Contel Bradford's Blog: GoodReads with Contel Bradford

All We Want For X-Mas Is An Orgy: Excerpt 2

“What’s goin’ on Bay,” I asked playfully, pushing him inside and shut the door. He gave little resistance, climbing backwards onto the bed.

“What’s up girl.” Darius gave a playful chuckle, unbuckling his pants like he was gettin’ some pussy or head, one.

“What ya’ll up to?” A smile covered my face but I was dead serious. Very familiar with the stories from Darius and Devin’s reckless days, swapping girls and what not, I felt that the need for concern was warranted.

“What you mean girl?” My mans tried to maintain his innocence but I knew it was all bullshit. After giving an expression that indicated my feelings, he followed up with, “I’m lookin’ out fa you ... fa us.”

Portraying a slight attitude, I settled next to him on the bed, knowing well right where the conversation was leading. The mere thought had me nervous, ready to storm downstairs and retrieve the blunt and return a bit more prepared for what he was about to spit at me. Although we were both tow up from the flo up, I remember our conversation about miss Krystal quite vividly. Yeah, she was hot to death ... for real. Natural hazel colored eyes. Smooth, honey toned skin. Flawless figure of a goddess. Like a horn-dog ass nigga, my head tilted and turned every time she left her seat, scoping that juicy booty hard, following that mesmerizing panty line to whatever crevice it crept to. I never considered myself to be a lesbian, hadn’t even much as kissed a girl. Something about Krystal drove me to that point, though, wettin’ the panties on sight, provoking these deep, internal pussy lickin’ ambitions that had recently overcome me more frequently.
I started to get somewhat antsy, hoping this nigga wasn’t playin’ wit my emotions.

“So what you sayin’ Darius? Stop beatin’ around the bush and shit.”

Knowing that I was quick to cop a tude and fuck up a good moment, he admitted,
“Alright look ... member how we was talkin’ bout the three way shit? How YOU brought up how Krystal might be a bitch you could fuck wit? Well, we might be able to make this shit go down ... tonight.”

Mr. Bill Collector Book Trailer

I created a video trailer for my ebook Mr. Bill Collector. Not a Tarantino-level production, but I think it's cool.

I'd love to know what you guys think, so here's a link:

Mr. Bill Collector Trailer

All We Want For X-Mas Is An Orgy: Excerpt

With show-stopping appeal, I entered the room and the conversation ceased … all eyes on me baby. Natural beauty I tell you … ain’t nothin’ like it. Partially wet, my hair was curly and lookin’ cute as ever. With no bra to support the lil mamas, Darius’ white T-shirt exposed my nipples, making a pair of mediocre breasts look like a pair of grade-A tits. Topping off the alluring presentation were a pair of comfortable red pajama pants, silky soft and designed to make ya ass wiggle with every step. The way Darius and his homeboy undressed me from afar, you would’ve swore a bitch had on a tight mini skirt or less. Have to admit, I damn sure gotta kick out the reaction, even though no one had said a word, until …

“Damn Kai,” Devin broke the silence. “You like look you bout to go to bed and shit.”

“I know,” Darius chimed in. “Lookin’ like a scrub and shit.”

The two of them were sitting on the couch with Krystal seated in the leather chair across from them. I plopped down on the love seat adjacent to her and shot the boys both middle fingers.

“That’s mean Darius,” Krystal defended me. “I think she look cute.”

“Thank you,” I replied, hopefully not cheesing too much. I swear the beat of my heart sped up tremendously when she walked over and took a seat beside me. Double that when she began to play with my hair. “I like you yo lil curls,” she complimented. “Wish my hair was this long.” She ain’t lyin’. Krystal kept her hair short … styled on the top and shaved at the bottom and sides. She’d look like a butch if she wasn’t so femininely gorgeous.

The two of us got to yappin’ about this and that; from the corner of my eye I noticed Darius give his boy a discrete bump, as if to say, “Look at dem two bitches. They diggin’ each other.” Bastards!

“What ya’ll smirkin’ about?” Krystal called them out before I had a chance to. She then got up and approached the other side of the room, teasing me with explicit shots of that masterful ass, panties riding up in her booty and showing dem golden brown cheeks. She stood in front of Devin and taunted, “You got somethin’ to say?”

“What you talkin’ bout man? Gon’ from round here.”

With a naughty smile and wiggle of the finger, I motioned Darius over. “What up,” he asked after sitting beside me.

“We gon’ do this or what?” I dug into my pajama pocket and pulled out the bag of X-tacy pills.

At the time, Krystal stood bent over, hands on her knees like she was performing at the strip joint. After laying eyes on that, Darius didn’t question my haste. He simply went to find the weed tray and commenced to set it off.

