Ripped & Ready (Season 2) Excerpt: Chapter’s 21 through 30 **Adult Content***

Ripped & Ready






As a phoenix rises up from the ashes with new wings to fly and soar into new directions, so must the soul that is recovering from the sadness and pain of betrayal and loss.  With my birthday approaching, I realized that life experiences had yielded a downpour of drama along with a kaleidoscope of ever changing dilemmas that had wounded my heart and doused my spirit with apprehension so that I could not trust as easily as I once had.  There was once a time when I was quick with my acceptance of people – when I was resilient when I forgave, however, that canvass of innocence was now a relic I could hang no more.

In so many ways I could identify with this thirteen year old boy who had, most likely, seen too much and hadn’t been provided with the right kind of love to lead a productive life, without hiding behind a false sense of security, while harboring crippling insecurity. I know it might sound as if I’m being over-philosophical, but in my struggle to find my purpose in life, I cannot stop myself from trying to grow and learn from my mistakes.  I wanted to live my life openly without hiding in the shadows like a leper in the arms of a down low man.

Now I am faced with yet another challenge of trying to mentor a teenage boy and understand how he looked at the world, so that I can alter a volatile collision course that, just by his attitude, he seemed destined to be headed towards.  As an African American male I am fighting to find my own way in this life, still uncovering and recovering – feeling my way along the rickety path I walk, sometimes falling down.  I keep getting back up, yet I find myself still being a bit bewildered and confused. If was still fighting my own battles, how was I supposed to be a source of inspiration for this troubled teenager?

I could tell that Rafael had a lot of baggage that he was carrying around, but, again,  I had my own that I was toting around as well, so how in the hell was I suppose to reach him and set him on the right path when I hadn’t even reached myself yet?  What if he had already inhaled the toxic fumes of homophobia in the short time he had been here on earth?  How could I ever erase what may have already been taught to him by a narrow mind?

I was still living in an unresolved existence of my own dealing with a closeted gangster that had a vivacious appetite for my thick and juicy (Damn it, Peewee’s constant chase was wearing thin).  Then there was my childhood friend harboring secrets that intertwined with the thug element currently wreaking havoc in my life (I knew D’Andre had more to do with that sex club because he looked too comfortable on that screen to say that it was his first time there, but I was going to go along with his little lie for now).

So, who were my allies?

With Todd Berry away overseas fighting for this country, and with Collin Clarke distracted with a new son, who in the hell did I really have to confide in presently?


I thought Anita Charels could be my confidant, but after she mysteriously popped up out of the blue that day when my apartment was riddled with gunfire, she was now on the slim shady list (Her being a non-blood relative to Peewee and Darrius really made her one to watch).  Darren (Joseph’s cousin) and Charles (Darren’s road dog) were too close to Joseph for me to ever even think about calling on them and since, Joseph, my former lover (Yes, he was my former lover), was in cahoots with the late Lance Livingston,  there was absolutely no way in hell that I’d be bending his ear.

The shit was still crazy.

Any way…

After spending those couple of hours with Rafael, I realized that I now had an unexpected responsibility.  I couldn’t leave him in the total care of my moms because she was too old to understand teenagers.  He’d run circles around her and by the time she figured him out, he might have already gotten into trouble, been expelled from school, or even worse, gotten tied up in “got-dayum” gang and, let’s face, I couldn’t allow that to happen.


Once bitten and poisoned with the mental-venom of gang life, it was a rap.  Trying to pull a youngster out of the clutches of a gang would be like trying to pull a whale out of the ocean with your bare hands – and how many times had that happened?


The time was now 12:00PM and I was exhausted, mentally, from spending the prior evening with Peewee.  I was so “got-dayum” glad that I had enough wit to keep that nigga from taking another dive into my assets, my glory hole needed a rest. I don’t understand the mentality of a self-centered, self-serving, muthafucka.  It was always about them getting there’s and if you didn’t get yours during the act, then it was your problem.


What the fuck was broken on these niggas?

Were they wired to be absolute assholes?

Were their hearts half the size of a regular heart?

I mean, I love sex, but sex without any emotions is just fucking.  When I first started fooling around that may have been okay, but once the penetration thing started, that’s when I knew, I needed something more than just long, stiff and ready.  I was long over that act of rapid-rabbit-fucking.  I’m telling you, I wanted more than a hard dick without a conscious.  Too many men think that they are God’s gift to the earth and, with so many niggas and females treating them like they are; why shouldn’t they think that they’re not?

Since it seemed as if I couldn’t stop the onslaught of thoughts rattling my  head, I decided it was time to take a nap and I hoped that I wouldn’t dream about my troubles – lord knows I needed to loosen up in the worst way.  I suppose the better way to look at things would be like this: If I didn’t have any worries, then life would be dull huh?

Yea, right.

I felt myself drifting off to sleep when that “dayum” phone started vibrating again.  Before I even looked at the screen to see the text, all the muscles in my neck started tensing up.  If it was Peewee, I was going to throw the motherfucker through the window.

When I looked down and saw M6 written across the screen multiple times, I smiled.


I sent him a text back:

What it do, baby?

He sent me one back:

It don’t do baby, not without you.

A huge grin stretched across my face.

I replied:

Baby, you know that part of us is through…you got Little August and Tootchie to think about now :]

When he didn’t text back right away, I assumed he had gotten busy.

When I went to close my eyes again, the vibration started again.

I looked at the screen and it read:

There is no me without you.

Now, ain’t that some shit.  You see what I mean, he has a woman and a “got-dayum” baby right now and he still wanted to fuck around, but I couldn’t do it anymore.  That hit it and split the scene afterwards act is over.

I texted him with my final reply:

I’m telling you, Collin, that part of us ended the night that little August took his first breath, and I am going to help you by not doing the do with you…

I hit send.

I really hoped he got it this time.  All he had to offer me was a stiff dick, and that wasn’t enough anymore.

It just wasn’t.

The vibration started again.

I didn’t even look at the screen this time; instead, I tucked it under the other pillow on my bed, rolled over, and shut my eyes.

I heard the muffled buzzing go on for about 15 minutes.

He really needed to quit it.




Bottling up feelings and emotions, hiding behind fears and insecurities doesn’t do anything except hurt the ones who love you.  At his young age, Rafael seemed to have that whole fearless, macho, façade down packed.  I had awakened from my nap and caught him back on the computer surfing pornography sites again, I was extremely disappointed because I thought for sure I had made myself perfectly clear.  I guess he told me exactly what I wanted to hear and had no intention of keeping his promise.

