Ripped & Ready s4 (Boys to Men) *Part 9* {Adult Themes}

As ridiculous as this may sound, I feel like an outsider looking in at my boys Collin and Marco sitting across from me, engaged in a conversation that I was not invited into.  Much of what I was feeling could be attributed to the cocaine withdrawal I was obviously going through — especially since it had been more than a minute since my last indulgence.  Part of me envied their closeness, while another part of me unselfishly understood their bond.  Collin was the first to unwrap Marco’s virginity, and I cannot help wondering why he was chosen over me, but one cannot dwell in the past nor in lost causes.

I know, without a doubt, that Marco didn’t just allow things to happen without the delectable toppings of romance and tenderness, because he is the consummate hopeless romantic.  Whatever Collin stirred in him during that moment had to have moved him over from reluctance to indulgence within the pulsating beats coming from his heart.  I wish I was a fly on the wall to watch the entire event unfold, because I know that it contained all the heat of a perfectly written lovemaking scene.

Out the corner of my eye I caught him glancing over at me a couple of times and I didn’t have the courage to lock gazes with him.  Perhaps it was the guilt I felt about male-on-male interaction.  Oh, sure, I could have lured him into my seduction with false promises, but I couldn’t allow myself to stoop that low to satisfy my insanely high sexual urges.  I had to maintain a certain level of integrity dealing with someone I considered to be one of my best friends.

If I could erase the moment when I asked him about Denise from the mental record book, I would.  I mean, how insensitive could I have been, asking him what he thought about her when he was down on his knees paying homage to my stiff and ready?  The pained look in his eyes when he stopped abruptly, looked up at me intensely, and then suggested that I ask her if she thought I was cute, kept playing over and over in my head relentlessly.  It’s as if time stopped and presents itself at random as a reminder of how much of an insensitive asshole I could be.

I remember the first time that Marco and I ever fooled around sexually — it was pretty much an exploration session.  I told him I would show him mine if he showed me his, and as the days swiftly passed we started moving beyond the comparison interludes.  If I recall, we both experienced our first climaxes together during one of our bump and grind sessions, but didn’t really understand what had occurred until a little later.  The only thing we both knew is that it was one of the best feelings that either of us had ever experienced, and because of that our private escapades escalated.

Needless to say, Marco’s affections toward me grew to epic proportions, and what should have been a mutual feeling between the both of us never manifested.  As we grew older, my attraction towards females intensified and I pretty much tossed him to the side and focused on getting the “kitty” from girls.  If we did fool around it was only when I couldn’t get it from the fairer sex, and even though I knew how he felt about me it didn’t stop me from treating him like a means for a quick nut.

Eventually he caught on to his role in our sexual interludes and it did throw a wrench into our relationship as friends.  Fortunately for me, he was infatuated with my physical appearance and my good looks.  There were instances  where I just knew he wouldn’t climb aboard the “D” train, but all I had to do was sweet talk him a little, bat my hazel eyes at him, and stroke his emotions with my charisma and, BAM!, it was on and popping.

During sleep overs we’d toss it up like two wild animals, but he was the one that did that more intimate acts when we got busy, because I refused to touch his wand and made it clear to him that I wasn’t into that.  Whenever he tried to make me touch him down there I’d always snatch my hand away, and I’m not sure where that mental block surfaced.  In a lot of ways I felt like I was 100% heterosexual because I didn’t touch him or go down on him the way he’d touch and go down on me.

The entire matter was an off limit discussion for me, so whenever he brought it up I would put my clothes on, apologize, and cut out, but I would always come back sniffing around because I thoroughly enjoyed how he made me feel when he sexed me up.  I know that my disdain for performing certain acts with dudes didn’t just stop with me.  I knew a whole lot of dudes who also only saw the physical side between two men, so I was not alone in my rational.

