When you post a picture to Instagram, there's so much people don't see. And for the past three years, I've gotten good at sharing my life's highlights:
Toasting cocktails with Oprah Winfrey, interviewing Denzel Washington on the red carpet, traveling to Jamaica to dance around in a bejeweled Carnival costume and hitting the campaign trail to interview trailblazers. My career as a journalist and host has been a dream realized and many weeks have felt like drinking out of a fire hose of opportunities with endless stories to tell. I simply love what I do.
But while I was busy telling other people's stories, I was quietly hiding the most challenging parts of my own — tucking them away from the very spotlight I so enjoyed being in.
Filtered out of Instagram's 4x4 digital frame were: doctor visits in small sterile rooms, IVs poked into the softest creases of my skin, MRI scan machines like giant coffins swallowing my body whole, white cylinder pills I could never remember to take before breakfast, and countless days where getting out of bed — once an automated routine — felt like mission impossible.
When I was diagnosed with lupus, I had just turned 30.
I'd spent a brutally cold winter hustling and grinding in my first media job in New York City. But life had turned to an upswing. I was settling into my closet-sized apartment in Harlem; I'd proudly closed the chapter on a bad relationship; and I had my first big press junket where I'd be the on-camera interviewer.
This was my season to come up.
Then, one day I couldn't bend my wrists.
I recall waking up in my bedroom, looking down and wondering why they were so sore.
The pain was excruciating and it felt like cement had been injected into my joints. My body felt like someone slashed a balloon, letting all the energy inside of me deflate. So I slapped on an IcyHot patch and powered through the day, going into the office for business as usual to film a news video. After about a week of discomfort, finally the pain screamed loudly enough that I made moves and went to the doctor.
Days later, when I'd forgotten all about the visit, my cell rang while I was at work talking with my boss. By the time I finished with him I missed the call, so I stepped out of our tiny shared office space to call back. "Ms. Alford, you tested positive for ANA, which is linked to arthritis. I'd like you to come in for further testing," the doctor told me.
Strange. Arthritis at 30 years old? Surely this was a mistake.
More appointments were made. I went along, still convinced nothing could seriously be wrong.
About two weeks later, I met with a rheumatologist (a doctor who specializes in joints and bones) letting him poke, prod and examine my body, before he casually declared, "I think you have lupus."
The weight of his words hung in the air.
Lupus? What was that? The first thing that came to my mind was Toni Braxton, the legendary singer who I'd heard periodically struggled with the illness.
The doctor explained it was an autoimmune illness, in which your immune system attacks healthy cells and organs. Some cases were mild and others were severe. Testing and observation would reveal where I stood in the years to come. "Aren't I too young for something like that?" I told him half laughing, half hoping he would reconsider his diagnosis.
"You're never too young for anything," he responded, flatly.
I left the office that day confused and shocked, told to come back soon for follow up tests.
At 30, I was in the prime of my life. I wanted the life I had imagined. I didn't want a new normal. I didn't want to have lupus.
"I wanted the life I had imagined. I didn't want a new normal. I didn't want to have lupus."
After mulling it over a bit, I vowed to carry on and not overthink it. I had a salsa dancing date planned that weekend, and I could deal with this lupus thing later.
After about four hours of Puerto Rican rhythms and spinning turns on an old vinyl dance floor in East Harlem, I jumped up with shooting pain in my chest — it felt like glass shards were being dragged across my lungs each time I took a breath — sharp, deep and painful.
"I'm really sorry to do this, but I think I have to go to the hospital," I told my date, completely embarrassed.
"It's okay, let's go," he said.
We waited for hours in the Emergency Room as doctors ran my vital signs, injected me with pain medication and confirmed that these were signs of a flare — a scenario when lupus is highly active in the body, my immune system attacking my healthy tissues, a small pocket of fluid developing in my lungs.
I would be released from the ER late that next morning, but rather than rest, I ran to research questions to ask celebrities at my upcoming press junket.
When I showed up to shoot my interview, no one knew I'd just been in the hospital 24 hours beforehand.
I posted a photo on Instagram smiling with actress Tichina Arnold — who ironically (or maybe divinely) was a lupus advocate. But as much as I wanted to, I wouldn't dare say a word to her either.
And in that moment being ill in plain sight became my superpower.