I didn’t interrupt him right away because I needed to see if I could catch a glimpse of what was fascinating him the most about the content he was viewing, so that I could come to more of an understanding and plot out a better way of communicating to him that he would embrace. One thing for sure, I had to break him of this disruptive habit.  He had more important things to be concentrating on at his age such as his getting an education, and the most critical thing of all, being a teenager without developing a warped perception about sex (There would already be enough distractions swaying him off the right track).

At his age he was probably about to make the transition from shooting blanks to pumping out some serious baby-making seeds.  Too many youngsters were out there having unprotected sex and putting themselves at risk for unwanted pregnancies as well as infectious diseases.  The intensity in his eyes was quite disturbing to me and after witnessing enough, I finally decided to step in and shake him from the spell he, apparently, was under.

“Uh, Rafael,” I said, quietly, not wanting to startle him.

“What it do, son?” he asked, not looking back.

“What did we discuss a few hours ago?” I asked him, annoyed by his disrespectful behavior.

No response.

I got up from the bed, and walked over to where he was and inquired again, hoping that he would see that I wasn’t pleased with what he was doing and cease.  I stood there for about two minutes and my patience was growing thin.  I cleared my throat loudly, sending a message that he needed to close up shop before I had to do it, and if I did, things were going to get ugly.

Still he kept his eyes plastered onto the computer screen.

As calmly as I could, I reached down and unplugged the computer from the electrical outline and watched as the screen went black.  He spun around in the chair and scoffed, stomping his left foot onto the ground to let me know that he didn’t appreciate what I had just done; however, I didn’t react to his little childish outburst because I wasn’t about to stoop to his level.

I pulled the chair out further from the desk, with him sitting in it, spun it all the way around to face me, planted my hands on both sides of the chair’s arms, and got down eye level to him.  I was relieved that he was only challenging me with his eyes and not physically, because I didn’t want to but, it wasn’t below me to whip this little niggas ass right here in my bedroom.

“Rafael, I’m not sure where I failed at conveying to you about what was acceptable viewing material on this computer, but since there was evidently something unclear about what I said I’m willing to repeat myself,” I told him in an even, stern, tone, never blinking my eyes.

Judging by his quiet attentiveness, I assumed that he still had some type of respect for authority, and it had me thinking that he could possibly be turned around and straightened out so that he would have a chance to be a productive and respectable citizen in life.  When I looked into his eyes I saw a light in them and I told myself right then and there that I would do whatever it took to keep this youngster out of the judicial system.

“Dude, you do not have to fear me.  As a matter of fact, I don’t want you fearing me; however, you need to know that if I put my trust in you then I need to believe that you are going to do the right thing, without going behind my back and being disobedient.  Now, this is the final time that I am going to tell you that you are not mature enough to be looking at that type of garbage.  It depicts intimacy in a hedonistic way and you are at a very impressionable age right now.  Stop trying to grow up so fast, there will be plenty of time later in life for you to explore sex, Rafael,” I told him, close enough in his face to send a clear message that the terms of this directive were non-negotiable.

As I waited for his response, I noticed that tears were welling up in his eyes, and that assured me that he still had an abundance of innocence still left inside of him.  The wet streams rolled down both sides of his cheeks as if they were racing to reach the bottom of his chin, and his facial expression told me that he was struggling within himself, trying to decide whether he could really trust me, and I hoped that whatever his decision was would be the right one.

“Well, the ball is in your hands right now, Rafael, are we going to be mutual friends, or are we going to continue to be at odds with one another?” I asked, staying down at eye level with him.

I read some place where getting into a youngster’s face is an effective tool to use when dealing with, and trying to get through to them.  Since I was really making things up as I went along, I decided to pull out all the stops and utilize everything I had learned from self-improvement television shows and psychology books that I had read over the years.  I suppose the best medicine for me right now is to focus on helping somebody else, as opposed to engulfing myself in my own woes and dilemmas.

“What I gotta do?” was his response.

Well, for one thing, he needed to start using proper English more often because, let’s face it, slang might be acceptable on street corners or hanging out with the homies, but in the halls of educational institutions as well as in corporate America, it was dead weight, that would keep a black male from reaching his true potential.

“Look, brotha, I don’t want to try and stop you from being who you are, however, I want to be a positive influence in your life and show you that there is a better way to exist.  When I ask you to not do something it isn’t because I’m trying to disrespect you or make you feel stupid, it’s because I want to make sure that you aren’t doing harm to your young mind,” I told him, in a compassionate tone.

“What’s wrong with checking out some “tid-days” and pussy?  I’m a heterosexual and I think that the female body is boo-ti-ful,” he said, mispronouncing the word beautiful.

I had to catch myself because I wanted to crack up, but the last thing that this moment needed was humor.  It would send the wrong message to him and, I needed to be an adult when dealing with him.  That’s where some people go wrong dealing with youngsters; they’re too busy trying to be their friend instead of staying in their authoritative roles.  Friendship between an adult and a child should not include hob-knobbing and laughing along with them when they step outside of the boundaries of respect (or upholding them when they have shown their asses at school or out in public).

I ain’t preaching, I’m just sayin’

Before I responded, I got out of his face and went and sat on the edge of the bed while still facing him.  “Look, Rafael, a woman’s body is beautiful, but when you look at it are you just looking at all of the private parts and the curves, or are you looking at the whole person?” I asked him, trying to help him understand that he needed to look beyond the physical and embrace the spirit of the woman as well.

He looked at me puzzled, like he was trying to figure me out.

I could tell by the way he was fidgeting in the chair that he was really thinking about the question I had asked him and it had me feeling all warm and

fuzzy inside.  This big brother thing was pretty cool.  Hell, I could be a teacher or something.  Yea, right, I haven’t even spent more than 24 hours with this kid and I was trying to act like I was a muthafuckin expert on child psychology.

I ought to kick my own ass.  (LOL).




After he gave it a lot of thought, he asked me if he could get back to me with an answer.  I told him that would be fine, but I let him know that I wasn’t going to forget about it and he needed to come back with an answer.  He promised me that he was going to really think about it and asked if he could turn the computer back on, but I told him that because he had disobeyed me that he wasn’t allowed back on it for a week.

