Tyrin and Khalil, are two men that have earned the privelage of living well. A beach home in Malibu, expensive cars, business owners, and a promising future together. Their love surpasses expectation and some view them as the ultimate Black gay couple. They have surrounded themselves with a strong circle of friends and are determined to prove that two men can succeed at love. However, one phone call will forever change the course of their relationship and hurl the two into a whirlwind of betrayal, heartbreak and newfound spiritual refuge. Does love have limitations, or can it really conquer all? Discover what happens when the perfect love turns chaotic; and everyone in their circle is relentlessly impacted by a devastating mistake never meant to surface. Friendships are questioned, faith is put to the test and the prayers of a mother are answered in the most unsuspecting of ways.
Hank’s seductive, periodic, glances in between sips of Brandy were seductive but creepy. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but, this big old house, the two Rottweiler’s, and that foul mouth parrot (who kept screaming Bee-atch every 15 minutes), just seemed a little off to me. I mean, he was turning me on because, let’s face it, he was easy on the eyes; however, there was a strange scent hitting my nostrils (and it smelled like hospital chemicals).
I really started noticing it shortly after he arrived back into the room. I’m not sure if it was coming from a special cleaning product but it, along with the animal smell had me a feeling a little uneasy (Did this motherfucker have a formaldehyde tank locked up somewhere?).
I didn’t know, but I really wanted to know so, like anybody with good sense, I asked. “Hank, something is really waking up my allergies in here,” I said, lying my ass off.
“Oh, really, I’m sorry,” he said, “I want you to get as comfortable as possible,” he said, “Maybe we should move into the den area,” he suggested
Follow him to the den area?
Was he trying to get me further away from the front door?
Where is this den area at?
This nigga was beginning to take on the characteristics of a serial killer — the too friendly smile; the nervous patting of his large hands on the knees; that intense gleam in his eyes; hell, his whole demeanor looked a little too cryptic for me so, instead of following him like a lamb following a butcher to slaughter, I asked the question I should have asked before I even stepped foot outside of the club.
“Uh, I hope I’m not being too nosey, brotha, but, I cannot help but notice how much of a roller you seemed to be — I mean, the Jag’, this big ass house, the exotic animals” — (Namely, that damned cracker eating comic), because the Rotts weren’t that exotic, but they did, however, remind me a little too much of that damned movie, “The Omen”.
Yup, devil dogs!
Hank had this Damien Thorne theme going on in this bitch!
It was time to act like I cared about breathing.
“Oh, no, I don’t mind you asking. I’m a mortician — one of Oakland’s most popular. I own four funeral homes and, let’s just say, business is doing quite well — you know, with all these young knuckle heads killing off one another, it’s booming” he said, lifting his snifter in a self-toasting gesture.
That was the fragrance — death!
That’s when I really started getting uncomfortable and, then he started scooting over toward me on the sofa. The desires to leave kept hitting me like a barrage of hailstones; I had to get the fuck out of there. I mean morticians were necessary artists in life (I mean, people wanted to look their best lying in a coffin, but you know something, that occupation wasn’t something I wanted to become familiar with on a daily basis).
It was time, like Young MC said, to “Bust a Move”.
I instantly begin to try and figure out an excuse to bounce up out of Phantasm Manor. My excuse began to buzz at my side — thank God, it was my cell phone.
“Excuse me,” I said, relieved by the welcomed intrusion.
“Hello,” I said.
“Nigga, where in the fuck are you? Our friend is laying up here in the hospital and no one has seen or heard from you since you left, yesterday,” D’Andre said in a fowl tone.
“I know, baby, I’m sorry, I’m heading there now,” I told him.
“How is Collin, baby?” I asked.
“Please stop calling me, baby, Marco,” he requested (and it hurt the hell out of me too).
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Yea, you are,” he responded.
No he didn’t…
No his trick ass didn’t just insult me…
I’d deal with his ass later, but right now, I needed to vacate these premises. Hank looked at me with concern in his eyes and asked, “Did you need me to take you some place?”
Hell yea, I said to myself, but instead of saying it like that I said, politely, “Yes, I need a ride to San Mateo, one of my good friends is in a coma,” I told him.
“Correction, nigga, Collin woke up a couple of hours ago,” He said.
“Oh, that’s wonderful, D…”
I was beside myself; D’Andre had just hung up in my face.
I looked over at Hank in disbelief, but refrained from filling him in on that piece of information.
“You okay, buddy?” he asked.
“Yes, but how quick can you get me there?” I asked, happy that Collin was now awake, pissed that D’Andre was acting like a straight bitch, and relieved that I was leaving the Mortician’s Lair.
It was time to get back to reality and once I was sure that Collin was going to be okay, I was headed back to my apartment to deal with Josephs shady ass. I hadn’t decided if I was going to just accept this child and work him into the relationship, or leave his ass for keeping secrets.
Had I known this would not be his only secret, I probably would have made up my mind then, but I am not a mind reader.
Joseph was about to take me on the ride of my life.
Damn, why in the fuck can’t I go back to that M6 night?
**************COMMENTS FROM FOLLOWERS OF RIPPED & READY **********
Oh c’mon you only posted one chapter what happen when they was flowing out like water man!!!!
Bring us the next chapter!!!!
come on man, but whats up with ‘Dre, damn did something happen that we don’t know about it and wow! Marco meet so weird ass people. I would of got the fuck out of there as soon as he told me his occupation and he was proud of that shit too! just too damn much!
I know… I’ve got these other projects and another interview I’m preparing for …I’ll post at least a couple of more today, but got to hit the bed early tonight so I can be fresh tomorrow. Lord, they make you jump through a lot of hoops to secure some employment. I pray the day comes when I can write all day/night for a living but, until then, the bills need to keep being paid (LOL). Love ya’ll… have a blessed one.
Oh, Gabby, my how you slay me (wink). Okay, let me focus on prepping for this interview. I’ll kick out some more chapters later on. I just had to kick out at least one, immediately, after your comment (wink). LOL. Can’ have the reading crew coming after me with torches…..
Mr. G.D….. OMGosh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I think Collin told his girl about the M6……….since he really got it tat’d on his body… of course she would question it…. plus, she is a switch hitter herself…. Now, What the hell is wrong with D’Andre’s bitch ass…. he had his chance…. but real recognize real…. I hope Collin and Marco end up together….
LOL…I DID NOT MEAN TO SCARE YOU BOO..BUT I LOVE THE STORY SWEETIE. I JUST DON’T WANT YOU NOT TO GET PUBLISHED, SINCE WE GOT ALL THESE BIG SHOT PUBLISHED AUTHORS READING OUR WORK….(WINK)…LOL I SLAY MY DAMN SELF.
come on mr freightman i wait all day 2 log on thinkin imma get at least 3 posts and its only 1…sir havent u learned by now that imma junkie? damn msboobutter got me hooked then just deserted me…gabby u 2 (congrats honey!)! LOL…(u guys kno i love u!) now u come along as my new supplier and u wanna start bein stingy! LMAO! so….i think dandre knows bout marco/collin (m6 tat) too bad so sad should got a piece of that ass instead of denise slutbucket ass…joseph needs to give marco (and i) some ans asap bout this chid…and big bank hank need to keep that mortician shit to himself on a first “date” WTF shit i would be nicked up too…with all that said GIVE ME MORE!