Over the next few months rather than dig further into my new diagnosis, I doubled down on denial, blowing off taking my daily medication — two Plaquenil pills that kept the disorder at bay — diving deeper into my work to prove that nothing would stop me from my media career — and of course that lupus wasn't a real thing, for me at least.
The approach worked — mostly.
For the first year of my diagnosis, there'd be stretches of time — sometimes months — without major issues. So I'd stop taking my medication altogether. Then I'd get a cold that would last for weeks and morph into pneumonia.
Working for a small digital news company, there wasn't always someone to pass along my responsibilities to, so I'd work when I didn't feel well, calculating that I simply couldn't afford to take a day off. That only compounded the struggle.
I fell victim to the dangerously unhealthy mentality that is often ingrained into young women of color: you must work twice as hard. There's no space for weakness. Do the work or get replaced with someone who will.
Being young and "sick" felt like a Scarlet letter, an asterisk on a life that had so much more to it than this one chapter. What if the dreams I'd worked so hard for, went right out the window?
As the months, then years, marched on in my journey, I was discovering something — I was still advancing professionally. Getting new and better opportunities. Garnering some praise for my work.
I thought I could run from lupus, not knowing it could catch up to me.
The realest wake up call would come early in 2018, when I flew to Los Angeles. I traveled on barely any sleep after working through the weekend, posting a picture on Instagram announcing my arrival. Shortly after I would check into the ER with a fever and lupus flare, this time thousands of miles from home.
As I sat in the hospital bed a few hours after being checked in, I got a phone call — it was the president of the National Association of Black Journalists (NABJ).
She was calling to tell me I'd won Emerging Journalist of the Year, a signature award given to young black journalists to recognize their potential. I would be recognized that summer at the national convention in front of my family and peers.
The irony of getting this award, was that it had been renamed in honor of another young journalist — a rising star and beloved community member— who right before starting his dream job, died from health complications at the age of 32.
I was turning 32 in two months.
In that moment, I had an epiphany:
I didn't ask for this condition and it wasn't my fault, but prioritizing my health was no longer optional.
If I wanted to enjoy the success I'd work for, I had to change my life.
Lupus could be managed.
And the only person stopping that process was me.
Today, I have nothing left to hide.
Over the past year, I've started to make changes that reflect a new normal:
I more consistently take my medication. A friend offered to text me every morning to ensure I took it, until it became a habit.
My denial about needing it has given way to understanding that I pay a hefty price (both physically and financially) when I don't take it.
I no longer say "yes" to every single thing I'm invited to. There was a time I felt obligated to show up to every press junket, interview or opportunity to provide coverage for things that I wasn't even that interested in.
These days I'm more discerning. Anything I choose to travel to or make time for takes valuable energy. I try to make my schedule reflect my actual values and journalistic priorities.
I've learned how to be an advocate for myself with doctors, treating my condition with the same focus, research and attention I put into reporting a story.
This fall, I moved to Washington, D.C. to cover midterm elections for theGrio.com. What most people didn't know was that I also moved there to be evaluated at one of the best hospitals in the country for rheumatology (the speciality which deals with lupus).
I didn't feel I was really being listened to by previous medical teams or handled with care (something black women often face in the healthcare system), so like a coach I changed my starting lineup. For the first time I really did my research, even visiting the Lupus Foundation of America to get books, articles and contacts in the field of lupus advocacy and treatment.
Now that I'm back in NYC, I feel more equipped as an active participant in my medical care and have found a local team of doctors I trust.
I am now prioritizing physical fitness and activity. During my evaluation period in D.C. I learned that I'd developed some joint damage, likely as a result of steroids used to treat lupus over the years. I'm undergoing physical therapy and getting treatment. I am required to use crutches for the time being to prevent further damage, something I've never addressed publicly until now.
It's been an adjustment to say the least. I cried when I found out about all the lifestyle changes I would have to make to accommodate healing and recovery. But as the great James Baldwin once wrote:
"Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced."
Or as my Daddy says, "You gotta be real with yourself."
I am being real about what I need to do to get better, so I can actually get better. That's called self-care.
To that end, I've continued working through the psychological and emotional impact of chronic illness.
I've always had a therapist to talk with ever since I was diagnosed, and that's given me space to vent or have support when I didn't feel understood anywhere else. I've also found the company of others who are in the same fight.