Uh, huh, punishment.

That didn’t go over too well with him, but I guess it made sense to him so he didn’t put up too much of a fight.  I gave him the brotha man shake, with a shoulder bump before he left my room.  I noticed that his facial muscles seemed to be more relaxed, which most likely meant that he was slowly letting his guards down.  That really put a smile on my face, knowing that I had reached him during the conversation.

Now, I wanted to really bust a verbal cap in his ass when I woke up and found him on that computer looking at porn again, but I knew it would have only kept him on the defensive, and right now since he was in a new place, he needed to feel as welcomed as possible.  I cannot say that I wasn’t filled with nervous anticipation, wondering if I had it in me to shape a young life; however, my mother was depending on me and, like I mentioned earlier, focusing on mentoring this youngster would be a well needed distraction for me.

An hour had passed since my discussion with Rafael, and I had immersed myself into a Biography about the late singer, Marvin Gaye, on the Biography channel.  Regular television programming had become a bore to me; I was sick of all the Reality TV shows and the Talk Shows, so I had become an avid watcher of the Biography and Animal Planet stations.  I mean, really, if I wanted to see people acting badly, all I had to do was step outside the front door and I could see it raw and in color, without any commercials or edits.

Between Rafael and the Biography channel my worries seemed to be on the back burner until my cell phone started scooting across the end table by the bed, indicating that there was an incoming call or a message.  When I picked it up, I saw that it was, indeed, an incoming call.  I hesitated before answering it, and when I did, the incoming call stopped.  I thought to myself, good, he can leave a “got-dayum” message.  I didn’t need any of his Rottweiler reasoning nor his Pit-Bull persuasion.

Right when I thought that he would just be satisfied leaving a message, the phone started vibrating in my hand.  I knew that he wasn’t going to stop until I answered so, reluctantly, I did.

“Yes, what can I do for you?” I asked, hoping that it would be a brief discussion.

“Who is this?” The female voice asked.

It startled me when I heard the voice, so I hit the mute button on the television so that I could try and make out who it was calling me from Peewee’s phone.  Hell, what other female would be calling from his phone?  I knew who it was, it was his fem fatal, NeeNee Hamilton, but I pretended like I didn’t recognize her voice.  In all reality, I really didn’t know her, I just knew of her.

“I’m sorry, but you called my number, so who is that you’re looking for, Miss?” I asked, really wanting to say “Bee-atch” instead of Miss.

I didn’t give fuck.

I hated it when a female went through her niggas phone and started making calls, trying to call out whomever it was they felt were cozying up with their man.  I mean, maybe I’m the simple one here, but I wouldn’t even waste my time trying to jam up the other person because it took two dicks to dance, not one.

“Fuck all that extra shit muthafucka, who in the fuck am I talking to?” she asked indignantly, acting like the hood-rat she was.

“Excuse me, I would think that you ought to know who it is you’re calling  before you started hitting the buttons on the muthafuckin’ phone, so don’t call my number asking who, when, where and why, expecting a muthafucking answer, because, I ain’t about to start answering questions on my “got-dayum” phone when I don’t even fucking know you!” I told her, raising my voice out of pure unadulterated disgust.

Like clockwork, she retaliated.

“I’m the worst bitch you ever thought about knowing…okay…because I’ll heat up your muthfucking ass with some lead…okay…open up your guts with a silver blade…okay…so you keep on talking all that shee-it and I’ll show you how a real woman puts it down, okay, bitch ass nigga,” she said, threatening me, sounding as if she was hyperventilating over the phone.

She was just as treacherous as Peewee, which was probably why they hooked it to begin with.  Water seeks its own level, everybody knows that shit.

NeeNee was actually a beautiful woman.  Her dark, straight, brunette hair, hung down past her shoulders, she had an even, high-yellow-colored, complexion, with brilliant white teeth; her waist line was about 24”, and she had a large, firm, rotund ass, so big it looked like she was hiding two watermelons in her britches.  Her fire red-lips were her trademark – she never left home without her lipstick on.  Word on the street was that she was bumping pussies as well as thumping dick (Namely Peewee’s).

In all honesty, I was wondering how long it was going to take for me to be on the receiving end of a call like this.  Fucking around with somebody who was involved with somebody else breeds situations like this, which was why I really never wanted to play the “other nigga” role – yet, here I was, playing that role and getting verbally dicked down by a jealous, crazy-ass, female.

I wanted to end the call but I knew she would just wind up calling me back so, rather than egging her along, I decided to own up to who I was, hoping it would satisfy her inquiry about whose number it was.  I took a deep breath, lowered my tone, and answered the crazy ass bitch’s question.

“NeeNee, Peewee calls me from time to time, I am friends with his cousin, Anita, we work together,” I said, adding the Anita factor to ward of suspicion.

There was quiet for a brief second.

“So, what the fuck yo name is, then?” She asked, destroying the English language.  Good lord why didn’t people believe that education was fundamental?

“My name is Marco Thompson,” I told her, hoping that she would lose some air in that over inflated attitude.

She scoffed, then said, “Then why the fuck ain’t you just say that nigga, instead of getting me all upset? Shoot!” she said, sucking on her teeth and cracking on, what had to be, gum.

“Because you never gave me the opportunity to,” I told her.

The next move she made almost caused me to drop the muthafuckin phone.

“Oh, I know who you is, you that little cute, thick muthafucka that lives over in that court, across the street from D’Andre Washington, huh?” She asked, continuing to annihilate the English language.

Shit, there goes that name again, D’Andre.  I tell you there was more to him that meets the eye, and eventually, he is going to trip himself up.  As it stands, little August’s paternity was still in question with me, because, that baby’s eye color did not come from nobody on Collin or Tootchie’s side of the family.

“Shoot, I’d like to taste some of your shit, nigga,” she said, sounding every bit like the skank she was.

“Oh, really,” is all I said.




The clock’s hands pointed at 6:00PM, it had been peculiar day.  From the mentoring conversation I had with Rafael to the disturbing one I had with NeeNee.  It took a whole lot of flirty maneuvering without any promises to get her ass off of the phone.  When she asked if she could call me sometimes, I told her that my boyfriend may not like it.  She said, she didn’t give a fuck if I had a man that two men being together turned her on.  I almost fell off of the bed with that one.

“Got-Dayum” weren’t there any straight motherfuckers left on earth?


