Lloyd Johnson's Blog, page 2

My Journey As A Full-Time Writer---So far So Good...

Okay, so the Book Expo America event wasn't what I expected. I thought the environment would be conducive for networking. Rather, it was a bunch of industry people who were done for the day and wanted to get together and let loose, which I guess after being on the floor at the Javits Center all day, they were entitled to some down time.
But, I met up with my publicist, Ella Curry, which was nice. She hoped that I would meet a lot of people, but again, the vibe in the room wasn't lending to that. But she did introduce me to a couple of ladies who head their own book clubs. I gave them each a copy of my novel.  I also met Michelle Gipson who has an online magazine called Written Magazine, and Phill Branch, a contributing writer to that magazine and filmmaker. Both were very nice. I look forward to seeing them again. So the moral to this is that while I didn't part with, nor gain a hundred business cards, I did meet who I was intended to meet. And as a result, my book was featured in Michelle's magazine alongside some other really great authors. I visualized meeting about three people that I felt would be meaningful to meet and it came to pass. My one regret is that I didn't go to the Javits Center because if I had, I would have seen J. Randy Taraborrelli, who was doing book signing for his biography of Marilyn Monroe, which incidentally coincided with the premier of a Lifetime movie about Marilyn that he was also involved with. I met Randy for the first time back in 2006. He was in NYC on a media blitz for his Elizabeth Taylor biography. Then, a year later, I was invited to his home for an end-of-summer party. Had a very good time. So,it would have been very nice to see him again, and had I known he was there, I definitely would've stayed in Manhattan longer to do so.

Now, I've been working as a full-time writer for three months, and I love it! I love getting up in the morning, kissing the spouse goodbye and having my two cups of coffee. Then, I get much of what could distract me out of the way so I can devote my time to writing my third book. Admittedly, it took some time to get used to the flow of my day, and not allow those distractions to blow my entire day. But now, I've reached a point where I'm feeling productive. And I can smile because I'm living my dream. I said that I wanted to be a writer who worked from home, and while the opportunity did not present itself in the way that i thought it would, it did present itself, and for that I'm grateful!

Will I Stand Or Will I Fall?

Received some very good news yesterday. I have a friend who is going to appear on the Food Network. This opportunity is going to blow her into the stratosphere. It's an opportunity many aren't lucky to get. I hope she knows what to do with it. I mention it because I've been wishing these great things for her, all the while wishing great things for myself. I've always felt that success is a large enough table for all to find a seat at. It doesn't have to be an either/or scenario where one person has to lose out for another to gain. And while she is about to enter into a new and exciting phase of her entrepreneurial life, I find myself becoming languid. No one really reads these posts, I can't very well pretend they do and I really wish I could say they did, but  the numbers don't lie. Maybe I was hoping to find strength from it. But, I guess I'll have to find it from somewhere else. My friend's turn of luck inspires me, because I want to sit at that big table with her. I don't want to be left behind. Success has a way of separating people, as it sometimes should. You shouldn't want to take everyone you've ever known on your journey to the next level. that can become quite distracting. I guess I worry that my chances are evaporating into nothing.  I just read an article about a writing duo who write "urban fiction". What I got from the article is that the stories are so compelling that they almost forgive a number of other sins. I'm guessing that for a long time there was limited editing being done. How else could they turn out four to five books a year? Now they have over fifty novels. And they have a fan base that is off the charts. And yet, I take the time to do everything right to write a well written book, and as a result, The Dog Catcher received great reviews. But still no one knows about it. I'm trying very hard to stay positive. I don't want my mind to begin slipping into an abyss of negativity. I just don't know...

GET TO STEPPIN'!

So tomorrow will be a week since my work path shifted. I've gone through all of the emotions one expects to go through when such a change takes place unexpectedly. Now more than ever it is time to keep steppin'. I'd built up such a momentum that it would be foolish to stall now. So, I sent emails to various brick and mortar bookstores, some who have an online shop option. To keep the spirits high, I also bought The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. The first time I ever heard of the title was from Will Smith. I tried to listen to it on YouTube, but I wasn't at a point where I was ready to receive what it had to offer. Fast forward and I am now ready to receive its message.  I look forward to all opportunity that springs forth. My faith is alive, and it is steadfast that I will achieve my goals.

When God Comes Knocking Open The Damn Door!

Yesterday I was let go from a position I held for a little over ten years. The truth is, I felt like I was in a cloud for most of the day. But I woke up this morning realizing that while I no longer have the convenience of a regular routine,  there is something greater awaiting me. I feel God closed this door because He has an even bigger one for me to walk through, but in order for me to see the value in that, He had to force me out of a situation that I was not very happy with in the first place, and was only going through the motions for.I kind of liken it to an adult child who is living at home with their parents, and they have no real motivation or ambition to leave home until one day the parents say "GET THE EFF OUT!" I think God was telling me to get the eff out, because knowing me, I would have been content complaining about this job and the politics that go along with it for as long as it was all comfortable and routine.
I've said that my goal is to be a a full-time author who writes from home and makes a living. Here is that opportunity to do so and I'm scared shit-less. I don't want to fail. I want to be one of those great success stories of second chances. I have two published books that I am promoting. I have events set up for the summer, and connections to be made. I'm excited by the prospects, and grateful to have been forced into realizing my destiny. And while it would have been nice to have left that old life of my own volition, God came knocking when He did, and I opened the damn door.

Book Review: The Dog Catcher

My Thoughts Are Passing Like Clouds Today...

Looking for inspiration, though none exists that is long lasting. Nonetheless, I must find something to inspire my work. I am no William Burroughs; I won't be sitting still in an altered state watching the shadows crawl across my walls. My mind doesn't give in to things that way. Perhaps that is a curse. Perhaps my writing would only be helped if that were the case.

Wrote down my goals early this morning. Nothing far into the future, more like things to be done within the day or week. I finished two and a half of them. I'm supposed to record myself reading from my novels. The thought terrifies me. I would be a stuttering fool if I were to do that now. I'm not ready. And yet, I must become ready no later than mid week. I have a radio interview coming up a week from tomorrow. I'll have to talk out into a space that I'm not sure will be occupied with listeners. I can hope. Hope costs nothing to myself or anyone else for that matter, unless that hope is a false one.

One thing I am certain of, I have faith in  the work I do, that I am doing. And that isn't delusion speaking, and I'm sure it would sound divine uttered from another's lips, but the truth is, I have talent as a writer. Whether a  modicum or a filled stream's worth. And I have goals and ambitions that I hold fast to because without them I would go mad. And not in a melodramatic or psychotic way, but in a way in which one would have to sit alone in silence and think about all the choices he's made and how those choices have brought him to where he is at this moment. I own those poor choices. Owning them helps to keep me here in the moment.  I only have what I am doing here in this moment. And it has to work for me, because God knows I don't have anything else.