The closer Peewee got to me, the more my heart began to race. Once we were face to face and he smiled, I breathed a sigh of relief. I asked him what brought him to Stanford Hospital and he told me he was there to meet his cousin for lunch. In that I knew several people there I couldn’t imagine who he was related to because I prided myself on being in the know.
We did a soul-brotha shake and I told him that I was sorry about his brother getting hurt at my apartment. He told me that Darrius’ injuries weren’t that serious, and thanked me for taking the high road in the matter. I told him that I wasn’t going to press charges, but I couldn’t speak for the San Jose Police Department. He said he definitely understood.
“Marco, my brother has been a pain in my ass ever since we were younger. I told him long ago that he didn’t have the street-smarts to get into the business I was into, and he sure as hell didn’t have the temperament for it. He’s an asshole and he’s lucky he didn’t get himself killed,” he said.
It shocked the hell out of me hearing him talk about his little brother like this. I never would have guessed he felt like this about him (Lord knows damn near everybody in the neighborhood knew Darrius was a wanna-be-baller).
“Peewee, I appreciate your honesty and have a new respect for you, bro,” I told him.
What I didn’t tell him though is that I didn’t have any respect for his line of business (drug dealer/gangbanger), but I wasn’t about to press my luck with that one.
“Hey, dude, you need to pull your pops’ coat tails, because he is living a foul ass life. I stopped a few of my boys from getting up in his ass for messing around with their women, but I can’t control every nigga in the area,” he told me.
My father was like a thorn in my fucking side. Loving him was a true test of patience because, ever since the divorce, he has acted so nasty towards my mother until it was starting to affect her mentally. Danita told me that she cries a lot and refuses to go to a counselor. My sister says that our mother thinks that counselors are for crazy people.
Hell we are crazy. (LOL).
A lot of black people think that way, that’s why so many of them are walking around with so much inner turmoil and excess mental baggage. I cannot speak for all families, but the ones I know have nothing but sorted histories, filled with everything from incest, molestation, and domestic violence — I could go on with the list but you get the just of what I’m saying.
Peewee and I finished up our conversation, and I thanked him for looking out for my pops.
“Hey, cuz,” he said.
“Nigga, your ass is looking old as hell,” the familiar female voice said.
I turned around and sure enough, it was her. How in the hell could I be friends with this woman for over two years and not know she was related to PeeWee. Talk about six-degrees of separation. As it turns out, Anita’s uncle, Rodney, was married to Anita’s mom for ten years (they had been divorced for five).
Anitta looked at PeeWee and me and asked, “You two know each other?”
“Yea, cuz, this brotha grew up in my neighborhood, I didn’t know you two knew each other either,” he said.
“Now ain’t that about a bitch,” She said, shaking her head with her hands on her hips.
“Well, you two enjoy your lunch,” I told them.
“You wanna roll with us?” PeeWee asked.
“No, thank you, I’ve got some more patients I need to check on,” I said, grateful I could use that excuse to decline. I mean, let’s face it, I didn’t need to be getting too chummy with a drug dealer. Lord knows, I didn’t need to be riding around in his car. What if he had drugs on him? What if somebody did a drive by on his ass?
Yea, I know, I might be a tad bit paranoid, but you know something, better safe than sorry. I had to get Anita’s perspective on that. I wondered if she even knew what her cousin’s real occupation was.
I was just about to head into Mrs. Weatherly room when my cell phone started to vibrate on the belt of my trousers. I stopped a few inches shy of the door way to her room, looked down at the Caller ID screen, and when I saw the name, It took me back to Claim Jumpers and the fight.
“Hello, what’s up, man?” I asked.
“Regardless of how you may be feeling about me, dude, I just need to know, are we going to get this shit straight between Tootchie and Collin?” He asked, skipping all formalities.
I knew this nigga didn’t call about that, he wanted to check in with me. I pondered over whether to trip his ass up and point blank ask him why he felt it necassary to use the “F” word whenever he got annoyed, and why he just didn’t come out and expose his true feelings.
“D’Andre, I’m not sure I even want to get into that one,” I said.
“He’s our boy, Marco,” he said, trying to convince me to join him on his Maury Povich journey (You know, blank-blank, you are not the father — that ghetto ass talk show).
“Hell, are you still there, Marco” he asked.
“Yea, I’m here, D, but like I said, that baby business is none of my business and I’m tired of making everybody’s business, my business,” I said, sounding a bit redundant.
You know something, I was so sick of this motherfucker treating me like a damn telephone solicitor. He hung up on me again, but this time, I wasn’t about to let it go.
If you gotta fuck someone up then you better have on the correct armor and be totting the sharpest sword. Like I said, this mangy mutt was about to get an upper cut in the gut, and a right cross to the jaw. Without a doubt I was dealing with a precarious piece of rat who was about to be straight road-kill. This situation smelled bad here and it was time to fumigate.
I watched Joseph as he walked down the hallway with little man on his shoulder. After seeing how Joe-Joe Jr. sweetly waved at me I felt a surge of paternal strength kick in. Yes, I was in the refueling process and I was rolling up my sleeves. Once I heard the door close behind them I shifted my attention back to this troll who had removed his shoes and parked his two cotton cloaked Cadillac’s onto my glass coffee table.
All the hairs on the back of my neck stood up just like they did at Big Bank Hanks’ place when that foul mouth parrot screeched out bitch for the first time. I swiftly moved over towards where he was sitting on my long, leather sofa. I stuck out my index finger and dug it into his chest.
“I’m going to say this one more time, Lance, keep your “got-dayum” pavement beaters off of my muthafucking glass table,” I said, digging into his chest for emphasis.
When he went to rise up, I used all the irritation inside of me and sent it into the tip of my finger. “Sit your retarded ass down before I send your ass packing on that short yellow bus, bitch,” I said, gritting my teeth.
He looked up at me with a cocked mouth grin.
“Damn, I like you like this, Brotha Marco,” he said.
A chill went down my back.
Was this a coincidence or did this motherfucker just call me the same thing that Peewee kept calling me?
“Play this mutherfuka until it ends, Brotha Marco,” he said, pursing his lips sending me an air-borne kiss.
Before I had a chance to respond to his comments, Joseph reappeared.
“There you two go again,” he said, carrying a pillow and a blanket for Lance.
“Here you go, Lance, hopefully you’re going to be comfortable,” Joseph told him.
