyes close and his mouth in the form of an O. 
“ Ooh shit baby. You was so worth the damn wait.” He grunted.
He stopped me because his sense of urgency was to be inside of me. I laid back and he stood there for a moment staring at me. I never saw love in man eyes until I looked into his. He ran his hands over my body once again follow by kisses.  I finally spoke the words I held on to for ninety plus days.
“ I love you.”
“I waited so long for you to say those words. You have no clue how much I love you too.”
The tears that touch my face, which came from his eyes, I then kiss them away. He then entered me and overwhelms me with passion. As he deeply strokes and releases my first orgasm. I shout and know the neighbors know his name. I hold on and the wave of passion spilling from him takes over my whole body. Earthquakes and thunderstorms happen all at once as he and I reach our peak together. As we come down from our love high. He and I hold and caress one another.  I look and hope that same vision of love in his eyes hasn’t disappeared. He looks at me and thank God it hasn’t. He whispers,

“Go to sleep baby your man isn't going anywhere. I’m yours forever”

© Tamyara Brown-Tamluvstowrite, 2011

Author Tamyara Brown, "The love of writing came when I was eleven-years old and I went to the library and pick up three books that change my life. The first was Alice Walker's Color Purple, Toni Morrison The Bluest Eyes and lastly Donald Goines Black Girl lost. At that point and time I felt lost and it was when I wrote my first story. From that moment I fell in love with reading and writing. My debut novel will be out this coming winter FAT GIRL Vigilante."

Visit her Facebook page (here)
Follow her blog (here)

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Michael Jackson’s character from the 1978’s cult classic, The Wiz, said it best—success, fame, and fortune, they're all illusions.

You may be frowning right now at this quote and asking, “Be who wouldn’t want to be successful, famous, and rich?  That’s like the American dream!”

Still, they’re illusions when you don’t have that support system in your corner.  Trying to pursue any endeavor alone is overwhelming.  You’re going to need a good cheerleading section in your corner.  Do you have your own handful people shaking their pom-poms for you?

I can safely say I have at least five people who are in my corner: my sister, two long-time friends, an aunt, and a good friend from Facebook.  These five individuals have become my “groupies”, who are willing to help me at any given moment that involves with promoting and selling my book, sport around my t-shirts, or just keeping it “real”.  These ladies are a blessing. 

Though, the point to this blog is more than cheerleaders cheering in your corner.  It’s when you have to rely on your number one cheerleader which is, YOU.

I have been driving myself crazy with promoting my short story collection entitled, UNTIMELY REVELATIONS, working on this blog, and taking care of my personal life.  Everything but everything came at me like fastballs pitches.  I realized something had to give.  No, it’s not giving up my writing career. I have to be either drunk, high, or insane, or really all three to do something asinine.  Nope. I’m taking a vacation…mental vacation.

What’s a mental vacation?

Since my pockets are too light for a real vacation.  I’m taking a break from the craziness of the internet to rejuvenate my mind. The hot of bed of my creativity is moving in slow motion. So I’m unwinding mentally by redefining myself offline.  People, believe it or not, there’s a life outside our computer screens.  You know life before there was ever a Myspace, Facebook, or, Twitter? 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking them.  As a matter of fact, Facebook and Twitter are the place to be to promote your work.  It’s just “I” need this, or I’ll lose myself in the process of the hustling and bustling of author and entrepreneurship. Otherwise, I won’t be any good for my cheerleaders, this blog, or my writing. 

Okay, it’s time for me go and enjoy this week of tranquility.  Before I sign off, I want to let you know that Tamyara Brown will be contributing to this Friday’s post. She’s a beast with her erotica.  Y’all be sure to show her some love and to visit and follow her blog (here).  Not only she’s talented writer, but has a beautiful soul.

See ya, pretty people...*Blowing kisses*

Next destination: Sitting on a cabana on a warm beach to wherever, shaking my pom-poms. I’ll happen...sooner or later. :)

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I've read it all on the internet from those same survey bulletins, to political blogs, and to someone's interesting life that you and I can learn a valuable lesson.  Yet there’s something I’ve read as of lately that has got me wondering.  Ready? Since this is Erotic Friday, I feel I can let loose and say this.

B*** JOBS!

Now please don't freak out because I’ve typed a word the majority of men get a giddy when they think about wanting, dreaming, and visualizing.  They even go as far to Vaseline themselves up to do—the do.

After reading a few blogs about this matter, I felt as a woman I need to express of what women have asked themselves since the beginning of time, why can't the tables be turned?...Purrrrr, my kitten...Make my cat go, meow

Its some men out there, somewhere, that is willing and able to lay some sweet satisfaction without expecting to get done first.

What’s wrong with exploring the womanhood that attributes the canal of life? We are hardworking mothers, college students, lawyers, doctors, politicians, nurses, blue collar workers—and yeah, even teachers need some revitalization. You know, it should be national day of it, National Please Kitty Kats Day.  I know guys who are reading this thinks if woman have a day, then men should have one too.  What are you going to call that day, National Blow Job Day? Ewww, that whole phrase sounds ucky—our just sounds better.

Ladies close your eyes and think about when the last time a man left you feeling, wow, zow, and kapowed—good enough to put you in tears for the right reasons. Honestly, I remembered feeling like that once.  Then later my ex became a taker and not a giver. When he did play with Miss Jenkies, he pecked like some broken-neck chicken.  I think I accidentally dozed off that night.  He couldn’t tame the kitty!

