Ripped & Ready (The Beginning)
Ripped & Ready personifies anatomical perfection.
It is the chiseled physique of sculpted muscle where six-pack abs are exclusively prevalent and visibly dominant.
It is body excellence ripped and lean.
The men befitting such a label are like Gods to the eye. Their images dominate every visual form of advertisement worldwide. They are adored and idolized in a cult-like fashion by others who will do anything to look like them and be with them.
I have three close friends who meet the Ripped & Ready specifications, and this is our story.
D’Andre (hazel-eyed) Washington, Collin (ashy-skinned-wanna be thug) Clarke, and Todd (Beckford-look-a-like) Berry have been my closest friends since childhood. We grew up in a tiny court located within an urban middle-class community near the coast of Northern California. The city of San Francisco is in close proximity of its locale; about a forty-five minute drive up highway 101.
Blacks are the predominate race in the town, but there are also a small number of Philippine and Hispanic families who reside there as well. There is one lone high school and several elementary schools that are nestled between modest residential structures. Where you lived determined which school you attended.
We resided in what was considered one of the more exclusive areas, because the houses were larger and better built. There were two other areas within the community as well; one had homes just as exclusive, if not more exclusive, than the ones we lived in; however, the other had less stylish homes built on slab foundations.
Since there were several conveniently located elementary schools, kids went to school in their perspective areas, so we all went to school with other kids who lived in the same neighborhood. Because of this, none of us had any idea how the mentalities differed from one residential sect until high school.
Some of us attended the local high school, while others were bused to four other high schools that were in the same district. All four of them were in predominately, affluent, white neighborhoods in nearby cities.
My friends and I were among the few chosen to attend a school in the external cities. The school we attended sat high up on a hill that had a spectacular bay area view. The name it carried matched the plush high-end real estate it stood among. It was called Hillside.
Needless to say, that very first day was absolute culture shock. The “hoodish”, the under-privileged, the privileged, and everything in between convened together on Hillside campus that unseasonably chilly fall day.
The plethora of personalities ranged from highly intelligent to absolute thuggish. This hodgepodge of races was funkier than the musty stench from a Louisiana swamp during a two-month heat wave. In addition to that, some boys were taller, and their lengthy endowments in the shower after p. e. were quite sobering sights to me (I felt instantly inadequate). Quite a few of the girls had this overconfident air to their personality (too mature for the age), along with this irritating sass that burrowed beneath the skin like a underfed country tic looking for a dog.
Several of our white peers spoke to us like were illiterate without any formal home training. The friendly-like dispositions were clearly forced, and it was clear to me that they were merely tolerating the 2-bus-load-invasion of underprivileged niggers out pity. The blatant patronizing further soured attitudes.
Every pestiferous social ingredient that had failed in the past had been mindlessly poured into a mismatched pot, and it had reached a pre-explosive boil. By mid semester negativity had reached epidemic proportions.
One day, the inevitable happened, and it was one of my three friends who added the final ingredient to detonate the race-bomb.
Old hazel eyes’ notoriety is legendary.
D’Andre got caught flirting with this extremely popular, blond-haired, blue-eyed, cheerleader during a mid-day pep-rally by one of the Varsity football players. He was white, had a stocky build, and he caught the furtive glances being exchanged between the two, and that’s when utter chaos broke loose.
Months of racial animosity finally erupted into an all out race riot.
I was mortified.
Our friendships survived events like this one and many more. Throughout high school, D’Andre and Collin basked in the newfound attention they received from white girls and girls of all nationalities, while Todd and I watched from a comfortable distance.
I was jealous beyond words.
My friends seemed to have been able to move past puberty effortlessly, but I felt trapped in a surreal adolescent mirage. I couldn’t stifle the intense lustful desires I had been harboring for D’Andre Washington and Collin Clarke. Ever since those experimental sexual encounters during our earlier teenage years, I couldn’t seem to clear my mental databank. I craved them like a chocolate candy bar with caramel and peanuts. I adored them as if they were musical icons, and I wanted them to sing only to me. I wanted them to want only me. They were masculinity to every degree and angle. It almost felt like I saw in them what I didn’t see in myself and; if it weren’t part of my own chemistry, then I would substitute it with theirs.
Everything about them infatuated me, and I wanted them to look at me the same way they looked at their female attractions.
I wanted them just like that next second of life.
They knew it to and toyed with my feelings to satisfy that wayward lust they had to be with a man. As hard as I tried to resist their sporadic impulses to fool around, I always seemed to cave into their secretive advances. I became the proverbial rope in an endless tug of war between the two of them, and I was being emotionally torn apart.
I always seem to be fighting for control of my life, desperately trying to protect my heart from anguish, but I am trapped in spiritual turmoil, fueled by an unrelenting passion to be loved by men who could only offer me sex without love.
Ripped & Ready may very well be the epitome of male perfection, but beneath all the protruding pectorals, those rock hard abs, and the stunning good looks there are cowards perpetrating as truth, but living one big lie.
I am Marco Thompson, a black, homosexual man living in my own self-made hell.
Ripped & Ready (The Beginning)
An Author G D Grace (briefly used pen name: G. D. Freightman) novel in development, will become part of the “Ripped & Ready” series that already has 3 books that are currently available on Apple i-Tunes, LULU, & Amazon
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