I walked into the kitchen and found a note on the kitchen countertop from moms.  She had taken Rafael over to the school district to get re-registered into another school within the district.  I was glad, because the current one he was enrolled in was heavily populated with gang members and other juvenile delinquents.  I hate to put it that way, but I grew up in this area, and all of those mofos that grew up in that area of the community were rowdy and rude.

Sorry, I had to call it like it is.

Even when I was in High School that particular school that he was currently enrolled at was called baby “Quentin”, because a large majority of young, troubled, brothas who went there, wound going to prison for various crimes (drug-trafficking, rape, assault, robbery, etc…).  I sure as hell would not want to be a teacher at that “dayum” institution – hell, it was the only school within the district with metal detectors installed.

It was sort of nice having the house to myself for a change. I hadn’t been able to walk around in my drawers since moving from the apartment that I used to share with, Joseph Wade, my ex. The rubbing sensation of the cotton material against my “pine” started a mini-protrusion to occur.  It’s amazing how the little head wanted sex at the most in opportune time – and since I wasn’t involved with anybody romantically, it made it almost unbearable.  I knew before long I was going to want to reach down inside of my black, boxer-briefs, and stroke it until I broke it (LOL).

I started making myself a meatloaf sandwich out of the leftovers from yesterday’s lunch.  That was one good thing I loved about being home –mom’s cooking.  She loved taking care of her family – breakfast, lunch, and dinner (and sometimes even a midnight snack in the form of ice-cream or pie).  I had mayo’d one side of the bread when a knock at the front door interrupted me.

I crept over to the door, and looked out the peep hole and saw Collin standing there.  I opened the door carefully, so that I wouldn’t give the streets a glimpse of me in my drawers.  When I closed the door that is when Collin started with the grabbing and squeezing.

I moved sideways to avoid another pinch on my ass.

“Quit it nigga!” I said, laughing.

“Naww, nigga, M6, remember,” he said, patting his chest in the area where the tattoo was.

“M6 nothing, muthafucka, remember what I said, we cannot do this anymore, Collin,” I told him, walking back around the counter and into the kitchen.

He followed me and got behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist as I continued to make the sandwich.  I felt the bulge in his jeans hitting me in the back of my thigh.  The warmth from his body was working on me like a good drug, and I felt like I was relapsing.  I moved my hips forward to break the connection of his mid-section on my rear end, but he thrust forward and reconnected with my butt again.

Mini-Me had a mind of its own and it made an obscene outline in my briefs, almost bursting out the front of them.  Collin grabbed it, and put his hand around it, squeezing it gently, pushing his body forward into my warmth.

“Let me have some, Marco,” he asked, whispering in my ear, biting the tip of it.

My eyes were rolling around in their sockets like pin balls.  You could have cooked an egg off the heat rising from my body.  This nigga knew how to start me up, and he knew how to press on the accelerator.  My heart was racing like I had drunk 15 pots of caffeinated coffee – it was thumping like it was going to jump right out of my chest.

I had to catch myself and the sandwich because it almost slipped out of my hands and onto the floor.

I pushed away from him and out of his grasp, breathing heavily, and I looked over at him from where I was standing.  He licked his lips and told me that He wanted to eat something more than a sandwich.

“Let me feed you, baby,” he said, walking over to me, slowly, in that thug swagger.

“Collin, how is the baby?” I asked, trying to get his attention off of me.

“He’s fine, but I didn’t come over here to talk about the baby, I came over here to get an instant replay, nigga, so stop frontin’ like you don’t want old Collin,” he said, licking his lips, eyeing me up and down.

When he got close enough to me again and tried to reach for me, I stuck my arm straight out so that the palm of my hand hit dead center in his chest.  Now, I thought he would ease up but, instead, he pushed forward causing my arm to bend and the next thing I knew I was wearing him like a suit coat.  He wrapped his hands around my waist, and pulled me front-ways into him, and then he began to lick my neck, and bite me under my chin.

I kept flashing back to the night at the Motel when we shared a night of heat and sex.  I remember that he took me on a round the world flight to several countries.  I loved the trip he took me on back then, but I was fighting hard not to get back aboard Collin Continental.  His engines were fired up, his wheels were rolling forward, and his flaps were in position for flight.  This couldn’t happen again, not here, not in my mother’s house – hell, this couldn’t happen again, period!




It took everything I had in me to resist Collin’s charm.  I cannot say that I didn’t want a piece of his purple rock again, but if I continued to allow myself to be an outlet for the sexually ambiguous then my life would be a mirror to what I permitted – ambiguous entertainment and an unfulfilled existence.  The three nigga-teers all wanted to keep me in the closet with them (D’Andre, Collin, and Peewee), but I had to remember who I was and not let myself be the conquest of the barbaric.

D. C. P. needed to let me be.

I wanted to be more than an after dinner mint on the pillow of a bed. I deserved to be in the forefront of my lover’s life, and not in the shadows with cobwebs and a whiskbroom.  I wanted to be somebody’s luxury and treated with respect and honor like their pride and joy.  I was more than my assets and my glory hole – I wasn’t put here on this earth to be neglected and ridden without purpose.

Collin was not pleased at my rejection of him, but I didn’t give two flying cows and a fuck, it was time to quit this shit.  When he tried to strong arm me I bucked back like a wild ass mare out on the range and accidently kicked him in the nuts.  He yelled out loudly, prompting my mother to ask if everything was okay.  Luckily for me she had returned home because it stopped him from pursuing me further (I was glad I had closed the door to my room when we got in there because my moms would have gotten a glimpse of me in my drawers).

He didn’t stay much longer after finding out that my mother was home, which I was pretty glad about.  I loved my boy, but things between all four of us had begun to change and I wasn’t sure who was going to be left in my life once the dust settled.  Todd Berry was long gone and I couldn’t help but reflect on his admission to me, about me being his if he were home (but he wasn’t home, he was some place over in Iraq dodging bombs and bullets).

Todd was the perfect one for me but he was out of reach.  He belonged to Sam – Uncle Sam that is, and there was no way that I could have him until he had completed serving his time with U. S.  The government always had their hands in my shit, if they weren’t in my “got’daym” pockets, they were holding onto my dick.