The First Two Chapters From My Novel The Dog Catcher

Chapter OneLet me go ahead and put the shit out there; men are ridiculous. Worse than that, they’re dogs. They all start biting sooner or later.             All the men in my life have been dogs. My daddy, dog number one, is probably the grandfather of all hounds. He finally stopped beating my mama when I turned 15, around the time we moved to Minneapolis, Minnesota, from Jackson, Mississippi.Mama got a job as a surgical tech at Mount Sinai Hospital, but Daddy could barely hold a job that first year. Instead, he spent his days at some bar, usually the Spruce, chasing butt. Not a day went by that Mama and us kids weren’t finding some strange woman’s earrings or watch in the car. One time I found some lady’s nasty panties underneath the car seat. After awhile, Mama stopped letting on that she knew what was happening, even though we knew she knew. She was from that generation where marriage really was, “Till death do us part.” But that meant putting up with all the bullshit in between.I don’t know how she made it through all of that. Maybe it was her faith in God. She believed that everything was possible through Him. Yeah, everything but my daddy keeping his pants zipped.By the time I turned 16, I’d had enough.  Mama kept turning her head to what was going on, and Daddy wasn’t even trying to hide those bitches he was laying up with.I got so fed up, I wanted to ask Mama why she didn’t leave him. At that point she was practically supporting us all by herself, so it’s not like she needed him for anything. But I knew she’d say that I needed to stay in a child’s place. That’s one of the things I hated about my mama. She never took the time to explain anything. If she told you to do something, you couldn’t ask why, because she would just say, “Because I said so, damn it!” When my body first started changing, I don’t think she even took the time to explain what I was going through, or what I could expect. The day I first got my period, I was scared. I didn’t know why there was blood in my panties. When I told her, all she said was, “Oh, you’re startin’ to get your service once a month.” Then she went into the closet and fished out a pad and said, “Here, use that.”Daddy had been getting paid under the table, working as a second-rate fix-it-man around the neighborhood, but finally got a real job unloading trucks downtown. I was just as glad because instead of him being home all day, telling me how no good I was, he’d work all day and hang out at the bar all night. But when he was liquored-up I’d hear it.One night, I got up to get a drink of water from the kitchen. When I went downstairs I overheard Daddy telling Mama how I had all kinds of boyfriends. “Ain’t you noticed anything different about your daughter?” Daddy asked, deep in the booze.“Which daughter you talkin’ about, Joshua? Cheryl or Marva?”“I’m talkin’ about Cheryl. You don’t see nothin’ wrong with her wearin’ all that makeup?”“Well, she’s gettin’ to that age, Joshua. She don’t wear nothin’ but a little lip rouge,” Mama said. “She’s gonna be a tramp. You mark my words,” Daddy said, taking another swig of booze.I snuck back upstairs and went to the bathroom to run my hand under the faucet and drink some water. Then I got into bed and cried myself to sleep, because it was sad to live under the same roof with folks who were supposed to be family, and yet they didn’t even know me. If my parents had taken the time to ask me, they would’ve known there was only one person I cared about; dog number two.            His name was Diallo Washington. I’d seen him around the neighborhood during the summer. The first time I laid eyes on him, he’d been outside his house with his friends trying to fix an old, beat-up Buick. His mama stood knock-kneed in the doorway, plump like a Thanksgiving turkey, wearing a blue, and, purple swirled, psychedelic housedress. She was telling him to go to the store to get her some cigarettes. He turned to see me standing on the sidewalk, watching him. That’s when the sun caught his eyes, which shimmered an amazing green.  This brotha was fine as hell. I mean, he was all that and a whole convenience store, not just a bag of busted chips.I could tell he knew he was fine. He strutted around that yard like a peacock, showing off his green eyes. Diallo was black as night, so you know that a brotha with green eyes is gonna catch some attention.The only other black guy I’d ever seen with light-colored eyes was Smokey Robinson on The Ed Sullivan Show. And just like Smokey, Diallo could sing his ass off. That’s how we finally met for the first time; he was out in front of the store one day, singing doo-wop to a bunch of giggling girls. I couldn’t help but get drawn into it too. I’d close my eyes and it was like Dennis Edwards from The Temptations was right in front of me.            As soon as I came on the scene those other girls no longer mattered because he made his way toward me and finished his little ditty of a song, “The Nighttime is the Right Time” as he gazed into my eyes. Realizing they didn’t stand a chance, the other three girls walked off in a huff.            “Eh, what’s your name, lil’ mama?”            “Cheryl.”            “Nice to meet you, Cheryl. I’m Diallo,” he said, taking my hand and shaking it.            “Nice to meet you, too.”“You got a boyfriend?”“No.”“That’s too damn bad. You’re too pretty not to have a boyfriend. Can I walk with you after you get what you need from the store?”I nodded my head shyly. After that day, it was a whirlwind romance. He drove me to and from school in that Buick he’d been working on. I felt supreme, being seen getting out of my boyfriend’s car instead of riding around in some rickety school bus with the other students.  Diallo was a different breed. He was five years older and didn’t have to talk a lot of nonsense like the boys my age. I felt he was someone I could tell my troubles to. When I told him all about my family drama, he not only lent me an ear, he tried putting thoughts into my head; telling me stuff like my folks were trying to control me. But I knew that wasn’t true, because Daddy was always at the bar if he wasn’t at home or at work, and Mama, true to form, just turned her head away from stuff so I don’t know when anybody had time to control me.            When it came to sex, he seemed thrilled that I hadn’t given up my cookie yet. I tried to resist his charms but those eyes and voice of his finally worked their magic. He literally sang my panties off; singing The Temptations’ hit “I Can’t Get Next to You.” But my first time wasn’t all precious like you see in a soap opera. He just slapped his dick against my clit a few times and then rammed it inside my pussy.To say it hurt ain’t telling the whole truth. I felt like my insides were bleeding, that’s how bad the pain was. I begged him to stop, but all he said, in a sex-moan-kind of way was, “Naw, naw. It’ll start feelin’ good after awhile!”            Yeah right! He had no idea. He was just trying to get the pussy, and my dumb ass gave it to him. He was huge in the dick department, and eventually I got into the swing of things. Again and again, that brotha knew how to pound a pussy in. That’s what he used to call it.He was so good, that he not only owned my pussy, but my heart. At 17, I guess I could’ve been scared when I came up pregnant. But Diallo was my everything. I just knew he would do right by me.What I found out instead was the quickest way to get a dog to run and hide, is to tell him you’re pregnant. He stopped picking me up from school, and stopped calling altogether. He even slammed the door in my face when I went to his mother’s house where he lived.I was hurt, and every day I stood in the mirror after taking a shower, watching as my stomach got bigger, it was like feeling the rejection all over again.            Mama caught on pretty soon, even though I tried to hide my stomach by wearing some of my friend Leon’s sweatshirts. She didn’t yell at me or anything. She didn’t have to, because she had a way of saying things with a tone that had the same effect. She just kept talking about how she was gonna get me out of the house and into this place where fast-ass girls like me went to get their situations taken care of. I knew she was talking about me getting an abortion. But I remembered how painful it was for a girl I knew at school, and how raw she felt afterward. I’d be damned if I was gonna go through that myself. This was my mistake, and I wasn’t afraid to feed it or clothe it.I waited until Mama said she had made arrangements to send me away. I told her that I wasn’t going anywhere. I said that I knew of a girl in my situation who still went to school and worked at night. She was taking care of her business.That’s when Mama drew back, and I guess all the pain and embarrassment of my pregnancy, plus her own unhappiness with my daddy must have been packed in her hand, because she popped me dead in my mouth.I couldn’t believe that Mama, a Christian woman—could want me to abort my baby just to save her the embarrassment of us being seen as one of those families. And yet she cursed me, using language that would normally make her blush, calling me all kinds of bitches and whores. And while she’s staring at me, I’m seeing something behind her eyes that I’d never seen before. I knew she saw me as a disappointment.            Of all the days he could’ve come home early, Daddy picked that day.            “Your fast-ass daughter here done got herself knocked-up!” Mama screamed at Daddy.Before I had the chance to look at his face, I felt a fist hit the side of my head. I hit the floor. Daddy pulled me by my arms, but I was trying to turn loose, so, he grabbed fistfuls of my hair. I was afraid that I wouldn’t have any hair left when he was through with me.He started kicking me; his anger was so wild that I don’t think he cared where his foot stomped me. I covered my stomach, trying to avoid the wash of stomps.I looked up; the room was blurry through my tears as I saw Mama watching me get beat. Then, she took her car keys and left for work.            “Now this is what you’re gonna do,” he told me at the end. “You’re gonna go upstairs and pack your shit, and take your ass over to that nigga’s house who did this to you. And he better not set foot in my house or I will shoot the motherfucker where he stands, do you hear me?”I was crying so hard, that all I could do was mumble. In my mind I was saying, “Yeah, Daddy,” but I don’t think it came out that way.            I limped upstairs to the bathroom to wash the blood off my face. My lips were busted. How in the hell could he do that to a 17-year-old girl, and a pregnant one at that?As soon as I saw my eye was swollen shut, I sank to the floor. I must have been crying in that bathroom for hours because at some point my seven-year-old sister, Marva, came in there.Here I was slumped on the floor, and that little bitch just stands on her tippy-toes so she can wash her hands for dinner. She didn’t say anything to me, probably afraid my daddy would get in her ass, too.            I called my friend Rexanne. She was in a program that gave her a place to stay since she was emancipated from her parents.  They threw her out when they found out she liked females. Found out? Rexanne was more masculine than a lot of dudes in the neighborhood. You mean to tell me that it took her parents coming home and catching her with her face in some girl’s pussy to figure that out?             “What’s the matter?” she asked once she picked up and heard me crying on the phone.            “I need a favor.”            “What?”            “Can I stay with you for a while? My daddy just beat the shit out of me because he found out I’m pregnant. He’s kicking me out the house.”            “What the fuck, man! You ain’t called the police on that motherfucker?”            “No, Rexanne. I don’t need no more trouble. Can I stay with you or not?”            “Of course you can. You can stay for as long as you want.” Rexanne came and got me and I moved me and my few bags to her place.  Since I didn’t drive, she took me to all my doctors’ appointments. Here I was, seven months pregnant, hormones all out of control and depressed because I was on my own, feeling like damaged goods. I couldn’t understand why Daddy not only beat me the way he did, but also threw me out the house. I thought blood was supposed to be thicker than water.I’d started to think that she was beginning to have feelings for me. I ain’t gonna lie, if Rexanne had been just Rex, meaning if she were a guy, I could have seen myself with someone like her. She acted like a real man, but she was tender, too. She thought about me before she thought about herself. No man had ever treated me like that before.In a way, Rexanne was what I envisioned my perfect man to be. She told me a woman could eat pussy better than a man because a woman has one and knows what feels good. My dumb ass let her try and prove it.            One night, Rexanne brought some Courvoisier home. I don’t know how she managed to get alcohol because she was only 18, but she was always drinking the hard stuff that could put hair on the chest of most men. Since I was feeling lower than low, I thought, “forget everything,” and started drinking. As the night wore on, Rexanne started inching herself closer and closer to me. She put her arm around me and her warm breath tickled my ear. She told me that I was beautiful, even though I sure didn’t feel that way. With all the drama I had endured with the men in my life, that night, I could understand why some women preferred other women. Rexanne had been so good to me and I trusted her. I knew she liked me, and I figured since she wasn’t hitting me up for any rent money, it was the least I could do, and I was a little curious see if a woman could please another woman. Rexanne was all I had at the time, and she was doing her damndest to make me forget about all of my troubles.            I was good and drunk. As we talked, I saw her licking her lips, the way Diallo used to.             “What would you do if I were to kiss you, right now?” she asked.            “I’d say do what you gotta do,” I said.I sat up, wondering for a short moment if I really should have been doing what I was doing. Her eyes were so kind, I didn’t mind it when she leaned in, took my face in her hands and kissed me. Her lips were soft; I just closed my eyes and went with it.When she tried to put her tongue in my mouth, that’s when I pulled away.            “Naw, naw, baby. Just relax. You need to leave them jive-niggas alone. They can’t make you feel the way I can.” I felt helpless as my body shivered. She looked at me with those eyes that usually seemed so suspicious, but were suddenly loving and tender. When she unbuttoned my shirt, I became embarrassed of how big my stomach was. I began trying to close my shirt back up, but she brushed my hands away.            “Naw, don’t do that. You need to get off that kick of thinkin’ you’re ugly. I think you’re beautiful.”She got down on the floor and slid my pants and panties down. I could feel my heart beating as she ran her hands between my legs. She leaned in and blew on my pussy. At first I thought, “What the hell is this bitch doing?” but then she took her fingers and started pumping me and rubbing my clit. It had been so long since I’d had anything in there. Spasms of pleasure shot through me as I arched my back the best I could. She buried her face in my stuff and ate me out like it was her last meal. When she raised her head up from her feast, her face was glistening from my wetness. Then she tried to kiss me again, but I was like, “Oh, hell no.”She got up from the floor and sat back down next to me. I struggled to pull my panties and pants back up, and re-buttoned my shirt. She just stared at me with this shit-kicking grin on her face.            “So, how’d you like that? Am I good or am I good?” she asked, like she had just given the pussy eating of a lifetime.            “It was good,” I said, not knowing what else to say. I didn’t like the smile on her face. It was like she was saying, “Yeah, I got this bitch.” I was doing her a favor.            After that night, Rexanne started acting like we were boyfriend and girlfriend; coming up behind me and wrapping her arms around me, kissing my neck, grabbing my booty. I had to fix that right away.            “Listen, Rexanne, I ain’t gonna lie. I enjoyed the other night. But I’m not like you; I like guys, always have and always will.”            “You weren’t talking that shit when you were moanin’ my name,” she said.            “I may have been moaning, but I know I didn’t call out your name. Now that’s just something I wouldn’t damn do.”            “What you sayin,’ that it was just a fling?”            “I was depressed and feeling sorry for myself. It was an experiment. A lot of people experiment.”            “So what, you’re sorry you did it?” she asked me. Rexanne sounded hurt.            “No. You’re my friend. I wouldn’t have done it with just anybody. But you need to understand that it was just one time.”            Rexanne smiled and said, “We’ll see.”            On November 20, 1974, I gave birth to a son. I named him Lawrence because I always liked that name, and I thought it would fit him because I was going to raise him to know how to treat women; a gentleman’s name for a future gentleman.I called Diallo’s mother to tell her that Diallo had a son. She sighed wearily into the phone.“Now, are you sure it’s his?”“Yes, Ma’am. He took my virginity,” I said, embarrassed to have to explain myself to this woman I didn’t know.“No, you probably just gave it away. Well, that’s a shame. The last girl callin’ here talkin’ ‘bout she pregnant, was a damn lie.”“Well, I’m positive; Diallo’s the father because he’s the only one I’ve been with.”“He needs to learn to wear a rubber since he can’t trust you girls to take care of your own business! Anyway, I’ll tell him you called!” And then she hung up. I was made to feel dirty about something that really was only half my fault.  My mother came by the hospital, but I really wish she hadn’t. I couldn’t forget looking up to see her grab her keys and dip out while I was getting beat within an inch of my life. She brought a bag of clothes for Lawrence. I told her she could just put the bag on the chair. I guess I said it with an attitude because when she left, she took the clothes with her. Still, there was no sign of Diallo. That fool couldn’t be bothered to even come by to look at the baby.Maybe I had it coming. But I thought that maybe when he saw the baby it would hit home that responsibilities awaited him. But no, he disappeared into a mob of his doggish friends who probably encouraged him to act like that. I decided cutting my losses with Diallo was the best thing I could do for me and my son. For our sakes it would have to be.