So on this note before I close out, sexploring (foreplay) is underrated. I wish more men would take the time to satisfy a woman needs.  I also understand why some guys are apprehensive to travel down south if there a lingering odor of fish—trust me, I understand. So ladies if you want purring satisfaction, then keep the kitty clean.

Yes, I know this is an unusual blog, but it's a blog that needs address this purrrrr-ing issue.  It's a woman turn to get empowered with their miss soing-so's. There's nothing wrong with giving pleasure with your special someone, but be sure to tell your man to give back.  After all it's the American way!

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He’s not the ordinary face of shattered innocence…


Elijah Baker suffered a dark past as a child growing up on the Northwest side of Indianapolis.  The oldest along with his twin sister, Elisha and two younger brothers, Elijah long nights in his bedroom was grim by the hands of a trusting individual. Fear was his emotional bondage for several years until he left home at the age of fifteen to live with his Aunt.  Two years later, after constant encouragement by his Aunt, Elijah decided to move to New York to pursue his dream in the music industry.  He went from squatting from apartment to apartment into an international music and entrepreneur mogul. 

Above his fame and fortune, Elijah had to face another challenge—a shattered past.  Will he learn to put the past behind and move on?  And could the distance between he and family ever be resolve?  Find out this December with his story, THE SHATTERED MOGUL and four other narratives in the short story collection, UNTIMELY REVELATIONS.

In Imani’s Words…

On a cold February morning I finally had typed the last sentence to this near 10,000 word tale with relief.  It wasn't the type of sigh meaning I finished of what I had started, but sighed that I finished this story for a purpose. 

There are so many people—men, women, and children—are walking this earth with heavy burdens.  I lived with the burden of my innocence being shattered.  It had taken me years to realize his actions did not define of who I am.

That’s why I find this story important for all to read. Not just for survivors, but to educate who had never experience the kind of shame and guilt that ones feels. 

I feel so strongly of this storyline that I’ve converted this into a play. I hope I can start the ball rolling in early 2012.  THE SHATTERED MOGUL needs to go beyond the pages of the book onto a stage. This is one of my quiet endeavors.  I’m praying more will come out of this project.

As I say all the time, this is only the beginning.
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There was a little boy wearing his angelic wings.
He was roaming in heaven until he noticed a somberly something.
It was a black man sitting on heaven's bench.
He had tears in eyes causing his face to drench.
The little boy noticed and asked as he wiped the man's eye,
"What's the matter?" And then the man sighed
And replied
"I don't know if my dream will ever come alive"
Then the boy frown and asked, "Why?"
The man look at the boy with his manicured moustache, and slowly
Wiped a tear on his eyelash
"Don't you see what went on earth since I died?
I thought my dream will blossom and thrive
Little black girls and boys and little white girls and boys had been learning
I know this had change the complexity of racial lines forever.
I also noticed that equality has progress in many aspects.
I have seen a rainbow people had learn to tolerate and respect.
I remember before '68,
There were barely any black faces that had won political races.
Now it's an overflow all over the  United States.
They are on Congress, and Senators
They are Mayors, and Governors,
There's a Secretary of State not only one but two".
Then he slightly chuckled and added, "Who ever knew?"
"More blacks are homeowners with an influx of revenues
And because of that, we were able to go to any college to expand what knew.

The little boy had continue to frown as he scratched his head
"These sounds like great things, so why are you crying?" he said.
The man glanced at the little boy with his bountiful cheeks.
He replied, "Son, my dream wasn't just black and white.
My dream was a rich and colorful sight
And it was beyond just civil but a human rights".
"Look" as he pointed below the clouds.
"Look at these people with a weakened disparages frowns.
It's the poor all over the world.
And famine and war that deeply affects little boys and girls.
This beyond the  USA.
This is happening all over world everyday.
And in Africa, the Motherland of Motherlands, it's indescribable.
Folks don't know it, but most Africans living conditions are incomparable.
And there are more wars and rumors of wars that threaten earth's rotating globe.
One voice has to stand out, but I don't think anybody knows
……how to establish their voices to be heard
I wish some activist would shy away from cameras and truly put people first.
As the boy intently listen he asked, "But isn't black folks are better off than a long ago".
The man answered, "Oh yes, but they say more things change, the more that stay the same.
We had to overcome through treacherous mountaintops and through the rugged plains.
The black man on earth still gets has it hard that one virtually still remains.
But although there's still that long dream road
I wish someone would voice this because this needs to be told.
We had past that mountaintop, but there are heavy terrains on the way.
Our people need to realize this today.
We can be detrimental to ourselves.
And my people need to pray".
Suddenly the man went silent, there was not another word to say.

Then the black man had got up from heaven's bench still blue.
Then the angelic boy ask, "Mr, who are you?"
The black man had finally cracked an infectious smile.
The boy again said, "Mr, why don't stay awhile?"
The man answered, "Son, I got go, I have already seen what I need to see.
And there's a long way to go, and seeing it is too much for me.
The boy then grabs the man hand and asked, "Can you tell me your name, please?"
The man looked down at the boys eyes, and said, "Son, I'm King, Martin Luther King"

© Imani Wisdom, 2006
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