I heard the two of them talking back and forth but the only thing that kept racing through my mind was his connection to Peewee and Darrius and what the fuck did that saying mean?
Play that muthafucka to the end.
Play that muthafucka to the end.
I rewound back to that early morning when Darrius had appeared out of the blue, brandishing a gun and threatening to kill me.
I realized I wasn’t fucking around with an amateur – he had ties to the Anthill Mob, but I couldn’t figure out what the big plan was?
Did it have anything to do with Collin?
Was Darrius and Peewee still out to get him?
What was my role in their scheme?
Over the last couple of years I had gotten some schooling about life in the streets, however, I was nowhere near the professional that these mutherfuckers were. I didn’t know how, but I had to get Lance Livingston out of our lives. It was one of those moments when you just knew that it would get worse before it got better. I had a family to protect and I could not do it with witty words alone, I needed to bring out some steel (And I ain’t talkin’ about no steel magnolias either).
I watched Joseph as he tucked Lance in on the couch. I was so consumed in thought that my ears had stopped working.
“Baby,” he called once.
“Baby,” he called me twice.
“Marco, baby, what’s got your mind so consumed right now,” Joseph asked, grabbing me around the waist, pulling me into his body.
“Oh, just something at work,” I said, prevaricating my ass off.
“What is it, Brotha Marco, perhaps you can run it by me. I’m very good at taking care of business,” he said, smiling at me knowing that, for right now, things were just between us.
“Aww, no, it’s cool. There’s a rodent problem there and I was trying to come up with a plan to get rid of them, that’s all,” I said, leering at him.
You could catch most rats with cheese, but to catch this one I needed more than a dairy product.
“Well, just know that with most rats, you really need an “A” game strategy, Brotha Marco, and I’m good with strategy. I’m second in command in that department he said,” in a sinister tone.
Right, so now this motherfucker was letting me know his rank in the Anthill Mobb. Well, he wasn’t the only one with a few tricks because I had a few of my own. If I wasn’t so scared of getting put away for life, I would smoke this fool right here as he slept.
**************COMMENTS FROM FOLLOWERS OF RIPPED & READY **********
So now everything is starting to make sense…damn, who would have thought LOL…ok it’s time for joseph to see how scandalous is homeboy is LOL…
Texas Girl ,
Damn so are you telling me that lance is trying to get rid of marco by gett PeeWee to mess with him?? and I was almost bout to get mad at you but you made up for it by putting these 3 chapters up!!! Good looking
oh snap is all that I can say…………… I didn’t see this coming by no means…………….. Lance a not is a thug………OMFGosh……..now it makes sense how Darius and Pee Wee knows where he lives…………. I can’t wait for the next three.
james marks, ya’ll hey, i gots to hook up with moms tomorrow…. i’ll hit ya’ll up sometime after…. lol…. i love ya’ll…
this aint right,
i CANT STOP! I DONT WANT TO STOP! I GET PISSED WHEN THERE ARE NO INSTALLMENTS (but im not an addict. i can quit when i get ready) hahahahahah this was way to suspensful I knew lance and peewee were connected these goons started falling into marcos parking lot out of the sky! I got a feeling Marcos fathers has something to do with this!!! Thanks! freightman!yo! roll call!!
whats good THIS AINT RIGHT…you need a shorter name LOL…i’m callin u TAR from now on!!!thanks MR FREIGHTMAN!!! omg that sneaky son of a bitch lance!!! so thats what the deal is huh? did he think marco was gonna leave joseph for peewee or just wants somethin 2 go down between them so he can run n snitch??? marco u gots to keep ur friends close and ur enimes closer!!!! and yeah them bammas was just droppin outta the sky and ito marco’s parking lot LMAO!!! wtf??? ok bring it on im RIPPED & READY!!!
TAR^^^^u kno u are my boo but u have to be honest with urself LMAO and besides every1 who reads this story is a fuckin junkie so they cant judge u!!! shit ive been waitin for a hit for over 24 hrs now im startin to get that junkie itch!!!! COME ON FREIGHTMAN WE NEED OUR “MEDICINE”!!! LOL
hugs n kisses to all my R&R family
I won’t leave you hanging….got some writers block going on…. I’ll try to put out some installments today…. until then… hang tough…. and have a great day…… (hugs).
Ohh come on!!! Where is the rest of the story?!?!? Please hurry I haven’t had anything to read these past couple of days. I’m like everyone else, I need my fix!! And since u haven’t posted in a few days u should come back with at least 4 installments!!
this aint right,
BUNNY DID THIS MAN JUST TELL US TO HOLD TIGHT “COLD TURKEY?” OMG!!!! WRITERS BLOCK WHATS THAT NOW WE DONE HUNG IN THERE WIT YO MAMA VISITING AND HER FRIEND COMING BUY, THEN YOU HAD TO MOVE AUNITIE, YOU HAD YOUR BOOK RELEASE AND YOUR WEB SITE POSTED BRO AND NOW YOU GONE CLAIM WRITERS BLOCK! IM BOUT TO BE ON THE FIRST THING SMOKIN WITH AN ASSUMED IDENTITY THAT REALLY BELONGS TO THE BODY OF A PERSON SIX(6) FEET UNDER! AND GABBY I WONT BE TO FAR FROM YOU AFTER I GET DONE SHACKELING FREIGHTMAN TO THE TYPEWRITER!!!!THATS RIGHT! IM NOT EVEN GONE GIVE YOU THE PLEASURE OF THE MODENR DAY CONVEIENCE!!!
lmao @ TARFREIGHTMAN??? u’ve got 2 be kidding rite??? u cant be serious!!! lemme help u out a bit…tell us about Toochie n her baby…this is absurd!!! i am speechless…i honestly dont know what to say about this “writers block”…well i guess i will have to wait…WTF i dont have anything to read!!!!! MSBOOBUTTER is on hiatus and GABBY is a prisoner of her womb!!!!!!!!! JAYNA hasnt posted anything….WRITING DIVA is mia as well!!! i am loosing my mind!!! COME ON WRITERS GET IT TOGETHER…we are already most likely going to have to wait thru thanksgiving christmas and new years while u guys spend family time so can your loyal and loving readers please get something to read?????? PLEASE, I BEG OF U!!!
I know bunny! Everyone is abandoning us!!
this aint right,
CHRISTMAS!!! THANKSGIVING!!! FAMILY TIME! WHATS THAT!!!!! UMMMM WRITERS HERE DONT GET HOLIDAYS AND IF YOU THING ITS A GAME i DARE YOU TO SHOOT SOME LADDERS CAUSE YOU’LL END UP STIFF IN CANDYLAND WHILE i MONOPLIZE THE TROUBLE YOUR IN!!