Now, my rational is a little bit more complicated than, perhaps, even I can explain, but I’ll take a stab at to  appease your curiosity.  First things first; for as long as I can remember my father and his buddies always flaunted their masculinity by referring to and acknowledging their favorite parts on a woman’s anatomy, so their actions pretty much defined, in my mind, what my role was as a man.  It also outlined a woman’s role in a man’s life.

Men didn’t cry, and if they had to they would do it in the privacy of their own space.

Men possessed an acceptable amount of athletic abilities, and when they engaged in sports they had to be the epitome of confidence.

Men never complimented another man about their appearance unless it was to admire a slick suit, or a sharp as pair of “gators”, but any lingering comment about their physical appearance was absolutely off limits.  To linger would raise a few questionable brows.

Men must never give one another lengthy, two-armed hugs, unless it was during a time of mourning which was considered understandable and acceptable.

Men should never express to one another how deeply they felt about each other, because that was considered to be too female-like, so rather than engaging in that feminine type of rhetoric, less was more manly than too much.

And, the biggest of all rules is that a man never touches another man’s penis under any circumstances.

Yup, those are a few of the standard rules that applied to being a man, and I never ever considered breaking any of them.  I can still recall several instances when my father questioned me about Marco’s sexuality based solely on his own personal observation.  His first inquires were pretty much subtle statements about Marco’s lack of female companionship.

“Son, Marco must have the young ladies lined up around the block,” he’d say, obviously trying to get me to open up to him on the sly.

“I’m not sure about around the block, but he does have about three fine ass girls at school that are constantly on his jock,” was my response.

“I know that’s right!  You, Collin, and Marco are killing them sweet thangs, I bet,” he chuckled, moving on without any further questions.

So, you can understand why I make it my business to stay under the radar when it comes to the subject of sexuality.  The last thing I needed was to have my life scrutinized and put under a microscope by my dad, and now that I think about it, I’m sure that most fathers would not be able to handle the stares they’d get from other men, having a homosexual as a son.  His absolute disgust was displayed when he first laid eyes on Marco’s cousin, Antwan.

“That young man’s father must really be disappointed in him.  Look at him switching his ass like a woman, and carrying that purse around  like he’s got a fucking pussy!” he snapped, scoffing after making the comment.

“Marco never talks about that, dad,” was my reply, keeping my nervous response to just those few words.

If my father even caught me checking out that fat booty on Antwan, he’d probably string a rope to a tree and wrap it around my neck until he felt I had come to my senses.  The last thing I ever wanted to do was disappoint him, which is why I always kept my ass on some type of athletic team.  Whenever I’d catch the proud expression on his face when I looked up into the bleachers during a football or basketball game, I felt that I was living up to his expectations as a man.

In all honesty, I hate I ever opened up Pandora’s Box back in the day, because as hard as I have tried over the years, I couldn’t seem to get it back closed.  Marco always tells me that I am just a sexual being, but that simple summary would never go over in my father’s home, nor beneath it’s roof, so my sexual encounters with men would forever be parked away in the secrets I choose to hide from the roving eyes of society.

As far as my father was concerned, I was a pussy loving, titty sucking, heterosexual, and that’s the title I planned on keeping for the rest of my life; however, if I were to ever step out on faith and live openly as a homosexual, then Marco would definitely be the one.

In my eyes, he’d be worth it.

“Is there a Marco Thompson here?” the heavy set, African American nurse asked.

“Yes, how is my mother doing,” Marco asked, jumping up from his seat.

Damn, look at that phat booty…

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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 © 2011 March

Ripped & Ready s4 (Boys to Men) *Part 8* {Adult Themes}



As I rested my head on Collin’s shoulder, I couldn’t help but think about the demise of Peewee Jones, which was odd because I was sitting out in a hospital lobby waiting for a doctor to appear and give me some type of information concerning the well being of my mother.  It’s funny the way the mind works, how it can shift gears almost as if it is buffering the spirit so that it won’t feel the full impact of despair caused by a tragedy such as  the one that was currently in progress.