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My new book, All We Want For X-Mas Is An Orgy, is live on Amazon. This is my first time stepping out the shadows of the underground, so please support this book and help your favorite unknown author make some noise on the mainstream scene!

All We Want For X-Mas Is An Orgy

All We Want For X-Mas Is An Orgy: Now Available

What’s happening peoples. My new ebook,
All We Want For X-Mas Is An Orgy, is now available. Right now it’s on Smashwords, but I’m hoping I can get it on Amazon and other distribution channels soon.

Little background: I took a different approach with this story by trying to fuse a little poetry with erotica. I also wrote it in full third person, and told the story from a female perspective, both of which were firsts for me. The results —- an interesting and entertaining read unlike you’ve ever experienced, which is what I strive for with every attempt.

This book is just shy of 10,000 words so it’s a short, yet satisfying read.

Please support this book and spread the word. I need the support more than ever.

Excerpts coming soon.

Peace!

Mr. Bill Collector: Chapter 1 Excerpt

You Know You Done Fucked Up, Don't You?

July 8, 1997 12:03 am

His heart, which once pumped at a feverish and manic speed, had suddenly began to calm to a normal pace. His forehead, once slick and drenched with the perspiration that leaked down into his eyes, began to dry. Come to think of it, he was a lot more relaxed now. Finally his mind could take a moment at ease. Perhaps it was the breeze from the ceiling fan he’d just switched on that brought forth this sudden comfort. The cool air was rather refreshing, serving its purpose well.

They called him Flash, and the name fit him perfectly. If anyone lived in the fast lane it was the man given the title Eli Jamison at birth. An arrogant son of gun with a cunning way of the street, he defined “hustler” in all aspects of the term. Since the age of eighteen he couldn’t recall a moment that nearly resembled that of brokeness. He wouldn’t allow it. Sure, Flash still kicked it in the hood, but he stayed fly long before the rappers made a song about it. To make sure he never bottomed out to “po-man” status, he was constantly out on the grind, participating in whatever carefree scandal the situation called for —- all for the lust of the money.

The Native of Detroit, Michigan was born on October 22, 1969 into a life of strife and poverty. Loathing damn near every minute of it, Flash vowed to never deal with the financial burdens he watched his family endure. The man carried no memory of his mother who died as a result of a heroin overdose. And his cowardly father … well that was someone he could never speak on because it was someone he never met. Therefore, he could never love, respect, or even hate the man. Bless the hearts of his grandparents, whom showered him with all of their love, doing their best to raise a young boy destined for a life of dealing, danger, and death.

No way they should take the blame for what he’d become. And if anyone were to blame it would be this fucked up society we lived in —- the government at both the federal and local level —- corporate America —- The Man. At least that’s how Flash viewed it. The bleak ghetto environment he was confined to as a child made it more acceptable for him to be influenced by the local thugs, pushers and addicts. And after more than ten years in the life, the crafty veteran had mastered the drug sector to the point where he could package the game up in a comprehensive format and resell it an 8-week learning course. But despite all his knowledge and craftiness, Flash couldn’t shake the unavoidable cons that came with being a big time drug dealer.

“Fuck is going on?” Flash moved from the chair to the bed, and dropped his head in frustration, assuming a position similar to the one he’d been in for the last 30 minutes.

The room was as elegant as they come —- for a cheap motel that is. The nightly rate was an astounding fee of just twenty five dollars. Jack, the owner of the establishment, called it the V.I.P. Suite —- a living quarters fit for the king who demanded the finest in motel accommodations. A semi-clean leather sofa, black and white TV, and queen-sized bed occupied the small space. That was it.

Not necessarily Flash’s style, but it would have to do. He was on the run from the streets. The last place the enemy would expect to find a baller of his character was a rundown motel in the worst area of Las Vegas. At least he hoped.

Accompanying Flash on the quilted covers of the bed was the nine millimeter Beretta, the troubled piece that like so many other components, played a significant part in the current shit he found himself in. The number of lives the weapon claimed had become outrageous, to be frank. So many scalding bullets had traveled the barrel, so many rounds the piece could bear no more.

Maybe all the activity was the reason for the gun’s malfunction. Following the initial shot, it seized, leaving Flash standing with an expression of bewilder and unadulterated fright. The gun’s disposal was now mandatory. A glitch like that could get him killed out here. Not to mention the legal aspect and all those bodies metaphyscially attached to it. Shit could get him a lot of years in there.

Read Chapter 1 of Mr. Bill Collector in Full.

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Introducing: Mr. Bill Collector

This title is not yet available on Amazon, and I've been having the hardest time linking to the purchase page.

For now, I would manually like to introduce you guys to my new ebook, Mr. Bill Collector. It's based on a story I wrote in 1997, but I've touched it up a lot because well ... I've learned a lot since then.

Excerpts and more hopefully coming soon.

Check it out ... Mr. Bill Collector