I looked at the clock and it was now 8:00PM and Collin left me and Mini-Me in a state of total lust.  I had gotten so “dayum” hard until I thought I was going to burst a vein on my rigid member.  My hormones were humming louder than a generator at a PG&E power plant.  I hated being horny the way I was currently because it fucked with my inhibition and I was subject to live and let die for some motherfucking pipe.

In that I didn’t have any prospects lined up for the evening, I started stroking myself slowly, trying to ease the buildup of seeds that wanted their freedom out of nut-sack plantation. They wanted to travel the underground railroad to freedom so badly until I could damn near hear them chanting and shouting inside of my loins “give us free”.

I had just about worked myself up to the point of no return when my cell phone started jumping around on the bed.  There was another incoming call and I cringed wondering who it was calling.  When I looked at the Caller ID I saw that it was a call coming from Peewee’s number again.  I answered it immediately.

“What’s up, man?” I asked, somewhat out of breath from the whacking I had been giving myself.

“Oh, you know what’s up, thickness,” he said seductively.

Like I had said before, I was so “dayum” wound up until all it would take was for this nigga to say the right thing and I was going to burst one all over my drawers and onto the bed linen.

“Huh, is that right?” I replied.

“No, what’s right is if you were here with me inside of this Motel room, number 365, Nigga, that’s what would be right, now what the fuck are you going to do about it?” He asked me, sounding like the lust-filled bull he was.

His brawn filled my ears with electricity sending a charge right down beneath my balls, and the power of his baritone voice had them ringing like church bells on a Sunday Morning.

“Huh!” was all I managed to say.

He chuckled soft and triumphantly.

Like he knew what I was doing.

Like he understood what I wanted.

Like he was ready to give it to me rough and hard like I needed it.

Like he sensed how every part of me was pulsating for another hit of him.

Like he could hear the quiver of my glory hole begging for his offering…

As if he could justify and fortify without question…

As if he had the medicine that my body was withdrawing from…

He wanted in it to win it…

“So, I heard you talked to my girl, NeeNee,” he said.

Now, if that wasn’t a mood breaker I don’t know what was.

What the fuck did she have to do with anything?

Why in the hell did he even have to mention her name?

I know one “got-dayum” thing, I wasn’t into the three-way shit…

He had better not even fix his lips up to ask me if it were okay for puss in boots to join us when or if we did it again…

I wasn’t into that…

I didn’t want that….

He had the wrong nigga if he thought that…

I was going to be the other side of that muthafucking triangle…

“Yes, I had the unexpected pleasure of chopping it up with your girlfriend,” I told him.  Little Mini-Me went into hiding and he was no longer interested in the conversation.

Yup, he was limper than Mr. Limpet.

“Well…?” he asked.

“Well what?” I said.

“Three-way,” he said.

“NO WAY,” I said, and I meant every word of it too.

I wasn’t interested in no “got-dayum” pussy.

Fuck some Meow.

(No pun intended).




After giving him explicit instructions about my expectations, I got dressed and darted out the front door, avoiding moms and scrutiny.  I had no excuse for what I was about to do.  I felt like I was letting myself down, but I couldn’t stop myself from getting into the car and driving to the Motel.  I knew I was playing with fire fucking around with Peewee, but what’s a nigga to do when only a dick could sooth?

Masturbation didn’t match the boxing gloves of the real deal Holyfield.

I tried to bob and weave…

But I couldn’t squelch the steam…

The more I tried to talk myself out of it…

The harder I got…

All of this pinned up energy was seeping out the tip end of my “pine”

I wanted to but I didn’t want to…

The desire burning inside took control of my senses and I caved in without putting up one more ounce of resistence.

It was as if I were possessed by the demon of delight…

Lust had taken over and I was running wild like a banshee …

When I pulled into a parking spot at the Motel, my love jones was signing Teddy Pendergrass and R. Kelly Songs….

Turn out the lights…

You remind me of my Jeep…

Close the Door…

Give me that honey love..

When he opened the door I was perspiring as if I had run a marathon in New York’s Central Park…

All he did was look in my eyes and he knew that this time he was going to get exactly what he wanted from me and I was filled with shame and disgust because I wanted it as badly as a crack addict wanted that rock.

He tore my clothes off and started rocking the hell out of my fucking world.  His tongue was hitting ever inch of my body leaving no crease or crevis untouched.  He was literally giving me a bath with it and all I could do was lift my right and left arm; my left and right thigh, and then final, I tooted my asset up in his direction begged for it like a tramp in the streets.

“Tell me what you want, nigga,” he said, biting me on my right asset.

“I want that,” I told him.

“You want what?” he asked, nibbling on my left shoulder.

“THAT!” I screamed out.

“THIS!” he said, taking my hand and wrapping it around his stiffness.

“YESSSSS!” I said, making a hissing sound.

“Uh, huh, I knew I was right about you, Brotha Marco,” he said, flipping me over onto my back.

He lifted me into the air and I wrapped my legs around his back.

That’s when he started his exploration of my mouth, tickling the inside of my jaws with the subtly of a feather.  I squeezed my legs tighter around his waist, and I felt like I was going to burst from all of the passion building within the pit of my stomach.

“I’m gonna do it, you know that, don’t you?” He asked me, licking me across the top of my lips.

“What are you gonna do, PW?” I asked, panting like a raged jungle cat.

“Oh, you know what I’m gonna do, nigga, why I gotta say it?” He asked, as his heartbeat thumped against my chest sounding like an Bose Speaker, with looming baseline.

“Because…” I said.

“Because you know I know how?” he asked, with a crazed look in his eyes like he was sitting up in a tree looking down at me ready to pounce.

“Yea, ‘cuz I know you know how to do what you do, P. W.” I told him, gritting my teeth like a madman.

“Oh, you’re gonna remember this shit I’m going to put on you tonight,” he said, sucking on my neck like a vampire.

“I wanna remember it, P. W.,” I told him, squeezing him in the scissor grip I had around his waist, like I was a fucking lobster.

“I got some butter for that,” he said, almost as if he were reading my actions.

“Really…?” I asked, tightening the grip I had around him.

“FUCK! I’m going to rip you apart motherfucker!” He said, in an elevated voice, apparently, digging the vice-grip I had him between.

“Then why are you still talking about it?” I asked him.

“Oh, alright, you sending it out there like that,” he said, grabbing me by the arms, and throwing me onto the back.