I closed my eyes and the warming caress of Collin’s hand on my cheek seemed to be working like a mild sedative, because every nerve in my body was relaxed and it had me feeling a little light headed — almost like I was levitating above the chair I was sitting on.  His touch had that effect on me and the deeper I slipped into the spell that he was casting on me by it, my thoughts drifted back to the Motel 6, the first time we made love — he was so tender and gentle with me.  Even when he broke the seal of my virginity he made the discomfort feel less uncomfortable.

Oh, the places we encountered during our evening of erotic bliss seemed so real until I could literally feel the change in climate about the room with every passing second and how lucky could one guy get, having his first time out be as intense and passionate as that one was.  Collin Clarke may be a pot head from Mendocino County (supposedly that’s where they grow a lot of pot at in Northern California), and he may need a little lotion on his elbows and knees — he may even look like a common hoodlum, but one thing that he was not was a lazy lay.

I never imagined that lovemaking could be as beautiful as it was the night when we shared our emotions, our minds, and our bodies with one another.  Without a doubt the intimate activities of our tender moment together left a profound impression on me — perhaps one that would be hard to fulfill on that same level.  I mean how many can honestly say that they can remember the moment when their “pee-pees” first started getting hard?  Not many, and for that reason alone I believe that I will never experience something like that with anyone ever again.

As I sat there with my head resting on his shoulder, I glanced periodically over at D’Andre when I was certain that he wasn’t looking over at Collin and I.  Even though there was no need for me to feel guilty about what I was thinking, I didn’t want get caught in his gaze because he would definitely figure out where my thoughts were at that moment.  Even though we all had similar connections, Collin’s and mine overshadowed the one that D and I once had.

Images began flashing against the back drop of my mind as I recounted the numerous times that D’Andre made me feel like a receptacle for passion’s seed — like the time I was giving him “boss” and he inquired about my half sister Denise (Who I didn’t know was my half sister at the time).  Then to add insult to injury, he tried giving me some “pity-dick” as a way of getting me to give my blessings for his and her relationship at the time — and she had the nerve to try and put her “got-dayum” stamp of approval on it with a phone call telling me that he needed to get “me” out of his system.


I’m telling you that I have never felt so “got-dayum” cheap.  It’s the reason why I tried to keep a respectable distance away from D, but he caught me off guard and I willingly surrendered to his overt advances.  Sure, it was bound to happen, however, I didn’t want it to because I felt as if he didn’t deserve my affections.  I tend to contradict myself all the time whenever I allow myself to replay the encounter — I wanted him, but I didn’t want him.  I suppose I needed to “get him out of my system” like Denise said, but I certainly didn’t want to admit it.

Not to her, not to him, but hell, there was no way I could even begin to lie to myself.

“De-Nile” isn’t just a river in Egypt y’all.

I keep reminding myself that I am a human being with human needs — sex being one of them, but it just seems as though I am on a totally different chapter than the men I seem to meet.   I’m not certain what I was looking for when I let myself entertain the thought of being involved with a ruthless “Nicca” like Peewee Jones.  Between his cocaine sniffing, his drug peddling, his gang activity, and his overall distorted take on life there was no room inside of his head or heart for anything or anyone else — except, perhaps, a shrink.

But men aside, I need to get a handle on a few important things in my life once this health scare blows over with my mother.  Something within me assures me that she will pull through again, and once she did I was going to sign up for a gym membership and start taking better care of myself.  I had my whole life ahead of me and needed to act as though I wanted to be around for the next forty or fifty years.

I made a silent pact with myself to “inhale, relate, release…” (Like Debbie Allen said in that episode of “A Different World”).  There comes a point in life when you had to evaluate your situation and make the proper adjustments to become the solid person that you want to be.  I mean, if I wanted to continue to conduct myself like a “Liquid-ass-nicca” then all I had to do was go on acting  like a victim and wait for some damn prince to ride up on his white horse to save me from myself.

Captain Save A Ho


Sometimes I crack my own damn self up.