Last month, I put on a pink ball gown and attended my first public event for lupus, the "Evening of Hope" Gala in New York City.
It's something I would've never done before — acknowledging that I was one of the 1.5 million affected — but a new friend and lupus advocate invited me to join.
"We are often never as alone as we feel."
I wasn't 100% sure I'd tell the world my story — I had every right to keep it private — but I asked a gifted photographer to document the evening for me, in the event that I would be.
The author at Lupus Foundation of America's "Evening of Hope" Gala 2018 (Photo: Noémie Tshinanga)
Listening to people's testimonies of triumph that night at the gala, showed me that I was never alone in this fight to begin with. We are often never as alone as we feel. And in life, no matter what we are handed, there is purpose to be found.
Still, when an official event photographer approached me to pose for a photo, at first I hesitated.
What if the picture ended up online somewhere, and I couldn't change my mind about people knowing I was in the room?
Then, I shook it off.
I was — and am ready — to show picture of life that is full, complicated, challenging and real — one that is bigger than any career, Instagram photo or autoimmune condition.
It is a picture that leaves out no part of me.
Natasha S. Alford is Deputy Editor of theGrio, where she covers social issues, politics, and culture. As an on-camera host, she's contributed to Power 105.1's The Breakfast Club and Cheddar TV, and her writing about Afro-LatinX identity has appeared in The New York Times and OprahMag.com. Follow her latest stories, travels, wellness tips and interviews on Instagram at @NatashaSAlford and #ThePeoplesJournalist.
*Originally published on Medium
Amber Riley Is In Her Element
Amber Riley has the type of laugh that sticks with you long after the raspy, rhythmic sounds have ceased. It punctuates her sentences sometimes, whether she’s giving a chuckle to denote the serious nature of something she just said or throwing her head back in rip-roarious laughter after a joke. She laughs as if she understands the fragility of each minute. She chooses laughter often with the understanding that future joy is not guaranteed.
Credit: Ally Green
The sound of her laughter is rivaled only by her singing voice, an emblem of the past and the future resilience of Black women stretched over a few octaves. On Fox’s Glee, her character Mercedes Jones was portrayed, perhaps unfairly, as the vocal duel to Rachel Berry (Lea Michele), offering rough, full-throated belts behind her co-star’s smooth, pristine vocals. Riley’s always been more than the singer who could deliver a finishing note, though.
Portraying Effie White, she displayed the dynamic emotions of a song such as “And I'm Telling You I'm Not Going” in Dreamgirls on London’s West End without buckling under the historic weight of her predecessors. With her instrument, John Mayer’s “Gravity” became a religious experience, a belted hymnal full of growls and churchy riffs. In her voice, Nicole Scherzinger once said she heard “the power of God.”
Credit: Ally Green
Riley’s voice has been a staple throughout pop culture for nearly 15 years now. Her tone has become so distinguishable that most viewers of Fox’s The Masked Singer recognized the multihyphenate even before it was revealed that she was Harp, the competition-winning, gold-masked figure with an actual harp strapped to her back.
Still, it wasn’t until recently that Riley began to feel like she’d found her voice. This sounds unbelievable. But she’s not referring to the one she uses on stage. She’s referencing the voice that speaks to who she is at her core. “Therapy kind of gave me the training to speak my mind,” the 37-year-old says. “It’s not something we’re taught, especially as Black women. I got so comfortable in [doing so], and I really want other people, especially Black women, to get more comfortable in that space.”
“Therapy kind of gave me the training to speak my mind. It’s not something we’re taught, especially as Black women."
If you ask Riley’s manager, Myisha Brooks, she’ll tell you the foundation of who the multihyphenate is hasn’t changed much since she was a kid growing up in Compton. “She is who she is from when I met her back when she was singing in the front of the church to back when she landed major roles in film and TV,” Brooks says. Time has allowed Riley to grow more comfortable, giving fans a more intimate glimpse into her life, including her mental health journey and the ins and outs of show business.
The actress/singer has been in therapy since 2019, although she suffered from depression and anxiety way before that. In a recent interview with Jason Lee, she recalls having suicidal ideation as a kid. By the time she started seeing a psychologist and taking antidepressants in her thirties, her body had become jittery, a physical reminder of the trauma stacked high inside her. “I was shaking in [my therapist’s] office,” she tells xoNecole. “My fight or flight was on such a high level. I was constantly in survival mode. My heart was beating fast all the time. All I did was sweat.”