These are some of my random thoughts, during periods in my life over the last couple of months. I re-read them to stay inspired
Two older people, casually strolling down the street, holding hands… subtle reminders are all around us to remind us just how beautiful life is. Whenever I need to feel joy, all I do is notice the “subtle” things and I get an instant shot of beauty. In acknowledgment I say, from where I’ve been I now observe with a smile. (reflections of a writer) GD
Sunshine & Blue Skies…. Life is such a blessing. And with it comes experiences that alter, shape, refines & defines the spirit. Push on and know that we are a vital piece in the grand scheme. (reflections of a writer) GD
Standing in the center of a creative crossroads, anticipating new horizons. J. K. Rawlings inspires me. “Red” is the next plateu on my literary journey. Something tells me that everything I’ve endured has prepared me for this next level (reflections of a writer) GD
As an artist, sometimes my joy is overshadowed by my drive, but that’s when I take that chill pill and I sit back and acknowledge what has been accomplished. Nothing happens overnight, and anything worth something requires blood, sweat, tears, faith, & consistency. Doing it for the love of doing it has to be in the forefront at all times. Creativity is indeed, a blessed gift. (reflections of a writer) GD
When you learn to love yourself, you won’t be able to accept less than respectful treatment from another. Be it from a family member, a friend, or a lover; you won’t allow anyone to treat you like they are putting up with you, as if they are doing you a favor by having you in their life. Self-Worth is a priceless commodity. Make sure you own 100% of yours. (Reflections of a writer) GD
I am amazed at the lengths that some will go to in order to interrupt the flow of joy in another person’s life. Some aren’t content unless they can stir up their brand of negativity to a boiling point, pointing fingers at everyone else instead of themselves. Unfortunately, encountering such souls is unavoidable, but you can identify those who take the high road, because they have their own lives. (Reflections of a writer) GD
It is natural progression when you outgrow certain places and the people who dwell in them. It doesn’t mean that you stopped caring, it just means that you have the courage to step out of the familiar and into the unfamiliar to experience new people, places, & things. Know that your destiny was written long before you were born… (Reflections of a writer) GD
The ones who add light to your life are the ones to cherish. Never stop counting them as blessings and make sure they know exactly where they fit into your life and your heart (reflections of a writer) GD
I’m not sure what new experiences today holds; all I know is that, by the Grace of God, I’ve been allowed to be present to see them unfold. (reflections of a writer) GD
I suppose what has added more to this whole living experience now is, I have had the honor of meeting some of the coolest people this side of heaven… at work, on facebook, and tighter are the bonds between my family and longtime friends — the ones who have stood by me without fail during the storms. To know joy is to truly feel it. (Reflections of a writer) GD
When you become what you hate that’s when you evaluate, alter your attitude and change the direction in which you walk. I did that a few years ago and ever since I did I have been immersed in discovery. (reflections of a writer) GD
As I proceed towards whatever it is that has been destined for me in this life, I move cautiously, wiser from lessons learned, rich spiritually, balanced emotionally, and empowered confidently. You see, sometimes new wings take some getting used to, but all you need to do is stretch them outward without fearing the heights or distance they’ll take you….(reflections of a writer) GD
The best thing about hot summer days are these warm summer nights. The stars look like shimmering ideas, filled with creativity and splendor… (reflections of a writer) GD
Shows like the one I just did, interviewing Jazz Singleton, always delivers a stiff shot of ambitious courage down the gullet… It inspires me to keep pushing on. “A Touch of Grace”, the show I produce, gives me that lift right when I need it. It’s the little show that can! Something tells me, I ain’t seen nothin yet… (reflections of a writer) GD
As the firework lit up the sky last night, my little second cousin noticed a flock of geese floating silently in the waters before us. They were unfazed by the colorful explosions high above. I guess Donald and crew have gotten used to us amusing ourselves. Lol (reflections of a writer) GD
When you have your own business you don’t have too much time to be preoccupied in other people’s business. Life is truly beautiful and short, so be observant and keep the whispers positive. (reflections of a writer) GD
That profile pic is of me and my second cousin. With her little beautiful self. My first cousin, her mother, and I were at Shoreline Park in Mountain View California, with a few hundred people watching the fireworks. I feel so blessed to have family and friends in my life — even more blessed to experience true happiness in life. At work, in writing, in blog talk radio, and in spirit…(reflections of a writer) GD
Realize that some people won’t like you just because they see in you what they are void of in themselves. There is nothing you can do or say to change their minds, so you have to let sleeping dogs lie. When you observe from a distance you’ll see that it isn’t just you they dislike, it’s others as well. In reality they just don’t like themselves. (reflections of a writer) GD
My aunt, my first cousin and her lovely little 4 year old daughter; Baskin Robbins & and a warm summer evening. Yup, that was how I spent part of my evening last night. Everyone strolling past, through and into the local establishments had smiles on their faces… I even ran into another childhood friend. Now, my friends, it just doesn’t get any better than that! (reflections of a writer) GD
Ambition cannot operate on desire alone; it requires the fuels of action and focus to reach that “coasting” level. Oh, sure there will be moments when you question ability, but just keep pressing on and enventually you’ll be able to see the beginnings of opportunity bloom. Water your garden today. (reflections of a writer) GD
One six year old, one ten year old, a sister, a mother & a wonderful aunt… Yup, you know it… Blessings and joy… Cherish those close to you, for tommorow is not promised. (reflections of a writer)
Networking, interviewing, and meeting artists all over the world is an invigorating experience and I know, without a doubt, that writing & producing my radio show is going to open many doors for me, and allow me to open doors for others. It’s one of the best feelings in the world. (reflections of a writer) GD
The international home furnishing store I work for had a BBQ for all of it’s employees today. I love the people I work with there. Never knew life could be this happy outside the walls of the Fortune 500 company I used to work at. It’s been a struggle, but I feel truly blessed. (reflections of a writer) GD
We are all products of what we’ve experienced in life; every encounter, every trial & tribulation, every defining moment and each revelation, and as we grow towards what we’ll become we find that all of them shape our spirits and our souls — even the worst of them manifest in someway that allows us to see the world as we see it (reflections of a writer) GD
I really get a kick out of writing these intros to kick of the interviews on “A Touch of Grace” — I find myself “hamming” it up a bit for the listeners. You know something, I am living proof that there is life after clinical depression and substance abuse… a better life. No matter what your pain is, never give up on life… hit me up in my inbox if you need a shoulder. (Reflections of a writer) GD
This literary expediton keeps taking me on unexplored terrains and I am amazed by the talented writers I encounter and the ones I have establish meaningful professional relationships with. Anything you want to succeed in requires dedication and a willingness to learn. (reflections of a writer) GD
Even when you have forgotten how to love yourself, The Almighty places influential people in your life here on earth to give you that tough love, and if you pay close attention you’ll be able to hear that you are loved and that you are not alone. Remember the greatest love of all, is when you have learned to love yourself. (reflections of a writer) GD
When you love yourself you can see beyond self-pity, and emerge from the darkness with the glorious light that beams from knowing your own self-worth. Surround yourself with people who like you for being just you, and pray for the ones immersed in the waters of envy, jealousy, and insecurity, because they just haven’t found their way yet… (reflections of a writer) GD