“What’s that all about, sir?” he asked, just above a whisper.


“Nothing, Collin, just sorting some things out in my head, that’s all” I told him, as a stretched my legs without removing my head from his shoulder.

“I hear you, bro.  I was doing the same, wondering about little August and Tootchie.  I need to clean up my act, Marco, I have a son .  It’s time for me to cut my ties with a bunch of the knuckleheads I hang out with,” He said, lowering his voice so that he wouldn’t be overheard by the others.

The honesty in his tone assured me that he was being sincere about what he had just disclosed to me privately, and my heart went out to him.  I know that his mother’s murder had to be weighing heavy on his mind, and then something deep down told me that he had to be questioning the paternity of his son.  Hell who wouldn’t?  Hazel eyes just didn’t appear out of the blue — especially when nobody in that family line had them.  As bad as I wanted to force him to face the fact, I kept my mouth closed and decided to wait for him to bring it up.

“Collin, you’re my boy and I only want to see you succeed in life, but before any of that can occur you will need to let “The Chronic” go, man.  Getting high everyday isn’t a productive activity, and most employers test for drugs before they hire someone.   I’d hate to see you make it through the interview process and get turned down because your test comes back dirty,” I told him, stroking the top of his left hand, which was resting on his knee.

He let out a big sigh, but didn’t respond.

After about a minute, I inquired about his parent’s house, to lighten up the conversation — I’m sure that he wasn’t prepared to go to deep off into the “weed” subject, but I had accomplished what I wanted to do.  I planted the seed to make him think about the consequences of his actions.  Point blank, he needed to hear it — no company wants to have a pot head on their payroll.  He really needed to give his brain a rest — hell, anyone that I knew who smoked the shit wasn’t doing a “got-dayum” thing but lounging around all day long.

Before I had a chance to change the subject, Collin threw a knuckle ball that slipped past me and left me speechless.

“Marco, who in the fuck is my son’s father?!” He asked, in a huff.

Even though they had no idea what we were talking about, the others looked at us with concerned looks on their faces.  Suddenly, all of my personal thoughts were pushed to the side as I instantly went into clean up mode.  This discussion could not happen here in the lobby of a hospital.

No, it had to be some place where he could display all of the emotions that he had been keeping inside all of this time.

Finally a breakthrough…

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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 © 2011 February

Ripped & Ready s4 (Boys to Men) *Part 7* {Adult Themes}



Marco’s mental condition had me extremely worried.  That disturbing scene back at the car had me wanting to bust my friend in his jaw for acting like a crazy ass deranged bitch.  I mean, come on, yes your mother has taken ill, but is that a good reason to come unglued and act a “got-dayum” fool?  Seriously, what good did all that do?  He had people gawking at us like we were gorillas in a “got-dayum” zoo, and you know that a few of those crackers passing by probably thought that we were too — especially with Collin’s ashy ass looking as if he had just rolled over out of bed into that dingy ass white wife beater and those wrinkled up, baggy, hanging off the ass black jeans he was wearing.

Between Marco’s psychotic distraught outburst and Collin’s unkept physical appearance I was beside myself.  When this blond-haired blue-eyed female gruesome twosome  took an extra long time staring us down I almost lost my cool.   As a matter of fact I did make a snide remark to show my disapproval over their gawking.

“Anyone ever tell you that you two resemble Cousin It from the Adams Family?  I mean, damn, y’all need a serious make over — especially wearing them damn Birkenstocks with those loose-fitting, gaudy, cotton dresses…”

Collin snickered.

“I beg your pardon,” the taller one with the longer of the two long  noses asked, scoffing.

“You heard what I said.  Hell, this ain’t no damn Spike Lee movie, so quit staring at us like you watching a “got-dayum” show,” I said, curling up my lip to emphasize how annoyed I was.