Chapter TwoI didn’t have to sit through an episode of Good Times to know that things were bad for black folks. I lived it.It was May of 1975, and I was walking around with a six-month-old on my hip, no job, and staying with Rexanne. There was still no involvement from Diallo, though I did run into him at the grocery store one day. He looked down at Lawrence who was sitting in the shopping cart, playing with a bag of chips. “This him?” he asked me.“Why do you gotta ask such a stupid-ass question? Who else would he be?” He picked him up and held him. Standing in the middle of the grocery store aisle, he actually looked like a proud, new father. He offered me a ride home; this after telling me how fine I looked, and that he couldn’t tell that I’d even had a baby.“Oh? Now you wanna be helpful?”“Come on, now. My mama’s been sick,” he said, avoiding my eyes. Any other time he’d proudly flash those green eyes of his. “What’s wrong with her?” I asked, taking Lawrence back and putting him back in the cart. I put his pacifier in his mouth because his little face had started to squinch up, like he wanted to start crying.“She’s got diabetes. Yeah, she ain’t been doin’ too good,” he said, looking at me for the first time. “Listen, I know I fucked up. My sister’s been raisin’ all kinds of hell, telling me what a bum I am.”“She’s right,” I said, laughing in his face.When we got to the checkout line, I pulled out my food stamps. I’d put off going on welfare for as long as I could, but finally realized that I had to do what I had to do. He looked horrified and probably sensed my embarrassment. He went into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money, saying, “I got it.” He looked at me, smiling as though he had just made the grandest gesture. I wasn’t impressed.“So what about that ride home?” he said, smiling that sly, doggish smile of his. I accepted the ride home. I figured it was the least his black ass could do.  I sat quietly while he tried to make small talk.             “Why you so quiet?” he asked.            “I don’t have anything to say to you.”            “Then why in the hell did you accept a ride from a nigga if all you was gonna do is be rude and shit?”            “Excuse me for not thinking you giving me a ride is anything special! I took the ride because I get real sick and tired of trying to get home with a six-month-old and a ton of groceries! I’m sick of people on the bus sitting there on their asses, looking stupid when it’s obvious I could use a seat, or even a hand!” That shut Diallo right up. He just shook his head and kept his eyes on the road. When we got to the apartment, he insisted on helping me put everything away, as if I didn’t know where fruits and vegetables or lunch meat went.            “Okay, thanks,” I said, motioning him to the door as soon as the last piece of food was stored away. He started smiling again, as though he were hatching a plan. He started looking around the apartment like he was expecting someone to burst in.            “Where’s your roommate?”            “She ain’t here,” I said, giving him the best no-nonsense look I could.            “You wanna do something?”            “Do what, Diallo?”            He walked in closer and squeezed my booty, licking his lips in that sexy way of his.            “Why don’t you gimme some of this ass right quick,” he said, his hands still on my booty.            “Negro, please! You can’t even help me take care of the baby we got, but you expect me to give you some?”            Just then, Rexanne came through the door, which startled both of us. I was glad to see her because then I wouldn’t have to fight him off me, or worse, let those green eyes seduce me into something I’d later regret. She wore shorts and a T-shirt. She must’ve had one of her lesbian friends cornrow her hair because it looked freshly done.            “Who’s this?” Rexanne asked, all wide-eyed.            “This is Diallo, and he was just leaving,” I said.“Shake the scene, Turkey,” Rexanne said, posturing like she was ready to throw down.        Diallo began to chuckle like she was the biggest joke in the room. “Eh, man, who is this jive-ass, dykey broad?”            “She’s done more for me than you have!” I said.            “You’ve been lettin’ this bitch eat your pussy or somethin’?”            “Fuck you, boy!” Rexanne said as she popped him on the side of the head.Diallo looked stunned that a female had put her hands on him. Then I saw something snap in him and his eyes got really evil looking, like the devil had entered his body. Rexanne pushed Diallo out the door, slamming it shut. Diallo beat on that door. I was afraid he was going to kick it down.            “Open up this door, bitch! Motherfucker, you wanna act like a man, I’ll treat you like one!”            “Diallo, get out of here before I call the police!” I screamed through the door.            “Yeah, go ahead and do that shit! Call those pigs and tell them this bulldagger put her hands on me. Funky-ass bitch don’t know who she’s messin’ with!” Diallo must have stayed out there for another ten minutes. “I’m gonna get your ass for that, bitch! Just you wait!” he screamed, kicking the door one final time before leaving. Rexanne walked around the apartment, her chest stuck out like she had won the victory.            “Rexanne, you shouldn’t have hit him,” I said.            “Man, fuck that punk. He had no business in my house in the first place.”            “He was giving me a ride home. In case you didn’t know, it’s hard shopping with a baby.”“You’re takin’ rides from that nigga now? This, after you cry to me about how he’s no good and ain’t livin’ up to his responsibilities. Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter, I don’t let anybody talk shit to me in my own house, and if you don’t like it, you can run your ass right after him.”            She had a point. It was her house.  But she still didn’t have to hit him. I was scared for her because Diallo wasn’t playing. And he was right; she didn’t know who she was messing with.
***Get the full novel now! Available at Amazon.com in paperback and Kindle formats Also available in Nook format at Barnes & Noble.