Life’s joys aren’t found in the empty possession of material things, no, it is found in the hearts, minds, souls, and deep into the eyes of people we encounter along the road of this journey. It’s beauty lies in the tender embrace, or in that warm exchanged smile, for we are nothing without one another… (reflections of a writer) GD
You know, reading some of the cruel and nasty things that some people post on Youtube is such a turn off. To know that we occupy the same planet with certain mentalities irritates me sometimes, but I’m glad that we always have the option of steering clear of them. Misery can keep me off of that damn guest list (Reflections of a writer) GD
Years ago, the elders in my family taught me the art of treating people with a long handled spoon. Now, I didn’t know that, in mastering that art, I would have a more peaceful life and will have grasped onto that necessary sense of self-worth. It has nothing to do with not loving people, but it does have a lot to do with loving yourself just a little bit more. (reflections of a writer) GD
I have learned to take the roads around obstacles, and embrace opportunities that are presented to me. There is no crime in not understanding the specifics about a business opportunity; the only crime is not having the courage to step out on faith and utilize your inner abilities to understand it. Educating ourselves is an investment in personal growth. Reach for the stars…. (reflections of a writer) GD
I hope I don’t sound too mushy for saying this: But I feel so blessed with my life right now. I am meeting so many talented, down-to-earth, people, and I’ve learned to cherish the gifts of friendship & family. Inner Peace has finally found me. I truly understand that, if others enjoy being around you, then that is truly a blessing…. (reflections of a writer) GD
If you have to keep reminding someone to stop being critical, and find yourself constantly having to tell them to respect the healthy boundries of the friendship, guess what… (feel free to fill in the blank) (reflections of a writer) GD
The next time somebody rattles your cage, let them have it, because there is far more you’ll discover airborn. Soar up and beyond, look back only to remind yourself of where you were — eventually, you won’t be able to see that cell that once held you captive. (reflections of a writter) GD
If I allowed fear to bind me to the confinements of a tiny box, I would never written 5 books, or developed a respected Blog Talk Radio Show. Never let envy and jealousy shackle you to the perceptions of others, for theirs is dim and yours…. Uh, huh…. Is oh so bright! (reflections of a writer) GD
Those last three interviews I produced for my blog talk radio show, “A Touch of Grace” , are only just the beginning of something greater to come. With each guest I grow in confidence & remain humble for being granted the oppotunity to interview the talented (reflections of a writer) GD
Life’s simplicities may not be the most expensive trinkets, but they are by far, priceless! When I told someone that I am content with having my health, quality friends & a loving family as a birthday present, they said that’s not enough. Well, for me it is. (reflections of a writer) GD
When I learned to appreciate the quality instead of the quantity, that’s when I saw just how beautiful and amazing life truly is. There was a time when I was seeking to be loved by the “wrong” type of people, instead of embracing the “right” ones who were right up under my nose. If they love you when you have nothing, then they are the “right” ones. (Reflections of a writer) GD
In living a progressive life, you don’t have time to be all up and in other peoples business. You are also less judgemental and possess a tremendous amount of joy within. Live & let live. (reflections of a writer) GD
If I can be anything, let me be the graceful trot in the horses stride, let me me the agile wings that allows an eagle to soar up high, let me be the lovely aura in a warm smile, and let me be the gratitude that embraces the beauty still in this life… (reflections of a writer) GD
In never discount the work of another artist, because I cannot put a price on creativity. A real artist conjures concepts based on their own experiences and how they view the world. (reflections of a writer) GD
Okay, so my roommate drug my tired body to a BBQ that I had said I’d go to yestersay. After work I was beat, but made an appearance. He wound up leaving me sitting there engaged in chat wise a wise OG. LOL. I love talking to our elders… They have so much wisdom! (reflections of a writer) GD
And so… I just dropped off a practicing Doctor at the Airport. She is returning home to India to see her mother & father. Her dedication to humanity is inspiring. I am but a speck of light on this whole grand scheme of things, and the people I am encountering on this half of the journey keep me in awe. Know your worth, and stay inspired (reflections of a writer) GD
People who understand joy, are not intimidated by it, they adapt to it and cultivate their own. I’ve been given the blessings to get through extremely difficult times so that I can see how beautiful simplicity really is. It’s not about the “bling” and notoriety… it’s this feeling within … this feeling of peace… And I wouldn’t trade that for the world… Friends & Family are priceless! (reflections of a writer) GD
Words of wisdom in a quote made by mega successful actor, Tom Hanks, on a “morning-show” earlier. “…80% of the people here are pretty decent, the other 20% you try to avoid… stay away from the crooks & the liars…” How to survive in the entertainment business. This applies to all business, including the literary one. (wink) (reflections of a writer) GD
I’m always intrigued by life’s realities, because within them you learn quite a bit about yourself and eventully uncover the true motives of people. I can be a tad too trusting sometimes, but I can only allow life to alter my spirit a liitle. (reflections of a writer) GD
Ambition’s flame, stay ignited in me, and give me that extra lift beneath my wings so that I can soar to all the places that I want to go. I am free now, and behind me are the barriers and adversities that clouded my vision. So grateful am I for all of the sincere, encouraging, and talented people that I continue to meet along this journey. I am airborne now… (reflections of a writer) GD
Sometimes people envy the joy they see in you, not because they dislike you, but because they haven’t located their own yet. That’s why you have to arm yourself with forgiveness and understanding, because if you spew back the negativity that they are sending your way, it takes away from that joy you have found. Just be an example for them… (reflections of a writer) GD
Whenever someone hits me up for spare change out in the streets, I don’t look my nose down at their situation because I know I’m not immune from the being in that space. I want to always remember. (reflections of a writer) GD
I have found that, when you are patient and believe that good things will happen, they do. Sometimes they don’t happen when we want them too, because divine destiny is in control of that. I am a living witness as to how powerful perseverance and diligence can be. There are times when I wonder if what I’m doing is even making a difference, and then it’s always revealed (Reflections of a writer) GD
Above all else, we are all human beings with powerful gifts to see us through the toughest of times. Love, Friendship, Family, Faith, Determination… just to name a few. I utilize these blessed resources constantly, for I am more complete with them. Have a bright day everyone, Ciao (Reflections of a writer) GD
A couple years ago, all I had was the passion to write a book and have it published, and having done that 5 times now, I have reached yet another plateau in this literary chase. Define, Refine, Polish and Effectively Market my product. These last few days have taken me out my comfort zone, but diligence will yield successful results. Never be afraid to take a chance on you. (reflections of a writer) GD
It’s bright an early on a beautiful Tuesday morning. I awakened to opportunity and inspiration, feeling as though accomplishment has lightly kissed my cheek — a gesture of encouragement, and it whispered into my ear telling me,”GD, patience & perseverance… patience & perseverance….” (Reflections of a writer) GD
I’m an avid believer that a mindful selection of the company you keep is not only a proactive measure, it is also a necessary one. It has nothing to do with high sighting or being selfish, but there are those who try to make it a personal vendetta to show you in a negative light while you’re chasing your dream. Just keep your eye on the prize and let them stew in their own misery. (reflections of a writer) Gd
Yours was the first face I saw after entry into this existence. Maternal eyes glowing as bright as the most miraculous star, with an intense warmth that has remained with me ever since birth. I am a product of that moment when two engaged and met on that realm of intimacy, and the crimson that flows within me is what binds us now and will forever bind us until long after.