There wasn’t just childhood trauma to account for. After auditioning for American Idol and being turned away by producers, Riley began working for Ikea and nearly missed her Glee audition because her car broke down on the highway while en route. Thankfully, Riley had been cast to play Mercedes Jones. American Idol had temporarily convinced her she wasn’t cut out for the entertainment industry, but this was validation that she was right where she belonged. Glee launched in 2009 with the promise of becoming Riley’s big break.
In some ways, it was. The show introduced Riley to millions of fans and catapulted her into major Hollywood circles. But in other ways, it became a reminder of the types of roles Black women, especially those who are plus-sized, are relegated to. Behind the scenes, Riley says she fought for her character "to have a voice" but eventually realized her efforts were useless. "It finally got to a point where I was like, this is not my moment. I'm not who they're choosing, and this is just going to have to be a job for me for now," she says. "And, that's okay because it pays my bills, I still get to be on television, I'm doing more than any other Black plus-sized women that I'm seeing right now on screen."
The actress can recognize now that she was navigating issues associated with trauma and low self-esteem at the time. She now knows that she's long had anxiety and depression and can recognize the ways in which she was triggered by how the cult-like following of the show conflicted with her individual, isolated experiences behind the scenes. But she was in her early '20s back then. She didn't yet have the language or the tools to process how she was feeling.
Riley says she eventually sought out medical intervention. "When you're in Hollywood, and you go to a doctor, they give you pills," she says, sharing a part of her story that she'd never revealed publicly before now. "[I was] on medication and developing a habit of medicating to numb, not understanding I was developing an addiction to something that's not fixing my problem. If anything, it's making it worse."
“[I was] on medication and developing a habit of medicating to numb, not understanding I was developing an addiction to something that’s not fixing my problem. If anything it’s making it worse.”
Credit: Ally Green
At one point, while in her dressing room on set, she rested her arm on a curling iron without realizing it. It wasn't until her makeup artist alerted her that she even realized her skin was burning. Once she noticed, she says she was "so zonked out on pills" that she barely reacted. Speaking today, she holds up her arm and motions towards a scar that remains from the incident. She sought help for her reliance on the pills, but it would still be years before she finally attended therapy.
This stress was only compounded by the trauma of growing up in poverty and the realities of being a "contract worker." "Imagine going from literally one week having to borrow a car to get to set to the next week being on a private jet to New York City," she says. After Glee ended, so did the rides on private planes. The fury of opportunities she expected to follow her appearance on the show failed to materialize. She wasn't even 30 yet, and she was already forced to consider if she'd hit her career peak.
. . .
We’re only four minutes into our Zoom call before Riley delivers her new adage to me. “My new mantra is ‘humility does not serve me.’ Humility does not serve Black women. The world works so hard to humble us anyway,” she says.
On this Thursday afternoon in April, the LA-based entertainer is seated inside her closet/dressing room wearing a cerulean blue tank top with matching shorts and eating hot wings. This current phase of healing hinges on balance. It’s about having discipline and consistency, but not at the risk of inflexibility. She was planning to head to the gym, for instance, but she’s still tired from the “exhausting” day before. Instead, she’s spent her day receiving a massage, eating some chicken wings, and planning to spend quality time with friends. “I’m not going to beat myself up for it. I’m not going to talk down to myself. I’m going to eat my chicken wings, and then tomorrow I’m [back] in the gym,” she says.
“My new mantra is ‘humility does not serve me.’ Humility does not serve Black women. The world works so hard to humble us anyway."
This is the balance with which she's been approaching much of her life these days. It's why she's worried less about whether or not people see her as someone who is humble. She'd rather be respected. "I think you should be a person that's easy to work with, but in the moments where I have to ruffle feathers and make waves, I'm not shying away from that anymore. You can do it in love, you don't have to be nasty about it, but I had to finally be comfortable with the fact that setting boundaries around my life – in whatever aspect, whether that's personal or business – people are not going to like it. Some people are not going to have nice things to say about you, and you gotta be okay with it," she says.