The First Two Chapters Of My Novel Tricks For A Trade

Chapter OneFriday, July 11, 20085:40AM“You on your period, now?  Really?” Armando’s said in disbelief as Karen turned her back to him in bed. He didn’t know why she would even bother telling that lie.             “Was a time when I’d fuck that pussy out of place and ol’ girl would be so tired, she couldn’t talk shit or ask a lot of questions,” he thought to himself. Now, Armando was getting bullshit excuses AND no pussy. He wondered if he was losing his touch.            Karen wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but she was cute to look at. Medium brown, with long-lashed, warm eyes, she kept her hair short, but always permed and together. None of that new-growth-busting-through stuff. There was a gap between her two front teeth, but it didn’t make her teeth look wrecked. You had the feeling her smile wouldn’t have been as beautiful if she ever got her teeth fixed. God must’ve skipped out on her in the self-esteem department, though. It seemed like everyone but Karen knew she was a good woman. Sure, she’d tell you that she was, but it’s not like she really believed it. Every time Armando stroked her hair, he was stroking her ego. He was a good man who’d found his good woman. He was just waiting on her to believe it too. “So, I guess I can’t get none before work, huh?” Armando asked, his thick arms crossed, his gray eyes seductive. She sat up in the bed, intentionally allowing the bed sheet to fall from her breasts. “Boy, you better stop playing with me,” she said, unfazed by his eyes’ magic. She’d seen them before.Armando jumped from the bed and stared at Karen with both anger and lust in his eyes. His boxers fell to the floor. Karen couldn’t help but steal a glance of him stroking his girth. But it changed nothing.            Determined to remain strong she asked, “Have you given anymore thought to what we talked about?”             “Karen, don’t start that shit again, all right?” He stopped stroking.            “No, Armando. I’m going to keep on that shit. I’m getting tired of hearing my mama suck her teeth, telling me how I’m living in sin.”                       “I don’t know why you gotta tell your mama everything in the first place,” he said.            “Because she’s my mama!”            “Oh, please. Ya’ll don’t even get along.”            “Don’t try and change the subject,” Karen said, shaking her always well manicured hands and rolling her neck. “When are we getting married?”            “I gotta go to work.”            “Yeah, that’s right. Take your black ass to work. But we ain’t finished with this conversation. Believe that. But I know one thing; I better not find out that you’re fucking some other woman, Armando. Because if you are, you better take a good look at that dick of yours, baby.”            “What, you’re gonna go Lorena Bobbit on me?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.    “Hell yeah. But in your case, they won’t find it in no bushes.”            “Why is it every time you hear something you don’t like, I gotta be messing around?”             Karen didn’t care how many times he claimed his whoring days were over. He hadn’t proposed to her yet, so he must’ve been out laying every female that would let him. She gave him the iciest of stares, her arms folded, like she was expecting a full confession to some bogus shit he’d been doing.Instead, Armando went to the bathroom; his jet stream of piss turned the toilet water yellow as Karen stood in the doorway. Her words began sounding like Charlie Brown’s teacher, “Wah wah wah wah, wah wah wah wah!” He closed his eyes, clenching his ass cheeks so that a fart wouldn’t pop out. He hated farting in front of a female, no matter how comfortable he was with her.            He flushed the toilet, hearing her say, “Enough of the dumb shit!” He slammed the door in her face, which was met with angry pounding. He locked the door and turned on the shower, jumping in quickly. The bitch didn’t deserve his dick anyway.            After his shower, Karen had quieted down. But he wasn’t going to risk starting her up again, so he avoided eye contact and put on his underwear, undershirt, black work pants and white golf shirt in record speed. Karen sat on the side of her bed with her back toward him once more.            Karen had told him a thousand times---she felt used and abused. He got it. And he was sorry she felt that way, but it wasn’t going to change who he was. He did want to marry her…someday. But since leaving home at 18 to get away from his mother and her boyfriend drama, he’d been in survival mode, always thinking, “Be loyal to yourself. Everything and everyone else comes after.” Freedom pulsed through his blood, and Armando wasn’t ready to give that up.            Why couldn’t she just relax and enjoy the orgasms he put on her? But maybe that was the problem. Maybe she wasn’t strong enough to handle the dick. It spun her around and left her all out of breath… and paranoid. It also made her weak and co-dependent.          Armando walked up to Karen, kissing her on the side of her temple. “I’ll call you later,” he said.             “Whatever.”             He left for work, not feeling too badly about any of it. She was 27, just like him. They were both grown and she knew how he was.  Armando had to do things on his own timetable.  He had told her that a thousand times.            One thing was certain, he loved Karen. On a good day, he loved that she encouraged him not to be afraid to dream, and seize opportunities.  But as  he drove to work, he was reminded of  just how many of these opportunities he’d allowed to slip through his grasp: journalism scholarships offered by the Urban League, offers to learn a trade at Job Corp, work as an apprentice with a landscaper, and even modeling. He knew he had an intelligent mind if applied, but he was lazy. He’d gotten off easy with his looks. Gray eyes that contrasted brilliantly against his caramel skin, and hair fro’d-out like Lenny Kravitz, Armando knew he was a gift for the ladies. But it only took him so far. After working everything from janitorial to McDonald’s, Armando was now a busboy at the Peterson Hotel. He hadn’t exactly set the world on fire.            He pulled into the employee parking lot of the hotel. When he stepped out of the car, the humidity hit him so fiercely, he was bleeding sweat. Entering the employee entrance, Armando found no relief from the heat. The back corridors were just as hot as it was outside, which meant the AC system was busted again. “Great, I’m gonna be sweating all goddamn day long! These motherfuckas could invest in a decent system that works,” Armando thought to himself, though for a brief moment he thought he’d said it aloud. This is what he’d been reduced to; passing time in a dead-end job. There had to be a better way to make money.             Even if he were ready for marriage, how was he supposed to marry the woman he’d been blessed to have if he was always living hand to mouth? Day after day, busing dirty dishes, cleaning up sugar packets, and scraping cereal up from the carpet wasn’t going to provide them with any kind of life. Maybe Karen didn’t mind, but Armando was a man. He minded a lot.             By the end of his shift, Armando was so drained he walked out of the hotel without the obligatory goodbyes. The heat outside was as strong and determined as ever, and his skin was already damp and rubbery. He got into his car, pulled out into the street and made his way toward home.              At the corner of Franklin and Hennepin, his cell phone rang. It was Karen. The light at the intersection turned green, he made a right turn and found a spot on the neighboring city street to park so that he could take the call.  “Yeah,” Armando said, impatiently.             “You need to stop off and get something for dinner because I ain’t cookin’,” Karen told him.              “Now what’s wrong? I wasn’t planning on stopping.”            “Look, the slave trade ended years ago, okay? I’m not cookin’ because I just walked in the door my damn self, and I’m tired.”            “What do you want?” Armando was getting agitated.            “Go by the chicken joint. I want some chicken.”    “Karen, I’m almost home. You better think of something else to eat because I’m not searching high and low for chicken.”             “Look, nigga, you asked me what I wanted and I’m telling you. I’m not gonna sit up here and play on the phone, so bring me some chicken!” Karen screamed as Armando hung up on her.The phone rang again and Armando ignored it. He checked around to see if anyone was coming. When he pulled out to head to the nearest KFC, he heard the chirp of his voicemail. He knew it was Karen, calling to curse him out for having hung up on her.Once he pulled up to the restaurant, he remembered that he didn’t know what exactly Karen wanted. So he ordered a 10-piece bucket of original recipe with biscuits and mashed potatoes. If she didn’t like it, too damn bad. She should’ve gotten the food herself, he reasoned. After picking up the chicken, he stopped at the Super America gas station for cigarettes. The woman cashier was cute, he thought.             “How you doin’?” she asked him.            “I’m fine. Just trying to get home, ya know?” he said, smiling.             “I heard that,” she said. As she scanned the price of the cigarettes, she leaned in coquettishly and said, “You know you need to leave these cigarettes alone. Didn’t your mama tell you those things are bad for you?”                       “We all need a vice,” he said, smiling back at her.                        Just then, the manager stepped out from the back area. But the cashier didn’t see the manager when she said, “Just be glad you ain’t my man. Cause I wouldn’t kiss any man with stank cigarette breath.”             “Benita, what did I tell you about your mouth?” the manager admonished.  Armando paid the cashier and left quickly, not wanting to get the cashier into anymore trouble. When Armando got home he found Karen in the kitchen on the phone. He walked over to her and set the bag of food down in front of her. She looked up, telling the person she was on the phone with she would call them back and promptly hung up.            “I’m sorry, baby.” Karen looked at him with doe-eyed innocence. She wrapped her arms around his waist and planted the side of her face to his chest.             “Next time, get the shit yourself,” Armando said, pushing her away.            “Armando, come on now. I’m trying.”             Armando rolled his eyes. “Do you even know why you’re sorry? Just eat your bucket of grease and leave me alone,” he said, leaving the kitchen to go into the bedroom. Karen got up and followed him in.              “Armando, I know I’m acting crazy. It’s just that I love you and I’m scared you’re gonna mess around and find a better offer with someone else. I don’t want to lose you.”