You have came in many forms over the years; mother, aunt, grandmother, sister, nice, and friend — always there uplifting and encouraging me to weather the storm and to stand strong as a man, and child of he who sits on high. When life was formed you became a crucial part of the grand scheme, as brilliant as the vibrant sun, as calming as the hue of silver moon, and as spectacular as the highest mountain.
There are memories that are locked forever in my mind as I recount how empty my life would be had you not been a part of it. Men came and went like seasons, but without fail you remained and taught me the meaning of commitment and stability. Even when the cupboards were bare and we had barely enough change to do laundry, you always came home and we endured the skimpy times together.
You exemplify stability in my life, which has allowed me to overcome substance abuse and the darkness of depression. You stood firm like the grand old oaks that grace the lands of the earth, and you displayed love in actions that made me feel I belonged.
Life has been enriched by your presence, and the writer in me needed to get these thoughts down.
Of all the riches in the world you are the most priceless.
Join me on Tuesday, July 12th @ 3:00pm (PST) as “A Touch of Grace” interviewsAuthor, Christian Black.
Black is a young, ambitious, and gifted African-American writer who wrote and published the gritty novel “Pleasures & Sin” (The Story of Cedric C.J. Jones).
I’ve had the pleasure of networking with Black over the past several months, and have learned much from him. The late literary superstar, E. Lynn Harris, apparently saw something special in him as well, because prior to his death, he had taken Christian under his successful wings and was pushing him to step out on faith and be confident in his writing ability.
The encounter with Harris kick started Black’s literary career. His latest project, “Taste of Honey“, is slated for release at the end of Summer 2011.
Years pass and before you know it you have reached an age that forces you to recognize where you’ve been and just how far you’ve come. I am in the process of completing a 6th novel, and am tightening the reins on my focus to control my direction — engaging in activities that are taking me so far out of the box that I feel that I am literally dog-padding just to keep up.
APSense, TwitterDeck, Klout, Blog Talk Radio “In Studio”, Linked-In, etc… Networking with power players who are out there making it happen. Observing their actions so that I can fork out and claim my own place on this heavily populated literary/entertainment plain — constantly embracing my own self-confidence. Learning not to apologize after I’ve called someone out for disrespecting me or attacking my character. Leaving those who seem to look their noses down on me alone, with respect.
You see, I will get there with or without you.
As a growing literary personality I am eating, sleeping, and walking the ambition that wants to achieve and make a living doing what I love. Working through discouragement teary-eyed and frustrated, constantly writing & reading and listening… wondering how, when, where and with what means? None of these questions seem to halt the power behind this passion I have.
These days there is more laughter and smiles. These days there is less judgment and more understanding when it comes to others, their obligations, their lives, and their space — because I have my own space that I cherish and need so that I am able to do the things that I aspire to do. It’s called having a life — not theirs, mine.
Growth occurs whether we participate in it or not — the scars of age on our faces and in our joints are clear reminders of that. Those willing to cultivate and expand on their existence are the ones who I’m drawn to during this era of my life. I will not co-mingle closely with anyone who uses negativity as a platform to uplift themselves.
I protect what I’ve found carefully, because it took years for me to find it. There is no bargaining to be done when it comes to how I allow someone to treat me — either you will or won’t accept the terms of friendship that I have presented. I tell you, it is so unnerving to engage in a conversation with someone insistent on telling me that I need to “man-up” or stop being so “soft”.
What the hell does being “soft” or “being a man” have to do with common respect?
Fortunately for me I have learned the art of treating people with a long-handled spoon very well. Oh, don’t get me wrong, there are inklings of the past that still try to pull me back — inklings that want me to conform just to be accepted by that person but… hell no. I have too many other people who get it.
So, here I am still chipping away at the granite, carving out my name each and every day. Creativity is in me like the crimson flowing through my veins. I know what I need to be doing in order to get to that place I am working to get to — not trying to get to, working to get to.
I wear ambition and passion proudly, for they are what saved my life. I thank God Almighty for intervening and listening that morning when I cried out to him from that dark place, and I never want to forget that I am a survivor of clinical depression and substance abuse. I found self-worth the day that I embraced who I was and accepted me on my own terms.
The cool autumn breeze that touches the face, high noon on an early autumn day, loves sweet simple…wait…hold up…oh no! This isn’t that type of tale. All that romantic, young love, bullshit! Amanda, quit being stupid, if you want a man then you’ve got to push the breasts up, poke that ass out, make sure all bodily-equipment is oiled, painted, and smelling sweet. A bitch with a funky pussy needs to have that foul, stinky-ass kicked!
“You fucked with the wrong bitch Peter Ripley! I told you we were meant to be together, and I will not allow you to go against this man/ woman union. You see, men and women were designed to be with each other. When I asked you what a man could do for you sexually you told me it was the same thing a woman could. You must be out of your damn mind”.
As she spoke to herself out loud, her voice became elevated, shaky, and a borage of angry tears rolled down her cheeks. Amanda Robinson was determined to change this black man gone astray. She knew it was her mission to save Peter Ripley from himself. “I cannot allow you to shun your manly duties. We are going to have the baby we are destined to have. I just know you’re going to look back on this disgusting life you have been living and will be filled with overwhelming spiritual joy. I’m certain of this. It will happen when you look into our baby’s eyes for the first time”.
Frustrated, she hurled the black cordless phone sending it across the room and on impact, it broke apart into pieces. “You are one stupid ass bitch, girl! What the hell were you thinking destroying a perfectly good phone? Now dumb ass, you’re going to have to buy another one to replace it. What if Peter calls? Shit! I waste money stupidly sometimes”, she chortled, laughing at herself. She picked up her car keys from the kitchen counter, put on her coat, and started toward the door when she was stopped by the whimpers of her faithful canine.
“Mama won’t be gone that long, Baby Jane. Come here,” she beckoned. Rubbing her gently on the head, she began to sweet talk her, pursing her lips, blowing air kisses to her, never allowing her tongue to touch them. “As much as mama loves you BJ I can’t have us committing no bestiality act up in here,” she giggled, never taking her eyes off of her faithful dog.