When Amber talks about the constant humbling of Black women in Hollywood, I think of the entertainers before her who have suffered from this. The brilliant, consistent, overqualified Black women who have spoken of having to fight for opportunities and fair pay. Aretha Franklin. Viola Davis. Tracee Ellis Ross. There's a long list of stars whose success hasn't mirrored their experiences behind the scenes.
Credit: Ally Green
If Black women outside of Hollywood are struggling to decrease the pay gap, so, too, are their wealthier, more famous peers.
Riley says there’s been progress in recent years, but only in small ways and for a limited group of people. “This business is exhausting. The goalpost is constantly moving, and sometimes it’s unfair,” she says. But, I have to say it’s the love that keeps you going.”
“There’s no way you can continue to be in this business and not love it, especially being a plus-sized Black woman,” she continues. “We’re still niche. We’re still not main characters.”
"There’s no way you can continue to be in this business and not love it, especially being a plus-sized Black woman. We’re still niche. We’re still not main characters.”
Last year, Riley starred alongside Raven Goodwin in the Lifetime thriller Single Black Female (a modern, diversified take on 1992’s Single White Female). It was more than a leading role for the actress, it also served as proof that someone who looks like her can front a successful project without it hinging on her identity. It showcased that the characters she portrays don’t “have to be about being a big girl. It can just be a regular story.”
Riley sees her work in music as an extension of her efforts to push past the rigid stereotypes in entertainment. Take her appearance on The Masked Singer, for instance. Riley said she decided to perform Mayer’s “Gravity” after being told she couldn’t sing it years earlier. “I wanted to do ‘Gravity’ on Glee. [I] was told no, because that’s not a song that Mercedes would do,” she says. “That was a full circle moment for me, doing that on that show and to hear what it is they had to say.”
As Scherzinger praised the “anointed” performance, a masked Riley began to cry, her chest heaving as she stood on stage, her eyes shielded from view. “You have to understand, I have really big names – casting directors, producers, show creators – that constantly tell me ‘I’m such a big fan. Your talent is unmatched.’ Hire me, then,” she says, reflecting on the moment.
Recently, she’s been in the studio working on original music, the follow-up to her independently-released debut EP, 2020’s Riley. The sequel to songs such as the anthemic “Big Girl Energy” and the reflective ballad “A Moment” on Riley, this new project hones in on the singer’s R&B roots with sensual grooves such as the tentatively titled “All Night.” “You said I wasn’t shit, turns out that I’m the shit. Then you called me a bitch, turns out that I’m that bitch. You said no one would want me, well you should call your homies,” she sings on the tentatively titled “Lately,” a cut about reflecting on a past relationship. From the forthcoming project, xoNecole received five potential tracks. Fans likely already know the strengths and contours of Riley’s vocals, but these new songs are her strongest, most confident offerings as an artist.
“I am so much more comfortable as a writer, and I know who I am as an artist now. I’m evolving as a human being, in general, so I’m way more vulnerable in my music. I’m way more willing to talk about whatever is on my mind. I don’t stop myself from saying what it is I want to say,” she says.
Credit: Ally Green
“Every era and alliteration of Amber, the baseline is ‘Big Girl Energy.’ That’s the name of her company,” her manager Brooks says, referencing the imprint through which Riley releases her music after getting out of a label deal several years ago. “It’s just what she stands for. She’s not just talking about size, it’s in all things. Whether it’s putting your big girl pants on and having to face a boardroom full of executives or sell yourself in front of a casting agent. It’s her trying to achieve the things she wants to do in life.”
Riley says she has big dreams beyond releasing this new music, too. She’d love to star in a rom-com with Winston Duke. She hasn't starred in a biopic yet, but she’d revel in the opportunity to portray Rosetta Tharpe on screen. She’s determined that her previous setbacks won’t stop her from dreaming big.
“I think one of my superpowers is resilience because, at the end of the day, I’m going to kick, scream, cry, cuss, be mad and disappointed, but I’m going to get up and risk having to deal with it all again. It’s worth it for the happy moments,” she says.
If Riley seems more comfortable and confident professionally, it’s because of the work she’s been doing in her personal life.
She’d previously spoken to xoNecole about becoming engaged to a man she discovered in a post on the site, but she called things off last year. For Valentine’s Day, she revealed her new boyfriend publicly. “I decided to post him on Valentine’s Day, partially because I was in the dog house. I got in trouble with him,” she says, half-joking before turning serious. “The breakup was never going to stop me from finding love. Or at least trying. I don’t owe anybody a happily ever after. People break up. It happens. When it was good, it was good. When it was bad, it was terrible, hunny. I had to get the fuck up out of there. You find happiness, and you enjoy it and work through it.”