“Look, I’m getting tired of your moods. Half the time I come up in here, I don’t know which Karen is gonna be here. I hate how you talk to me, too.”“I know, baby, and I’m sorry. I promise I’ll work on that.”Karen ran her hands along his chest, and down his stomach, resting them on his crotch.             “You gonna give me some later?” Karen asked suggestively.Armando turned to look at her. Now she wanted the dick? Typical. They’d argue one minute, and then behave as though nothing happened the next, usually after her mood shifted. Things between them had always been spicy and explosive. He remembered their fourth date…“You ain’t gotta lie, Armando! I saw you staring at that bitch in the movie theater,” Karen said once they’d made it back to the car.“Wow, Karen. How in the hell was I gonna be checking out another female when it was pitch black in the theater?”“Boy, you had all that light coming from the screen. You could see.”“Babe, you need help,” Armando said, putting the key into the ignition.“Do you think the bitch can do this?” Karen said, reaching over to massage his crotch.Armando’s body jolted at the sudden touch. He nervously looked around to see if anyone was watching them.“Ain’t nobody gonna see us. We’re parked back here in this corner of the garage. Now, you tell me if the bitch would do this,” Karen said as she pulled Armando’s growing girth from his unzipped pants. He watched helplessly as his hardened inches disappeared into her mouth. He pulled his underwear and pants down farther to give her easy access.“I asked you a question,” Karen said, stroking him suddenly. She looked up at Armando, who appeared lost in a dream.“Hell no, she can’t. You got this, girl!” Armando sounded out of breath, his voice thick with anticipation for Karen to place her heavenly lips on his manhood once more.“Yeah, I know this,” Karen said, secure in her skills. She may not have known if this man was truly hers, but she knew enough to introduce him to her inner freak.  She judged by Armando’s response that he was glad to make its acquaintance.  She reclined back into her seat, hiking up her skirt. She pulled her panties off and threw them in Armando’s lap. “Smell ‘em,” she instructed. Armando did so obediently. He sniffed her panties deeply as though he were taking in oxygen; her natural scent mixed with the jasmine and vanilla body spray. While his face was buried in her panties, she jumped on top of him, taking her panties from his face and tossing them into the passenger seat. She forced her tongue into his mouth, kissing him hungrily. “Recline this seat back,” she said. Armando fought with the side latch to get the seat to fall back as far is it would go. When it did, he turned to see Karen had unbuttoned her blouse. Her breasts were firm, nipples hardened by her own desire. He grabbed them and began to suck on them. She threw her head back, enjoying the pleasure. Then she lowered herself onto his dick, which had been aching for her. She rose and fell on it, at first slowly, throwing in a few pelvic swirls just to get used to him being inside her.“Naw, girl, you’re playing with me,” Armando said, his voice filled with the same wanting as before. He grabbed her ass and brought her down hard on his dick. She screamed out. This wasn’t the way Armando had envisioned their first time together. He assumed Karen would’ve wanted more from the experience. He respected her waiting until their fourth date. Most women he’d been with had thrown the pussy at him on the first night. Karen’s riding him in that driver’s seat would set the tone of their relationship: they’d love as hard as they fucked, buffered down by the commonality of having wrecked home lives with mothers that didn’t understand them. Karen’s past with a religious mother whose my-way-or-the-highway mentality made it easy for her to sympathize with Armando.            “Armando, you hear me talking to you,” Karen said, drawing Armando back into the present moment. “I said, are you gonna give me some later?”Armando smiled as he thought about the miles traveled in their relationship. He drew her near him. They stood in the middle of the bedroom, admiring themselves in the mirror across from the bed. Armando knew the sex with Karen was off the charts. As usual, all was forgiven. He knew her heart. She wasn’t perfect, and neither was he.           “Go eat, baby. Then we’ll take a nice, hot shower, and then I’m gonna lay it on you,” he said, his eyes sparkling.She could be in the world’s worst mood as she often was, but all he needed to do was smile, and all of their problems, at least for a moment, faded away.            Karen went back into the other room to eat her chicken, leaving Armando to relish the thought of becoming one with her. They had cleared the air just enough, so he could enjoy being with the woman he loved, and the happiness she brought to his life.
Chapter TwoFriday, July 11, 20087:30PM “You better sit still if you want me to finish setting this wig,” Cabrien said.            “Boy, how many bobby pins you gotta put in it? This shit does hurt, you know. You’re mutilating my scalp,” Don said, clutching the wig so tightly that he was ruining the curls Cabrien had just put in it.            “I’m sorry, but I gotta make sure it’s on tight so I can finish styling it. Boy, you just messed up the curls! Now I’m gonna have to redo them all!”            “Well, hurry up with those damn pins. I can’t take no more!”            Cabrien fastened the last of forty pins through the wig into Don’s real hair. “There. Now what were you telling me before?” Cabrien said, reaching for the large curling iron.            Don wiped the tears from his eyes, sitting for a moment to wait for the pain to subside. “I was saying how that drag queen, Glenda Dupree, took off her hoop earring and straightened it out before she stabbed some dude in the neck with it.”“Are you serious? Why in the hell did she do that?”            “She was probably with a piece of rough trade and he found out she had the same business between her legs that he did. I done told that bitch that just because she can give good face and realness, doesn’t mean she ain’t got to tell these straight dudes she messes with that she’s still a man.”            “Especially these thugged-out brothas. I don’t care how good she tucks her twig and berries,” Cabrien said, twirling the curling iron in his hand. He caught a glimpse of Sheronda, another stylist, who shook her head in disgust. Cabrien rolled his eyes, and went back to curling.             “Let me hurry up and get done with you. I see our neighborhood bible thumper over there can’t take a little punk bar storytelling.”            “Some kinds of talk ain’t appropriate, Cabrien,” Sheronda said.            “Then I suppose you’re talking about your gossiping too, right?” Then Cabrien leaned into Don’s ear. “If this rotten fish don’t stop pushing me, I’m gonna push back. Hear me talkin’?” he whispered.            “I know that’s right,” Don replied, giving Sheronda the evil eye.            Cabrien continued working in silence. When he finished, he whirled the stylist chair around to reveal the curled up-do to Don through the large mirror.            “Ooohwee!  Go in, bitch, and let have!” Don said with a snap of his fingers. “Ladies, I don’t know what ya’ll stylists call themselves doin’ to ya’ll heads, but this is how it’s done, hunties. Cabrien, this is beyond, honey!” Don sprang up from the chair and began sashaying around the room, which was met with mostly smiles and some stony faces. Cabrien smiled at his own handiwork. Don carefully removed the wig from his head and placed it on the mannequin head he’d brought. He put a baseball cap back on his head and paid Cabrien. “Are you going out tonight?”            “Hell to the yes, I’m going out.”            “Well, you best believe I will be rocking this wig tonight. I’m about to let the children have it, hunty!”            Cabrien gave Don a peck on the cheek. “See you later, boo. And thank you!”            “No, thank you!” Then Don left.            The woman seated at Sheronda’s chair shook her head and said, “Instead of going out to the club, they need to take their asses to church.”            “Amen, walls,” Sheronda said.            Cabrien rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, okay, Sheronda.  You do realize that Asa, your boss, is gay, right? Try telling himthat he needs to go to church and see if your behind still has a job, since you wanna be over there judging folks.”             As if on cue, Asa Barkley came sweeping grandly into the salon. He breezed past everyone with a quick, “Good evening, ladies,” stopping in front of Cabrien, who had begun sweeping up hair near his station.             “Cabrien, can I talk to you in the backroom, please?” Asa asked. Cabrien Jacobs noticed the other hair stylists look away and busy themselves with their clients.  “Anything you have to say to me, you can say right here,” Cabrien said.            “No, I need you to come in the backroom with me. Right now!” As Cabrien followed Asa towards the back, he noticed Sheronda staring at him with a smirk on her face; a smirk that told him he was in trouble.  “We have a problem,” Asa said.            “Who’s ‘we’?”            “The other stylists feel uncomfortable working with you.”            “Why?”            “They feel you have some objectionable personal habits.”            “What kind of habits?” Cabrien asked, folding his arms.            “Let’s take your attendance, for example. You’re barely here. And there’s talk that the reason you’re not here is because you’re off somewhere selling your body. Plus, Sheronda claims that you’ve been inappropriate with her fiancé.”            “And you believe that bullshit?”            “Are you denying it?”            “Asa, you know me. I’ve worked here for four years, and I’ve never done no messy shit like trying to take somebody’s man.”            “So, you’re not out there selling yourself, either?”Cabrien just looked at Asa.“Well, are you?”“That’s none of your business. Ya’ll been cutting my hours like crazy, so, I have to do what I have to do.”“I’ve been cutting your hours because you’ve been showing me that you don’t want them. And you’re right, what you do outside of work isn’t my business, but what goes on here is, which means having stylists who can perform the job I ask of them. You do great styles, and the customers love you--- when you’re here.”“So, what’s the problem? That appointment book is full because of my talent. That Hair Show Award sitting out there is because of my designs.”“I wouldn’t go so far as to say all of that. Anyway, I don’t want drama in my salon. Please, just clean out your station and leave.”With the exception of Sheronda, Cabrien hadn’t expected to be stabbed in the back by women he thought liked him. “Those black bitches are just jealous,” he thought to himself.            “I can’t believe ya’ll are doing me like this. Asa, you’re gay, too, and you’re gonna stand up here and side with them?” Cabrien asked, his eyes becoming teary.            “You think I’m going to side with you just because I’m gay? I’m not out selling myass when I should be at work. Besides, why would you want to work in an environment if people don’t want you there? Where’s your self-respect?”            “I’ll show you self-respect.” Cabrien stormed from the backroom and walked out into the busy salon and over to Sheronda, who was trying to look as though she knew nothing about the situation.            “So, I see you’ve finished the dirty job,” Cabrien said.             “Cabrien, why don’t you take your disease infested ass on outta here?”            “Disease infested? You’re sure you wanna take it to that level?”“Yeah, I said it. So what? You sissies are always trying to take other people’s men away from them, when ya’ll know there’s hardly any decent black men left. Ya’ll too busy trying to turn ‘em out!”            “I see. So, is that why your dirty-dick fiancé tried to hit on me outside the Gay 90s club? Is that why Mr. Down Low, told me he can’t stand fucking you because your pussy smells horrendous?”            “Cabrien,” Asa shouted. “Watch your mouth!”             “Sheronda don’t know what she started, Asa. Tell this nasty bitch to douche her stuff with some bleach!”            “Cabrien, there’s kids here!” Asa yelled.            “I ain’t thinking about these kids, Asa. You wanted to see my self-respect? This is it!” Cabrien grabbed his man bag, his body humming with adrenaline, and walked out of the salon, slamming the door behind him. “I don’t need that job anyway,” he thought to himself as he walked down the Minneapolis sidewalk. After all, he was a twenty-three year old pretty boy, with high cheekbones and a lean, muscular dancer’s build. Cabrien was a resourceful young man who knew how to use what he had to get what he wanted.            Cabrien left home when he was sixteen; he had no choice.  His mother cared more for her revolving door of live-in boyfriends than she did for her son. The constant name calling of “pussy boy” and “faggot” by his mother’s latest boy friend while she sat and did nothing had gotten old.  Cabrien hopped from one friend’s couch to another, and soon discovered prostituting himself to older men in Loring Park was a fast way to make money. By eighteen, he saved enough money to find an apartment and put himself through cosmetology school, all the while dreaming of becoming a successful celebrity hairstylist.By the time Cabrien got home, much of his anger fueled adrenaline had burned off, replaced by the sobering reality that he was unemployed. He called Don and told him what happened, and his fate. There was no sharp-tongued wit tossed back and forth, nor was there two- snaps-and-a-clap glee, but very real sobs from Cabrien, and words of support from his friend.“You listen to me, Cabrien LeAnthony Jacobs. There are other salons out there killin’ for someone with your skills! Tomorrow, you’re gonna take your ass out and get another gig with an even better salon, and you’re gonna make sickening coins, and let these bitches who thought they knew the tea have it!   Asa Barkley who?”Cabrien smiled at the prospect. With renewed hope he said, “Alright, chile, if I’m comin’ out tonight, then you’re buying the drinks…cuz a bitch ain’t workin’.”
Friday, August 1, 20082:30PM            Cabrien stood in the middle of his small studio apartment, furnished with mixed and matched low-end items from IKEA.  He was wearing a matching yellow gauze shirt and pants that were a dramatic contrast against his dark-chocolate brown skin. Cabrien gazed at the sunlight beaming through the window as though it held an answer to the question as to how he was going to continue paying rent. For three weeks, Cabrien tried getting hairstyling jobs with other salons. He may have felt good about the scene he caused at Asa Barkley’s salon, but Sheronda wasn’t going to just stay embarrassed. She told every salon that called for a reference that Cabrien was unreliable, and a male prostitute. After that, he never received a single call back from any of the salons.             The landlord had been more than patient. He’d even taken a liking to Cabrien. So much so that the two of them spent many evenings in their mutual loneliness, sipping wine together as they tried one-upping each other as to who led the more pitiful existence. Some of those evenings ended with Cabrien giving the landlord a mercy blowjob, which paid the rent for the month completely. But now the landlord met a woman online---willing to give him her heart and a blowjob, while Cabrien’s savings dwindled fast.             Feeling that he had no hope, he shrugged helplessly as he heard a knock at the door.Ralph Sorrentino stood in the doorway, smiling with big, lustful eyes. He was the UPS man who made deliveries to Cabrien’s building, and quite a few visits to Cabrien’s apartment.His uniform looked as though it were made with him in mind. Ralph’s shirt hugged every muscle of his upper body, with tufts of black chest hair peeking through, while his tight shorts showed off his firm bubble butt.  “How you doin’?” Ralph asked.“I’ve been better. Been waiting on you to make one of your deliveries, though. I see that it’s arrived in great shape as usual.” “Yep. I got your package right here,” Ralph said, clutching his crotch.“Well, come on in, then. Shit,” Cabrien said, backing away to allow himself a full view of Ralph’s rock hard body as it entered his apartment. “How’s the wife doing?” Cabrien asked, looking at Ralph’s solid calves as he walked toward the platform bed.“She’s fine. Still pregnant.” “She should’ve had that baby by now. In fact, to hear you tell it, she should’ve had at least two,” Cabrien said playfully.“Hey, ya got me. She slaps me in the face whenever I try to touch her. She won’t even blow me. But she never could suck a dick like you, anyway.” Ralph said, laughing.“Honey, nobody can suck a dick like me.”Ralph sat down on the bed. Cabrien remained by the door, waiting to be beckoned. He liked it when Alpha male types like Ralph took control.“Why are you standing over there? Come sit by me,” Ralph ordered.Cabrien did as he was told. As he sat on the bed he could feel Ralph’s large hands caressing him. He leaned in to kiss Ralph.            “I don’t kiss,” Ralph said, turning his head away. “You know that.”            “I forgot. Sorry.”            “Show me how sorry you are.”Cabrien knelt before Ralph,   who looked at him with anticipation. Cabrien started by removing Ralph’s boots. He placed his hands beneath the arches of Ralph’s socked feet, rubbing them.            “Damn, you got big feet.”            “You know what they say, baby; Big feet, big cock.”            “They weren’t lying in your case, were they?”            “Nope.”            “What else do you want me to do for you, Ralphie?”            “Why don’t you get started on this dick?” Ralph said, unzipping his zipper.Cabrien could see the outlines of Ralph’s dick through his shorts. As he continued massaging one of Ralph’s feet, his other hand moved up towards the cock and began rubbing it. Ralph let out a deep moan as he began to pull his shorts and underwear down. Cabrien licked the head of the rock solid dick. Ralph closed his eyes and leaned back onto the bed.            “Aw, man,” Ralph said, as Cabrien took the head into his mouth.            “I love the taste of your cock, you know that, don’t you?”             “You’re teasing me.”Cabrien held the cock at the base and spit on it, then, he engulfed it with his mouth, alternating between stroking it with his hand as he sucked it.            “God, you’re killing me!” Ralph exclaimed as he grasped handfuls of Cabrien’s bed sheets.Cabrien continued sucking Ralph’s dick, changing his rhythm every few seconds as Ralph whispered, “Wanna ride me?”            “You ain’t tearin’ me up with that,” Cabrien said, looking down at Ralph’s thick, uncut penis as he came up for air.            “Aw, come on. My ol’ lady is real bitchy lately. She won’t let me fuck her.”            “Too bad for you,” Cabrien said, before putting all of Ralph’s cock back into his mouth, trying to get Ralph’s mind off of fucking him. Ralph lay back on the bed.            “That feels so fucking good, dude.”             Cabrien lifted Ralph’s massive legs into the air as he sucked him off, deep throating like the pro he knew he was.            “I’m gettin’ close, man,” Ralph said, breathing heavily. “Where do you want my baby-batter?”Cabrien began to laugh. He had never heard that term for semen before. But before he could respond….            “Aw, shit! I’m comin’!” Ralph unloaded a flood of cum inside Cabrien’s mouth.            Cabrien’s cheeks inflated as he received the heavy gush of Ralph’s semen. He spit as much of it out as he could before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He glared at Ralph, who was still lying on the bed; his chest rising and falling as his body shook from the explosive orgasm.            “Motherfucka, don’t you ever come in my mouth again!”            “I’m sorry. It’s just that it was feeling so fuckin’ good. I didn’t know where you wanted it.”            “I don’t like that shit!”            Cabrien got up and went into the bathroom and ran the faucet. He scooped cold water into his mouth to rinse it. He looked into his mirror and could see Ralph pulling up his underwear and shorts. When he came back into the room, Ralph looked up at him sheepishly.            “Are you mad at me?”            “I know I’m good, but damn!” Cabrien said, trying to lighten his anger. He didn’t want Ralph to say that he wouldn’t come back again.            Ralph reached for his boots and began putting them on. “Well, I gotta run. I got some more deliveries to make and, well, you know….”            “Yeah, okay. I got it.”Cabrien smirked.            “Next time, I want some of that tight ass of yours,” Ralph said.            “I’ll think about it. But I should tell you, my cookie is so good, you won’t be able to handle me.”            Ralph got up from the bed and walked up to Cabrien, looking him right in the eyes and said slyly, “Dude, I’ll break your fuckin’ back.” His five o’clock shadow gleamed with sweat.Cabrien shivered at the image of Ralph fucking him. “Ooooh, you better stop.” Ralph laughed, tucking in his shirt as he walked to the door. “I guess I’ll be seein’ ya,” Ralph said.Cabrien followed him to the door. “Only if I’m lucky.” He watched Ralph leave; whose body was considerably more relaxed than when he first arrived. Cabrien’s afternoon suck-off was an unexpected pleasure. He couldn’t charge Ralph his usual price ($250) because Ralph was too gorgeous in his own mind to pay it, and probably couldn’t afford it. But Cabrien knew that somewhere in the Minneapolis streets there were those that would pay the price, and do so gladly. Rent money problem solved.           