When I saw her looking around, I knew she was most likely looking for a security guard, but you know what?  I didn’t give a fuck.  I was so sick of uppity ass white folks looking their noses down at black people — especially over here in Lilly White Ass Stanford.  Yeah, I know, they had a black quarterback and I believe old Condaliza Rice worked at the college before, but that didn’t mean diddly.   A black man walking around  in this area of town would always be scrutinized by some white folks — it’s just how it is.

“D’Andre, leave them damn hoes alone,” Collin said, pulling up his pants.

I looked over at him and threw up my hands.  “Nigga, no wonder they look at us like we’re thugs… do you even own a fucking belt?” I asked him shaking my head.

“And you think that snowflake is uppity?  D’Andre, even though you are black, you act as though you’re better than darker skinned Negros just because you have that light ass hue to your skin,” He told me, holding his pants up with his right hand.

“I tell you what, ashy, I’ll by you a belt and some lotion when we leave the hospital,” I told him clapping my hands snickering.

“And I’ll buy you some fist so you can better throw them things since every time we have ever gotten into a fight I have kicked your natural ass…” He said, pounding his right fist into his open left hand.

I guess Marco had had enough because he exploded.

“Y’all cannot be serious can you?  Here we are at the hospital… my mother is in their fighting for her life probably and both of you two inconsiderate assholes are going at it like we’re still in fucking grade school?”  He pushed past both of us.

“Awww, Marco, I’m sorry…” I said, hurrying my pace to catch up to him.

“Fuck you, D’Andre… both of you motherfuckers are childish,” He blurted out, never turning around.

I heard Collin snickering in back of me.   It was so like him to giggle at everything, because he stayed high as hell on weed.  I wanted to turn around and bash him in the fucking nose but I knew it would further agitate Marco, so I took the high road and didn’t even acknowledge Collin’s snickering.  He knew he was getting to me though because when I made eye-contact with him he made a funny face.


By the time we reached the waiting area where my parents were with Rafael, Marco’s temperament had returned to an eerie normalcy, which caused Collin and myself to look at one another baffled.  One minute he was acting as though he was cracking up, and the next he was calmer than a pond in a quiet meadow.  Either he was about to go several degrees to the left or he had really mellowed out.  I didn’t want to take any chances so I had to inquire.

“Hey, brothaman, are you okay?” I asked him, with raised brow.

He inhaled deeply, then exhaled before he spoke.

“Yeah, I’m straight, D.  I just hope my mother is doing okay,” He said, as he went and took a seat away from everyone else.

Collin walked over to where he was and sat beside him, wrapping his arm around his shoulder.  Now, you must understand, there had always been this rivalry between Collin and I when it came to Marco — even though both of us identified ourselves as being straight, we seemed to be in a silent tug of war for his affections.  It didn’t make matters any better when I found out that Collin had hit that before I got a chance to.

“M6, Marco, M6 buddy,” Collin told him, as he pulled Marco into his body.

Resting his head onto Collin’s left shoulder, Marco sighed and closed his eyes.

“Don’t worry, man, she’s going to be okay.  We are at the best hospital in the country, alright my dude,” Collin said, stroking the side of Marco’s face with his left hand.

That gesture of affection by Collin instantly caused the back of my neck to heat up.  I’m sure that my mother and father were clueless about what was really transpiring between the three of us, so I really had to maintain my composure and not react.  Collin knew very well what he was doing too.  He had a way about him that made me question why I even called him a friend.  There was always this competitive thing that went on between the two of us — it didn’t end with Marco’s affections — no, that was just part of it.  Deep down, I felt as though Collin was jealous of me and my fair skin.

It takes me back to that time when we were in the eighth grade and this young honey by the name of, Alisha Harper, was digging on me.  Collin wanted her so bad but she told him that she didn’t like dark-skinned dudes, and that was the biggest turning point in our relationship.  Up until that point, Marco’s affections were the only ones that we battled for, but when girls got into the mix, it was on like popcorn.