He unrolled the Condom onto his member and entered me without taking his time.  Upon his thrust, I grabbed him behind the neck and pulled his face down to mine and started kissing him uncontrollably.  He was inside of me all the way and he stopped moving and allowed me to savor his flavor.

For the next two hours he put on a private show and had me reciting every nasty word I could think of.

He was dangerous.

He was working on me like top-shelf alcohol.

I was intoxicated beyond recognition.

This was really happening.

Tomorrow only mattered when it got here…

I’d worry about it then.



An errand is around the corner, and some mess is always up the HWY.  If I thought for one second that the night I had just shared with Peewee was going to help my cause with him, then I was only fooling myself. Not only was this nigga sprung, he handed me another 2 G’s. I tried not to take it, and I tried giving the original 2 back to him but he refused to take it.  He told me that there would be no turning back now.  I could have turned into a liquid nigga right there in the spot I was standing when he announced that I was his.

“I don’t want to see you with no other nigga now, thickness” he said, pulling me into his massive body.

“Peewee, how can you ask me to be exclusively yours when you’re not going to be exclusively mine?” I asked, confused by his request.

“I own you baby, and you don’t need to ask me about things that have nothing to do with you and me,” he said, in a tone that told me not to question him.

I couldn’t believe I allowed myself to get caught up like this.

It’s just like I knew it was going to be, he could do whatever it is he wanted to do with whomever he wanted to do it with, but I wasn’t allowed the same freedom.  There I was with 4 G’s in my pockets, paid for like a slave up on a plantation block.  I went to the highest bidder.  Even when he promised to always take care of me it didn’t matter, I didn’t want to ever be with him and smell the next ho’s scent or the next nigga’s cum on his body.

He finally had me exactly where he wanted me and it was going to take some real smart ass plotting on my part to get out from under his thumb, and I knew that it wasn’t going to be easy.  I knew that Peewee had eyes everywhere and I really feared for not just me, but for anybody associated with me.  He flat out told me that he didn’t want to see me with Collin or D’Andre anymore because I was his property.

I asked him for clarification because I couldn’t believe he put it that way, but he said it without holding his tongue.

“You are my property, now, Marco,” he said without as much as a grin on his face.

“Your property…?” I asked again, in disbelief.

He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me, aggressively, into his ripped & ready body and repeated himself, looking me in the eye without blinking.  “You belong to me”.

When I tried to pull away from him, he shook me and asked me, nicely, not to pull away from him when he was talking.  My legs turned to jelly so, in a way, I was glad that he was holding me up; because I’m thinking that my knees were so weak that I would have surely fallen to the ground.

“Marco, all I ask of you is that you honor my name, and appreciate the fact that I chose you, my thick Underwood,” he said, licking my closed lips with his thick tongue.  All the licking this nigga did he could have easily been an animal in a previous life.  I swear, it used to feel sensual, but now all it felt like was that he tasted me like I was something to devour.

I felt like Kunte Kente in Alex Haley’s story.

I knew the type of nigga Peewee was, if I tried to escape, he would track me down and probably do something worse to me than chopping off my feet.  When I tried to leave, he slapped me so hard on the ass until tears welled up in my eyes.  He instructed me to get undressed and get back into the bed.  When I told him I had something else to do, he grabbed me by the arms and told me that he was asking me, he was telling me.

I couldn’t believe how fast he turned from being so loving and gentle to being so aggressive and cold.  There was no warmth in his voice when he spoke to me, and there was no tenderness in his eyes when he looked at me.  I did as I was told, and waited for him to finish showering in the bathroom.  When he came back out he had a new smile and his face to match that new hard on that was pointing at me from below his waist.

“Oh, yea, you’re getting fucked again, Brotha Marco,” he said, chuckling in a sinister tone.



To say that I felt like a whore would be an understatement.  Over a course of four or five hours, Peewee ravaged my body entering and withdrawing from me with little regards for how I was feeling.  It was strange experience because there were times when he would kiss me and have me feeling like he did really love me, but then I realized that it wasn’t love it was like he had conquered me and I was his to do with whatever he pleased.

After he had busted his third nut of the morning, he rolled over off of me, and went into his pants pocket and pulled out a rectangular piece of paper, opened it up, exposing a white substance that looked like cocaine.  He stuck his pinky finger into the paper and inhaled the content off of his nail.  He dug into the paper again, and instructed me to inhale the powder.

“Peewee, I’m sorry, but I don’t do drugs,” I told him.

He looked at me, put his pinky up to his other nostril and inhaled.

He rolled over to me and said, “Nigga, I didn’t ask you what you did or didn’t do, I asked you to inhale some of this, it’s going to keep your sex drive up, and I need it up, because I’m ready to fuck for a few more hours,” he said, scooping up some more of the powder in his nail.

“Toot, nigga” he said.

Reluctantly, I obeyed.

“Now, the other side,” he said.

I did as I was told.

Both of my nostrils burned from the substance.

“What was that?” I asked.

He laughed.

“NIgga, your ass is so green, but after I’m doe with you you’re going to know about ever’thing,” he said.

I looked at him, waiting for an answer.

“It’s white girl, nigga,” he said, scoffing.

I looked at him again, puzzled.

“COCAINE muthafucka, damn, you’re stupid,” he said.

Now that was the first time I had ever heard him refer to me like that.  I guess this was how it started.  I wondered how my pops started on the shit.  So, this is the way it was going to be.  I couldn’t believe that, for the first time ever, I had snorted Cocaine.  I didn’t feel sorry for myself either, I just told myself that I had to start acting like a man and find a way out of the shit I had gotten myself into.

After about ten minutes, the effects of the drug were working on me just like he said it would.  I started feeling overly horny.  When he started licking me all over my body again, I responded without any hesitation, and even started enjoying his aggressiveness.  It was like the drug had taken away all of my inhibitions.  My body started twisting and turning in a snake like fashion, and I was arching my ass up into his face, throwing it at him.

When I looked back at him, all I saw was his member sticking straight up into the air, and it appeared to be bigger than I had ever seen it.  I wondered if that was something else the drug had done.

“MMMMM….you’re a fucking slut ass motherfucker, and I’m gonna fuck the shit out of your fucking asshole again, you nasty ass faggot,” he said, sneering at me, slapping my ass as I wiggled it for him.

Whereas the first couple of swats hurt, the latter ones seemed to charge my sexuality up even higher.  I started moaning and hissing like a porn star, puckering my hole up for him, wincing as he put two of his large fingers inside of me.   I had never felt anything so erotic before.