“BITCH!” she screamed in horror after BJ jumped up on her, with muddy paws, which instantly stained the white linen fabric of the pants suit she was wearing. Knowing she had screwed up, BJ scurried away from her master and found a safer spot in a distant corner of the living room. With her head slumping, she laid down on the shaggy blue throw rug, specifically given to her as a gift by her master at Christmas.
She leered at the dog. “I ought to take your trifling ass to the fucking pound and let them make some glue out of your ass!” It was an idol threat and BJ sure didn’t know what the hell she was saying; however, Amanda’s tone was more than enough reason for her to know that whatever she was saying, it couldn’t be good. Then, as if she had been hit with a bag of bricks, Amanda paused, and silently started thinking, then in a tickled pitch, she retracted what she had just suggested; “oh no, they do that shit to horses – mama can be so stupid sometimes,” she chuckled at herself for making such a silly remark.
Amanda’s world twisted into what it had become as a result of a past littered with debris from all the bad relationships she ever had with men – and her father was part of that pile of garbage. She was six years old when she lost her innocence along with her virginity. “Mommy can’t do as good as daddy’s little angel,” he told her the first time, as well as, all the other times that followed. To keep her quiet, there was nothing she asked for that she didn’t receive. Her mother thought he was just spoiling his only daughter – little did she know the whore he had turned their child into.
Toys, bicycles, designer clothes, cell phone, a lap-top computer, expensive shoes – no whippings, no punishments, she could do no wrong. I suppose the guilt he felt he took out on her mother because he’d beat her for breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, and a snack. One day, after receiving the thousandth black eye, her mother took a baseball bat and crushed his skull as he slept.
Because she had never reported the abuse, it was her word against a dead man’s and so, they hauled her mother off to prison on a murder conviction. Well, she was a black woman in white America what did you expect? Amanda was fifteen at the time so she was forced to live with her surly grandmother – who was crazier than the son who was her father. Since her father was dead, the fabulous gifts she used to get were part of the past.
“He spoiled your nasty ass girl, but all that’s over now.” Her grandmother told her. “I told him you were a fast ass little bitch, but he wouldn’t listen, and now look, that psycho whore of a mother put his ass beneath a mound of dirt”. After hearing her father painted as a saint, one more of too many more times, Amanda finally told her how he had been molesting her since she was six. “Yes, Granny, your dead son was a damn child molester, so what the fuck do you have to say about it now?” she screamed, through a tear striped face.
She never saw it coming, but she sure as hell did feel the sting of the slap she got. “I will not let you accuse my son of some sick ass shit like that! He must be rolling in his grave by now. I’m glad he will never know what a lying ass piece trash he brought into this world”. She snarled, staring Amanda in the eye. “When your ass turns eighteen you are getting out of my fucking house, and I sure hate I’ve got to wait another year for that day to come!” she spit some snuff into a white handkerchief.
Six months shy of her eighteenth birthday, Amanda ran off with her then boyfriend, Allan Washington, who continued the saga of abuse she had experienced with her father. “No matter how much nice shit I buy you, you just are never satisfied and, until you learn to appreciate it and respect me as a black man, I’m going to beat your monkey ass!” he swore, sucking on his fifth blunt of the day – and he wasn’t lying either, she got beat daily – sometimes more than once.
One night, while he was in the bedroom screwing one of her supposed friends, Amanda pulled a pre-packed suitcase from the closet closest to the door, and left him, boarding a train to San Francisco. “Fuck the south,” she thought. She wanted to get as far away from everything she had known and hoped she could forget the past and start new existence, in a foreign place. She just knew she could find the perfect man in California.
When she met Romello Jackson at a popular jazz spot in Oakland, she just knew he was the one. He was beautiful: Six foot two, small in the waist, skin the color of a red-honey, sparkling white teeth, he dressed like a baller, his voice was soft and soothing, and he was so gentle with her – the first month. His lovemaking was unlike anything she had ever experienced. When he asked her for anal sex, it should have been a red flag for her, but she was too infatuated and in love.
“Mandy,” he called out after entering their apartment. It was his nickname for her. She melted whenever she heard him call her that. “Yes, baby, what is it?” She answered, checking herself in the living room mirror before turning the corner and meeting him in the hallway. “I’ve got somebody I want you to meet; he’s my road-dog and best friend. We grew up together, have known one another since we were eight years old.”
“Danny, this is my girl, Amanda, but I call her Mandy – I’m the only one allowed to call her that because she’s mine.” He pulled her into him, and squeezed her around the waist while standing in back of her. While still in Romello’s embrace, she extended her hand, “It’s nice to meet you, Danny. Romello talks about you fondly, welcome to our home. Are you hungry, I cooked some pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans, and made a green salad?”
“Thanks, that would be nice, cuz a brotha’s stomach is on zero,” he said, removing his coat. “I’ll take that and hang it up; you two go into the living room and watch some television and I’ll call you after I’ve set the table”. She said, playing the role of happy house wife.
“See, dude, what did I tell you, ain’t she pretty and sweet? Thanks, baby,” he said, kissing her on the neck, giving her one more squeeze before departing into the living room.
As she was setting the table, she listened to the two of them carry on a conversation, sounding like two little boys. It made her feel good inside, she was finally meeting his friend’s which meant that he must have really started trusting her. Danny seemed to be a nice guy, and he was a stunner just like her Romello: Dark skinned, deep dimples, well kept teeth, sharply dressed, diamond studs in his ears, and he smelled divine. She made a mental note to ask about the fragrance he was wearing.
But, just like all the others before, Romello turned into someone far from the man she fell in love. He soon began running the streets with his boy, and after one too many inquiries about his constant disappearances, Romello dropped her.
It wouldn’t be until years later that she would find out why he dropped her. The only thing odd about the whole set of circumstances was that she wondered why he stopped wearing all of the cologne she bought for him. He couldn’t have been allergic to fragrances because he sure as hell did seem to like and start smelling just like the one his boy reeked of.
Peter Ripley’s life seemed to be spiraling out of control. He hated his job, despised his circle of friends, and had grown irritated with the whole gay club scene. He hated being called girl. How many times did he tell them he knew what he had swinging between his legs and it didn’t purr? Every time he went out with them, he swore to himself that it would be the last time then, if his life wasn’t already complicated enough, Amanda’s persistent unwanted advances were wearing thin on his already frayed nerves.
She seemed nice enough when he first met her and, for the most part, he did want to meet new people so he could start weeding out his current circle, but: Damn. Damn. Damn. “What the hell was a straight woman doing in a gay club looking for a damn husband?” he asked Freddie Ortiz, a fellow coworker he felt he could trust.
Freddie was a stunning Latina, with more curves than the Indianapolis speedway, she was brown skinned, with curly black hair, with an ass that would make most men say J-Lo who? “Peter, you might be reading her wrong; she probably digs you the same way I do. Do you think I’m trying to push up on you? I’m always pinching you on the ass, and checking out your package I mean, hell, you are a nice looking man. Are you sure you don’t want to taste a little coo-coo?” she said, laughing, filing away at her long red nails.