Yeah, that’s when our paths in the road  forked.  It was Marco who kept us together, because he always preached about how fortunate we were to have a friendship that has lasted since we were little boys.  “People wish they had what we had as far as friendship goes,” He’d say all the time, and we bought into like an investor buying a “sure-thing” stock on Wall Street.   There were some intense moments along the road though — like the time we went to our first Spring Dance.  Once again a sistah told Collin that he was a little to ashy for her taste.

Instead of him taking it as a cue to lotion his ashy self, he internalized it as black women were racist against dark-skinned brothas.  Marco would always tell him that he needed to put the crack down.  “Crack is wack, Collin,” He’d tell him, which made all of us burst out in laughter.  It may not have been the cure-all, but laughter is how we always rose above those heavy moments but, like I said earlier, Collin has a real complex about his skin color.  Didn’t that fool know that chocolate brothers have been in for years?

There was another thing that was annoying the hell out of me to no end.  What the hell did fucking M6 mean?  That fool even has a tattoo of it on his chest, and he always mentioned it around Marco, like it’s some secret phrase that only the two of them are privy to know about.  I felt like an outsider when it came to certain things that went on between the two of them.  How I consider myself a straight man is beyond me, and I suppose that is why Marco won’t give me the time of day anymore.

Confusion is nothing new to dudes like me.

Scared to be who we are.

We’d rather live a lie and sneak around in the shadows as opposed to stepping out into the light and living a full life without the confines a heterosexual shell.  Marco Thompson and Todd Berry are both braver than I could ever be, because I just couldn’t deal with all that stigma attached to being openly gay.  I mean it’s not like either of them walk around sashaying and waving a rainbow flag — they’re not like that, but still, if someone were to ask them if they were they wouldn’t hesitate to respond affirmatively.

Hell to the fuck no.


Shit no.

Shit, hell, fuck no.

D’Andre Washington has a reputation to uphold and like I said, I want kids, the house with the white picket fence and shit.  Two dicks in the same household?  I don’t think so.  Grocery shopping with another nigga?  I don’t think so.  Walking down the aisle and getting married to another nigga?  Hell to the fuck no.  I mean, who in the hell is the bride and who in the hell is the fucking groom?

I’m telling you it just doesn’t sit well with me.

I’ll fuck around in a heartbeat, but live with another dude?

Uh, uh…

Author, G. D. Grace Literary Links:

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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 © 2011 February

Ripped & Ready s4 (Boys to Men) *Part 6* {Adult Themes}



Life is a never-ending collection of situations and frustrations that are intertwined, and purposely trying to draw out every bit of air from my overworked lungs.  As I sat beside D’Andre, mentally numbed by mother’s condition, I stared at the road ahead in silence, consumed with uncertainty.  I hoped that the brush with death she avoided the first time would be repeated and have the same outcome, because I couldn’t fathom the alternative one leaving me any other place than in the watery depths of despair without a life-preserver to rescue me.  I know I would fall hard and not be able to get up without the aid of some serious clinical therapy if she succumbed this time.

A mother’s love is one powered by the divine kiss of God, it is tender and sweet, and its embrace is warm, caring and kind. Unyielding is the concern and support of her glowing spirit, it is a joy that I have yet to experience outside the realm of her maternal being, she is everything to me in this world, losing her would be like losing an arm or a leg.   The wonderful relationship between her and I has been consistently rich with very little disruption, so you can imagine the detriment losing her would bring to my life.  Whenever I hear the sound of her voice, or the colorful chuckle of her laughter I am filled with love.  She is my mother and I am her son, and without her then what would I be?


A shell of who I am now.

I’d be broken beyond recognition.

My vital organs would shut down and I wouldn’t be able to breathe without assistance.

Opening my eyes would feel like a chore.

Rising and being productive would miss one another intentionally.

The grief would be overwhelming.

I am her son and she is my mother.

All of my thoughts were infected with what if and how am I going to make it.