Before it’s all said and done, I knew that I was going to be taken places that I had never been taken before – places that I would never forget.  Peewee was every bit of the trouble I knew he would be.  I just didn’t realize that he would also try and get me strung out on drugs.  I thought about my stepsister, Denise, and wondered if this was the motherfucker that had gotten her strung out on drugs.

How ironic was this shit.  She was in rehab and here I was beginning my own drug abuse saga.  Something that surprised the hell out of me was that I wanted another sniff of the drug because the original high seemed to be fading.  This was no good at all.  I had heard that all it took was trying it once to get you hooked and I was afraid that it was true – because, I took several hits after the initial ones.

I requested them, he didn’t force me to.

When he smiled at me, I assumed that he knew he had me.

Was I hooked?

I wasn’t sure.

But, without a doubt, I knew that I was going to find out.



The entire day seemed to pass by quickly.  In addition to my feelings being hurt, my glory hole felt like a fire was burning inside of it.  This nigga had screwed the living shit out of me and I was tired. My nose felt numb, and when I blew it crimson covered the tissue paper.  Peewee was fast asleep and I supposed that it was all that fucking he had done, but little did I know it was part of what they called the crash effect.

As he slept, I took the opportunity to get dressed and high tail it out of there.  It was going on 5:30PM and I knew that I was going to run into traffic on HWY 101 because it was at the height of rush hour.  I felt dirty and ugly because he had treated me like I was straight garbage for damn near 24 hours.  The fascination I had with him had vanished and he was truly every bit the monster I knew he was, but I did not for one second believe that my departure would be permanent, because he had made himself perfectly clear, I was his property for the time being.

Instead of heading to the house, I pulled off the road and checked myself into another Motel so that I could soak in a tub and wash the remnants of sex off of my body.  The evening sunlight seemed brighter so by the time I entered the room, my eyes were literally burning.  I wouldn’t find out until later that the drug had also affected my eyes.

Once inside the room, I stripped out of my cloths and drew a hot tub of water.  After it filled half way up, I eased down into the waters and began to soak my muscles and aching assets.  My body was throbbing from head to toe.  I was so exhausted that I fell asleep while submerged inside the tub.  I spent at least two hours soaking, adding hot water to keep the water temperature warm.

When I got out of the tub, I dried myself off and didn’t bother putting on my underwear; instead, I dived between the cool, white, crisp sheets, closed my tired eyes, and drifted back off to sleep.  I felt like a prune having stayed in the tub for as long as I had, but at least I felt clean.

I eventually awakened at 9:00PM to the sound of my cell phone buzzing across the round table that sat near the bed.  I grabbed it and looked at the display, thinking that it might be moms calling because I had left without letting her know where I was headed.  When I looked down it was a text message from Peewee that read:

“I’m ready for another round”.

I was thoroughly disgusted.  I couldn’t believe this fucker wanted to jump up and down inside of me again but, you know something, I wasn’t having it.  My God is that all this nigga thought about was fucking?  I’m telling you right now, if I really needed it before I left to meet him the prior night, then I was definitely cured of that need now.  I hadn’t even begun to recover from that anal assault he put on me all the time I was with him.  I even noticed bruises on my body before I got into the tub.

The muthafucka was out of his fucking mind if he thought that I was going back to that Motel this “got-dayum” soon.  I turned the phone off, and rolled over onto my right side and closed my eyes again.  This was one of those times that I was going to get some fucking rest.  I sincerely hoped that my mother wouldn’t try to call, because I really didn’t want her to start worrying about me.

My nose felt so raw on the inside and I was wondering if I had damaged some of my membranes inside of it.  It had started bleeding the last time I blew it and I got scared when it didn’t stop right away.  I almost drove myself to the hospital, but it did eventually subside.  Good lord, I cannot imagine doing this every damn day.  I guess it was like Rick James said; Cocaine is a hell of a drug.



I managed to dodge Peewee for a few days, and I tried my best to distance myself from him and all of his craziness.  I was glad that Monday had arrived because I was ready to return to work.  With Pops death, and all of the other bullshit I had gotten myself into, I decided that it was the safest place for me to be and, it was the best excuse in the world to keep me out of sight and out of Peewee’s clutches.

I was thankful that, upon my return home, I didn’t get twenty questions from my moms.  She was really treating me like I was the man of the house and was pleased that I had taken to our little, thirteen year old guest, Rafael.  Today was going to be a first for him, because it would be his first day at his new school.  The school was a multi-culture haven for African Americans, Asians, Hispanics, and Whites.  The diversity there was just what he needed because, as much as I loved my people, too many of us in one location wasn’t good.

It was agreed that he would ride with me and that I would drop him off at the front gate of the school to keep him honest and out of trouble.  We didn’t want him interacting with any of his old crew – they were bad news and leaving them behind was necessary.  He tried to reason with us, but we stood firm in our convictions and told him that the sooner he forgot about them the better.  I really hoped that this was going to be a new beginning for him; he was really a sweet young man.

On the drive over to his school I asked him if he had an answer for me about the question I had asked him about women.  He looked over at me while I was driving, but I never took my eyes off of the road.  I just smiled and waited for him to start talking.

“Umm, all I know is that girls are purty and all that,” he said.

I chuckled.

“Yes, that is what I thought you would say, but you know what I want you to do the next time you approach a girl?” I asked him.

“He said, no, what you want a nigga to do?” he said, causing me to cringe a bit.

“Well, what I want you to do, young man, is tell her how pretty her hair is, and ask her what she wants to do once she graduates from high school,” I told him, trying to help him expand his mind.

“Her hair, I ain’t no beautician nigga,” he said.

Okay, now I know me and my boys use that word nigga a lot, and I made a mental note to not use it around him, but I had to address this with him because I wanted him to start working on expanding his vocabulary.

“First of all, Rafael, hit the kill switch on the use of that word, nigga.  Secondly, I know you’re not a beautician, and asking that question has nothing to do with you being one.  I’m just throwing ideas at you so that you’ll appear more interesting to the right type of young ladies…you know, the Halle Berry and Gabrielle Union types…” I told him, knowing that those sistah’s had it going on and that any heterosexual teenage boy could identify with them and their beauty.

“Awww, hell yea, now them is some honeys right there,” he said, smiling just like I knew he would.