Credit: Ally Green
"I don’t owe anybody a happily ever after. People break up. It happens. When it was good, it was good. When it was bad, it was terrible, hunny. I had to get the fuck up out of there. You find happiness and you enjoy it and work through it.”
With her ex, Riley was pretty outspoken about her relationship, even appearing in content for Netflix with him. This time around is different. She’s not hiding her boyfriend of eight months, but she’s more protective of him, especially because he’s a father and isn’t interested in becoming a public figure.
She’s traveling more, too. It’s a deliberate effort on her part to enjoy her money and reject the trauma she’s developed after experiencing poverty in her childhood. “I live in constant fear of being broke. I don’t think you ever don’t remember that trauma or move past that. Now I travel and I’m like, listen, if it goes, it goes. I’m not saying [to] be reckless, but I deserve to enjoy my hard work.”
After everything she’s been through, she certainly deserves to finally let loose a bit. “I have to have a life to live,” she says. “I’ve got to have a life worth fighting for.”
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15 Women Share Their Personal Hacks For Better Orgasms (And Sex Overall)
I’m pretty sure that I’m basically being redundant when I say that I write about sex quite a bit which means that I spend quite a bit of time doing research when it comes to sex-related intel, tips, and hacks. Yet I have to say that when it comes to getting some much-needed information in the realm of coitus, it’s been my clients (along with random interviews that I do with people because I don’t mind talking to complete strangers about intimate ish) who have garnered me some of the best takeaways.
Take orgasms, for example. Since I’m well aware of the fact that vaginal orgasms (especially) can be a real challenge for a lot of women, I’m constantly on the hunt for what can help to “bridge the gap” in that arena.
And that’s why I decided, this time, to forego science articles, vlogs, and online data and instead ask some women for myself about some of the things that they do to make having an orgasm, improving their orgasms, and their sexual experience overall something that is so much better for themselves.
So, grab yourself a light aphrodisiac snack (check out “Eat Your Way To Better Sex With Aphrodisiacs”) and dig into what 15 Black women told me gets them off, in a mighty big way, just about every time.
*As always, middle names have been used so that everyone can feel comfortable giving up the goods…umm, so to speak*
1. Rochelle. 37. Married for 11 Years.Giphy
“While y’all be out here talking about some kegels, what I’m into is my man giving me a hip massage. The key is to make sure you use some sort of massage oil that has menthol in it. Between the tingling of the menthol and him rubbing on your hips, not only is it really relaxing, but the ‘minty feel’ opens your body up so that once intercourse begins, you’re less tense, and that makes having an orgasm so much easier to do.”
2. Karmyn. 27. Single.
“Kiss him the way you want him to penetrate you. Literally, use your tongue as if it were a penis and move it in his mouth like you want him to move inside of you. The kissing will turn you both on, and if he follows your instructions, you should be able to orgasm with no problem."
"I learned this trick when I asked an ex of mine to explain what p — sy feels like, and he said the best way to explain it is what a tongue feels like inside of [the] mouth. He should’ve never told me that, boy! It’s been hell in these streets ever since!”
3. LaChelle. 43. In a Serious Relationship for Two Years.
“If you’re self-conscious about your body, get some lingerie that has cutouts in them. There is a lot of sexy stuff out here that can have you covering up the parts you’re not comfortable with while still giving him access to the ‘main events.’ My man loves one of my lace one-piece teddies that has no crotch, and it’s easier for me to orgasm because I’m not overthinking the entire time.”
4. Trinitee. 27. Married for One Year.Giphy
“We’ve only been married a year, but we weren’t exactly abstinent when we were just dating. So, we like to find ways to keep it fresh. One thing that we do is go ‘hotel hopping’ once a month. We find a new hotel and meet each other there. We try and do different hours of the day and come with a surprise in hand. Like he might bring a new sex toy, and I might have on some lingerie that he’s never seen before. Then we text each other beforehand to talk about the best part of the sex we had from the last hotel we visited. The anticipation is foreplay.”