***Get the full novel now! Available at Amazon.com in paperback and Kindle formats Also available in Nook format at Barnes & Noble.

A Little Ditty...

No one will ever repeat my words with a lilt or a flourish. But these words ring no less true. Each has been dipped into my essence, each opens a window into my soul. My words, when they fall on your ears, may be foreign to you, but my tone is still urgent. If no one else understands but I, that is enough.

Just Something That Came To Mind...

A man once told me to enjoy my privilege. He said it with sarcasm dripping from his lips, and envy glowing in his eyes.
He wanted me to feel badly...to second guess the paths I've chosen, while he stews in the broth of his failures.
Such misdirected harpoons he throws as he stands at the foot of all of the bridges he's burned.
Consumed by bitterness, he does nothing to mend his broken wings so that he too might fly with those angels he won't believe in.
Instead, he dusts off a seat next to himself in hopes that he might find company with misery. And the man rolls his eyes at abundance before donning a mask of duplicity.
He winks at his own reflection through shards of his life...he thinks he's clever than most, even as the mask hangs precariously from his face.
All who've loved him stand a distance away, wasting time hoping he'll find joy after mending his wings.
But there isn't enough time in anyone's day. Bitterness burns his eyes, he can no longer see. And so he trips into the rubble of burned bridges.
He swats away the hands of those angels he won't believe in, waiting to die.
And die he does.