“Bitch, please, I’m strictly dickly!” he said, laughing along with her. “No, Freddie, it’s different with her. I mean the way she looks at me, the questions she asks. Like the one you just asked, she asked me too, but she had this look in her eye that caused me to perspire under my eyes.”
“Really, hum…well, who knows, some women like gay men because they can relate so well to them but, any sane straight woman knows, if you both are into dick, instead of a relationship it would be a battleship, cuz let me tell you, I ain’t into sharing no man with nobody, know what I mean?” she said, again, laughing at herself.
“I ain’t scared to fight a woman, baby!” I told her, laughing along with her again. “Look, I’m serious. One time when I was leaving my apartment I could’ve sworn I saw her car parked out in the front of my building. She called me seven times last night”.
“So, what’s the big deal about that, maybe she wanted to talk about something”.
“Within thirty minutes? I don’t think so…I think she is a camping trip short a tent”.
We both laughed.
“Well…that does sound a bit extreme. Have you expressed your concern about the situation, dude?”
“No, not yet, but I believe I’m going to have to say something before it gets worse, because I’m not trying to lead no unstable woman down a rickety path without an escape route. Damn, that’s what my ass gets for being polite – hey, wasn’t that a Jackson Five song?” I said, adding a little humor to the conversation.
Sucking her teeth, and taking a break from her nail filing, she looked up at me and, waving her emery board she said, “Um…dude, I think you met Darling Nikki!” she said, bursting out with a bird like sounding roll of laughter.
We both looked at each other then said, “Grind, Grind, Grind, Grind…!” again, both laughing.
“I tell you what, sexy man; I’ll go to the club with you tonight. Lord knows I need to get out of this rut I’m in, and at least I’ll be in the company of men I ain’t got to beat off with a damn fist – shit, that’s why I keep my ass at home now – I’m sick of meeting these brain damaged, self centered, ripped bodied, men…hell, I might meet me a woman up in that bitch tonight!” she said, cracking herself up again –something I loved seeing her do.
“Freddie you giving up dick would be like Kirk giving up sampling old R&B jams, turning them into church songs.”
Together we said “It’ll never happen…” Once again we laughed in unison.
Peter Ripley grew up in a middle-class neighborhood which was predominantly black at one time, but the cultural landscape had changed over the years. His childhood was somewhat normal until a life altering moment: Carol and Mike Brady, Florida and James Evans, George and Louise Jefferson, Stephanie and Jonathan Hart, Joseph and Katherine Jackson – the whole heterosexual model broken – in that one moment when his dick got hard for Brandon Michaels.
He and Brandon were buddies back in the day. Their parents were best friends. Their sisters used to play dolls together. They must have rolled around and wrestled on the front lawns of their parent’s homes a million times, but that moment was different. He never noticed the imprint of Brandon’s piece straining against the side of his left pants pocket before, and at that moment…they both touched each other’s… wait, how? What? …
“You want to do it?” Brandon asked with an intense look of lust in his eyes. Both of us were breathing heavy and, I cannot explain the moment from his point of view but, from mine, it felt like a lion was in my pocket and baby it was ready to roar.
Well, without getting too graphic we “did it” hundreds of times. In the bed when we’d spend the night with each other, on that old trunk on the side of his parent’s house, in my room when nobody else was home but us, in his room when nobody else was there but us, until, one day, he told me he had a girlfriend.
“Damn, man, you don’t ever want to do it anymore,” I told him, but then, there were others more than willing to “do it”, and boy did I get to “do it”. Eventually, one by one I saw each and every one of my “do it” buddies take the path to heterosexual-Ville while I was on the one that seemed to be leading to homosexual-hell. Where were all the guys that were like me?
That moment…that moment…everything changed. Showering at school became the ultimate terror because I couldn’t help thinking about: what if the Johnston stiffened up and oh my god what if somebody caught me looking at theirs? I was in adolescent agony. I was in limbo behind iron closet doors, too frightened to step out, and too crippled by depression to fight.
A year out of high school I went to my first gay club with a fake ID and, once I was inside, I knew I was in another world – but that world wasn’t one I could identify with – snowflakes were not only on the mountain tops, they were everywhere in that club. It wasn’t until I went to a black gay club did I feel like there was hope but, I’ll be dammed, this became another crazy ass moment in life– a moment when I realized I was, not just part of the black community, but I was now also part of another one, a gay one.
“When I wake up in the morning…you bring me breakfast in my bed…” Party time! This club had the booming bass, the chocolate brothers, and the rump-shaking dancing. Fuck, I had arrived.
Finally, I had found my place, however, right when I thought I was found a little piece and pride, a strange disease came along and started wiping out gay men…a bathhouse, yea, I got to go to one twice – there was lots of sex, but it was never a scene I could stomach. I likened it to loaning five hundred guys, I didn’t know, a pair of my shoes – hell-to-the-no – you keep the mother fuckers — I don’t want them anymore — you want to stick what where? Oh, hell no that hurts.
I am not a prude.
I am not a baby.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Then, Brandon’s ass started grilling me about shit!
“You went where?” He asked, looking at me in disbelief. “Pete, why you hanging out with that dude, everybody knows he’s gay, man; you don’t want people to start saying that shit about you. Do you?” Brandon asked, looking at me from across the table. “Man, I don’t want to talk about it, Brandon”. I was frustrated – and that wasn’t an understatement. I still wanted to “do it” with him, but all he wanted to do was stroke the pole or have me bobbing up and down on the Sequoia – which was something he never reciprocated – and damn, my jaws were tired.
“Pete, man, how do you know you don’t like the pussy if you ain’t ever hit it before?” Brandon asked.
“Man, I wouldn’t know what to do,” I told him, however, if it meant we could “do it” again, I was willing to try anything, so I continued to listen.
“All you have to do, rouge is get it hard, put it in the hole, and start poking it,” he said, rubbing my shoulders. “I got a girl that will do it with you too. She likes you anyway”.
Okay, I agreed to try it.
He set things up.
Okay, I did it.
Now I can’t get rid of her.
I felt like shit, because I used her.
Plus, after all that, Brandon still wouldn’t “do it” with me again.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
I had to flee that little community to be free.
I thought that life outside those walls would be less complicated.
Join me, 5 X Self Published Author, G. D. Grace, Host & Producer of “A Touch of Grace” for an intimate interview with the PHE Ink author known as, Jazz Singleton.
She has been writing since middle school, using literary expression as an outlet for “therapeutic release” during her formative years. It is also noted on her website in her brief bio that she sees writing as a form of escapism.
On Wednesday, July 6th, 2011 at 1:00PM (Pacific Standard Time), we’ll further explore the creativity that is, Jazz and discuss her very first novel, “W vs. R: Emotional Tug of War”