5. Wren. 33. In a Serious Relationship for Six Years.
“What works for me is doing afterplay as foreplay. What I mean by that is, taking a nap naked with my boo before any sexual activity is one of my favorite things. Being up under him, especially if he’s spooning me, feels really good, sleeping together is very intimate, and — there’s something about being awakened outta my sleep with kisses on my neck and back that almost makes me want to cum right then and there.”
6. Bevalyn. 40. Living with Her Partner for Four Years.
“Get on your back and have him kneel in front of you."
"Put your legs over his, and when he penetrates you, ask him to use one of his hands to apply pressure on your pubic bone — the area right above your clitoris."
"As he’s gently pushing down while he’s inside of you…if you don’t cum from that, I don’t know what else to tell you, sis.”
7. Sophia. 38. In a Serious Relationship for Two Years.Giphy
“Shower sex can be a bit much, and I don’t trust a used jacuzzi. What we do is fill up our own inflatable pool and get it on inside of it. It’s perfect during the summer, late at night, because we have a tall fence. Just make sure that you bring some silicone lube to keep things slippery down there. An inflatable pool has been one of the best sex investments that we have ever made!”
8. Averie. 35. Single.
“Wanna know if your man is as into giving you head as he claims? Right after he goes down on you, ask him to immediately penetrate you. If he’s hard, he’s totally into it, and if he catches you soon enough, you’ll be in the perfect position to have a multiple orgasm. Don’t say I didn’t give you the ultimate cheat code.”
9. Victoria. 40. Married for 11 Years.
“Shellie, you actually got me on the cinnamon kick when I read one of your articles that talked about applying cinnamon oil to my clit before oral sex. Since [then], I’ve been doing some research, and it says that cinnamon is also an aphrodisiac because it stimulates blood flow. So, I’ll also drink cinnamon tea throughout the day or share a cinnamon cocktail with my husband. Works like a charm.”
Shellie here: She’s right. I did say that. LOL. You can read for yourself: “Here's How To Have Some Really Great Fall-Themed Sex.”
10. Daniela. 28. Engaged for Six Months.Giphy
“Ever been fingered backward? What I mean is, get on all fours and have him insert a finger or two from behind with his palm being flat. That way, the space in between your anus and your vagina will get a massage while your vagina gets penetrated. There’s nothing quite like it.”
11. Saven. 32. Single.
“Ice. Have him rub a little bit of ice on your clitoris and then immediately warm it up with his tongue. There is something about the drastic changes in temperature that gets me every time. And I mean, EVERY time.”
12. Ferynn. 30. Living with Her Partner for Five Years.
“I don’t know about you, but my man loves to put my legs up in the air. It was never really my favorite move until I read that behind the knees are an unsung erogenous zone. Whoever found that out was onto something because if he rubs back there while talking real crazy to me in a deep voice? Here I come…HERE I COME!”
13. Vivienne. 30. Engaged for One Year.Giphy
“Never underestimate the power of a foot massage. Just make sure that he applies pressure in the middle of your foot where your arch is. It instantly makes me wet. I asked my doctor why and he said that it’s probably because foot massages tend to increase blood flow, including where the vagina is. Either way, it’s always a good night if I get a foot massage first.”
14. Michelle. 24. Single.
“I’m a doula who owns my own exercise ball…for sex. When I first started showing couples the positions that women can get into to make labor easier, it got me to thinking that some of those positions could work for sex too — and they do."
"Something about the movement of the ball takes the pressure off of the back for both men and women. It also makes getting into certain positions a lot easier so that you can enjoy sex for a lot longer.”
15. Carol. 31. Married for Five Years.
“My husband and I have bets. If he wants me to make some of his favorite meals five days in a row, he’s gotta make me cum five times in a row. If I want him to get me something that’s not in our budget, I’ve gotta attempt one of his sex fantasies. We’re both competitive as hell, so it works for us because honestly, even when we ‘lose’…we win!”
Listen, I don’t know about y’all, but this was definitely worth my while. After all, ain’t nothin’ like some Black women who can speak from very-personal-and-up-close experience about what makes them happy — especially if it can increase the odds of bringing some sexual satisfaction your way too.
Speaking of, if you want to share the wealth, drop some of your own orgasm-related tips in the comment section. The more of us who can woosah on the regular, the better, chile. Straight up. #havefun #lotsofit
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Featured image by Giphy