Even though the drive to the hospital only took fifteen minutes, it seemed as though it were taking hours, and whenever the car hit a bump in the road my heart skipped multiple beats.  Everything was getting on my nerves; the rattle from the dashboard that was missing a screw on the passenger side; the yellow lights that turned to red and made us stop periodically; Collin’s knees rubbing up against the back of my seat as he shifted positions repeatedly to adjust his legs which were probably cramping from the lack of leg room – even D’Andre’s light humming to the song currently on the radio was annoying me to no end.

I wanted to pull out my hair.

I felt like screaming in a deafening shriek.

I knew that both of my boys could sense how tense I was, but I didn’t want to hear a damn thing that they had to say.  I hated it when people tried to comfort me using cliché’s like: It’s going to be okay, or be strong for her, or you’re not doing her any good by getting upset, or the biggest one of them all: I’m here for you, okay…


Take your “got-dayum” arms from around me and shut the hell up.

I was beyond basket case status at the moment and when we had to stop at that last light before being able to turn into the hospital emergency parking lot I unraveled.

“HOW MANY OF THESE MUTHAFUCKAS ARE WE GOING TO CATCH? FUCK!” I yelled, slamming my fist down onto the dashboard in front of me.

D’Andre nervously jumped from my sudden outburst.

“Dude, you need to mellow out,” He said, looking over at me like I had lost my “got-dayum” mind.

“RUN THE MUTHFUCKA!” I demanded.

Collin placed his hands on my shoulders and pulled me back into the seat.

“COLLIN, TAKE YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF ME!” I said, agitated by his touch.

“Marco, you need to control yourself, nigga, what the fuck do you want me to do, get a ticket?  Now sit your ass back and act like a man,” He said, clearly shaken up.

Of all the things he could say, why did he have to say act like a man?

I was so sick of niggas questioning my masculinity.

Just because I wasn’t eyeing every woman’s ass in a pair of tight jeans, or ogling her “tid-days” with my eyes, or feeding a female some stale ass weak line I wasn’t a man.  Well, if he wanted to go there this day, today, I was certainly going to meet him at center court with all the rage surging in me.  I was sick of these down low fuckers and their snide remarks, and I was so glad that Collin didn’t tack onto what D’Andre had just said, because if he did, it would be hell on the cross this morning.

“D, you always got to say shit like that don’t you?  I’m sick of you questioning my manliness…pull this fucking car over right now!” I said, hitting him in the arm with full force.

He leaned toward the door, ducking like I was about to hit him.

Bitch ass nigga!

“Marco, you need to chill the fuck out… what the hell has gotten into you?” He asked, looking at me with a perplexed expression on his face.

“You’ve gotten into me, that’s what… you and every shady asshole I’ve ever dealt with… I am a man, regardless of my sexuality and I’m sick of hearing that bullshit, that’s what’s gotten into me, D’Andre Washington… yeah, that’s what’s gotten into me,” I said, gritting my teeth and grabbing for the door handle.

“COLLIN!  GRAB THIS FOOL BEFORE HE OPENS THE DOOR AND FALLS HIS FAT ASS OUT!” D’Andre said, with the final blow that sent me over the edge.

“Come on now, Marco, baby, mellow out…” Collin said, restraining me and pulling back into the seat.

“LET GO OF ME, COLLIN… LET ME GO…!” I said, frantically repeating my request.

Did he listen?

Hell no.

“Marco, I’m going to knock you the fuck out you if you don’t calm your crazy ass down and stop acting like an idiot,” Collin said, in an effort to get me to listen to reason.

“NO!” I said, as I tried repeatedly to lean forward away from him.

Just when things had reached the boiling point, D’Andre pulled into the emergency parking lot, and it couldn’t have happened any quicker.  Before he had a chance to put the car in park, I jumped out the car.  Both D and Collin jumped out immediately after I did and once D made it around to the side of the car I was standing on, both of them grabbed me in their embrace and cradled me like I was a child.