“Well, I’m going to let you in on something, okay,” I told him.

“Okay, go for it,” he said.

“You catch better fish with the right bait,” I told him.

I saw him staring at me out the corner of my eye.  I knew that metaphor went right over his head.

“We’re going fishing?” he asked, innocently.

I chuckled.

“No, dude, I just used a metaphor.  Do you know what a metaphor is?” I asked him, knowing that he probably didn’t.

“Naww, man, I don’ know what a met-ee-for is,” he said, mispronouncing it.

“Okay, that is a word that I want you to look up today, and when I get home from work, I want you to tell me what it means,” I told him.

“Awww, dude, why I gotta learn that?” he asked, in a whiny tone.

“Oh, you’re going to be learning a whole lot of words, Rafael.  You’re a smart young man, and I just want you to reach your highest potential,” I told him.

“You think I’m smart?” he asked, shocked by what I said.

“Of course you are.  Don’t you think you are?” I asked him, anxious to hear his response.

“I don’t know.  I guess I never thought about it,” he said.

Now that really irritated me, and I was so glad that his grandmother allowed him to stay with us, because at the rate he was going he was going to be another high-school dropout without an education and not having an education really puts limits on you in this world – especially in the business world.  I made a mental note that I was going to take him to work with me on the next “bring-your-child-to-work day”.  He needed to have his world expanded outside the boundaries of the ghetto.

“Okay, here we are,” I told him, pulling up in front of his new school.

“Dayum, look at all those honeys,” he said, eyes lit up like a florescent sign.

“Uh, remember what we talked about, Rafael,” I said, reminding him about how to approach young ladies, as well as, the assignment I gave him to look up the word metaphor.

When he reached for the handle of the door I stopped him, by placing my hand onto his leg.

“Uh, excuse me,” I said.

“Huh,” he looked over at me.

“Hold your horses for a minute.  Damn, if you listen to me you can have the finest girl in the school, but if you don’t all you’re going to wind up with is trouble and a hood-rat with a bad attitude,” I told him.

He giggled.

“Okay …okay…I will, I promise I’ll do ever’thang you told me to do,” he said.

I held out my closed fist to get some dap.

He dapped me.

“Oh, and one other thing, if you do well in school I will get you your own cell phone.  If you do real well, we’ll work on getting you your own lap top,” I told him.

He looked over at me and smiled.

“Really, Marco?” He asked, grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes, I promise,” I told him.

“That is mad cool, nig…” he caught himself.

“I mean, Marco,” he said.

I smiled at him approvingly.

He exited the car and shut the door.

I watched as he hurried to catch up with some of the other youngsters at the school, when I saw him give another boy a brother man shake, I assumed he knew the young kid and hoped that he was one that would be a good influence on him.  The last thing he needed to do was to hook up with somebody from his old crew.

When he reached the foot of the steps leading up to the main doors, he turned around, smiled, and gave me a thumbs up, which I returned back to him.

I watched him walk up the stairs and disappear behind the doors and it made me feel really good inside.  I told myself that, with his good looks, and an education, he could go as far as he wanted in life.  I hoped that I could be a positive influence on this young man’s life, because all kids deserved the best in life.

I wanted to be a better male influence in his life than my father had been in mine.  I suppose this is what it felt like to have a child of your own.  I would love to see him walk across the stage, accept his diploma, and walk into a new life towards a higher education.

God please give me the patience and the skills to positively impact this youngster’s life, and also help me through this rough period in my life.  If you save me from the negativity surrounding me then I will always give back.

I put my car in drive, and drove out of the school yard, heading for work and back into the real world.

When I pulled into Stanford’s parking lot, my heart sunk.  I saw that Peewee was out there waiting for me to arrive.  I put the car in park and exited it, nervously anticipating what he was going to say.  I hadn’t seen him for a few days, and he had been calling but I chose to ignore his calls.

I went to walk past him and he grabbed me by the arm.

“Hold the fuck up, Brutha Marco,” he said.

“What!” I replied, pulling my arm out of his grasp.

He looked around and grabbed me by the arm again.

“Don’t do that again, please,” he said.

“Or what?” I shot back.

He crunched down on the toothpick he had circling around out the corner of his mouth.

“Look, I don’t appreciate being ignored mutherfucker,” he said, growling.

“Well, I don’t appreciate being treated like trash and made to take drugs when I don’t take them,” I told him.

He folded his arms, chuckling.

“I’m sorry…” he said.

“I don’t believe you are, Peewee,” I told him.

“No, really, I am, sometimes I forget myself and I revert back to my tribal instincts,” he said, sounding like an idiot.

“Tribal instincts…what tribe are you from, Peewee, the asshole tribe?” I asked, knowing that I was pushing my luck with him.

He chuckled again, looking around to make sure that nobody noticed us.

“I’ll let that one slide, thickness,” he said, chortling.

“Why don’t you leave me the hell alone, nigga.  For a minute I thought you really dug me, man, but after the way you treated me in the Motel I am sure I am not for you,” I told him.

“I made a mistake, I said I’m sorry,” he said, sounding as phony as a three dollar bill.

“Let me make it up to you,” he added.

“I don’t think so,” I told him.

“I told you I’m used to getting what I want, nigga” He said, sounding like he did at the Motel.

I shook my head, scoffed, and said “I need to go before I’m late”.

“Oh, I am going to make you real late one day,” he said, in a threatening tone.

“So, what, you’re going to kill me, like you killed Lance, huh, is that what you’re trying to tell me?” I asked, truly over him and just sick and tired of his games.

“I didn’t kill that nigga,” he said, defensively.

“Oh, you didn’t?  Well, I’m pretty sure you have a good idea who did,” I told him.

“You think so, huh?” He asked, sarcastically.

“I don’t think so, Peewee, I know so,” I told him.

He got into my face, took the toothpick out of his mouth, and said,”You really need to shut up talking about things you know nothing about.”

“Right!” I told him, walking passed him and toward the building.

I heard him laughing as I walked away.

“You can run, Brutha Marco, but you cannot hide,” he said.

Author & Producer, G D Grace

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Author G. D. Grace reserves all rights and reproduction without written permission is not permitted.  If found, legal action will be taken against the person(s) or company(s) that have cut or pasted (Plagiarized) any portion of this written document.  Author, G. D. Grace; Published © 2010 September