“Brotha, you’ve got to hold it together,” Collin said with tears streaming down his cheeks.

“We ain’t goin’ nowhere, buddy,” D’Andre said, squeezing Collin tighter which, in turn, squeezed me tighter.

“I cannot lose her, y’all, I cannot lose her,” I repeated, sobbing into Collin’s ripped & ready chest.

“D’Andre, I got him, lock the car up and let’s get him inside,” Collin said to D’Andre.

“Alright, dude, I got it,” He said, retrieving his wallet off the dashboard before closing the car and hitting the electronic switch on the key ring.

“Falling apart isn’t going to make it any better, baby,” Collin said, cradling me against his strong pectoral muscle, the one tatted with M6.

Lying against his chest resurrected a flash back of our erotic experience together.



I wished we were there now…

Producer & Blog Radio Host, Author 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 December

Ripped & Ready s4 (Boys to Men) *Part 5* {Adult Themes}



The three of us, my parents and myself, left the house trailing one another in a rushed pace with Rafael leading the way.  His uneasy demeanor foretold what we should expect prior to entering the home where my buddy Marco resided  with his mother.  His biological sister, Danita, resided there as well, but she was currently in a southern state attending college.  She had left shortly after the death of their father, with a little push from her big brother.  Unfortunately, during her time away, Mrs. Flora-Mae was stricken with a slight stroke, and Danita’s natural instinct was to rush home, but Marco knew that if she did, there was a high probability of her not returning to complete her studies.  He told her that, unless their mother took a turn for the worse, there was no reason for her to waste money on a plane ticket nor miss any of her classes at school to come home unnecessarily.

Even though it didn’t quite sit well with her, she did as he suggested, but racked up cell phone minutes calling constantly to check on the well-being of their mother.  I’m not sure how I would react if something like that happened to my mother, but one thing I’m certain of is that I would be just as rattled as both he and his sister.  I’ve known Marco ever since we were eight years old, and from the moment our young spirits connected, we were inseparable.  Collin Clarke, who lived a couple of houses to right of where I lived and directly across from Marco’s, didn’t come into the friendship fold until he was about ten years old – that was how old he was when his family first moved into the court.  Marco and I were riding our bicycles when this huge U-Haul pulled up in front of the then, and now, vacant house Collin and his family called home.

“D, do you think they have any kids?” Marco asked me, straddling the seat of his mountain bike, with his right leg propping it up and both hands on the handlebars.

“I don’t know, let’s ask,” I said, hoping with all my might that they did have another little boy for the both of us to play with.

Now, we couldn’t have been more obvious could we?  But hey, kids don’t know anything about being discrete and as kids we had that luxury.  Even though we were being nosey neighbors, our young age made it acceptable for us to gawk in broad daylight.  When his parents looked at the both of us standing there beside our bicycles, they just smiled and waved in unison.  I heard his mother comment on how cute both of us looked, and we both blushed and said thank you.  Collin’s mother and father had the darkest skin color I had ever seen – most would call them blue-black, and the apple certainly did not fall too far from the tree, he was just as dark as his parents, but he was an ashy little sucker, and  that “ashy” tag hung over his head and became the springboard for many who played “the dozens”, and no one was  more infamous for “capping” on Collin than Marco’s little sister, Danita.

Danita was the first one who called him out about his need for lotion.  She was three years younger than all of us, and sassier than a small ankle-biting canine.  Collin’s family had been living in their home for about a week or so when the battle of the dozens between the neighborhood kids picked up steam, and spearheading the verbal battle of wit was none other than, Danita.  With a black Barbie doll dangling at her side in one hand, her right thumb stuck in her mouth, and an assorted color of ribbons in her pig-tailed hair, she stared Collin up and down before finally taking her thumb out of her mouth.

“You look like you’ve been playing in your mother’s flour container, ‘cause you got more powder on you than a piece of raw chicken,” she said, chortling and sticking her thumb back into her mouth.

The hurt look on Collin’s face magnified the moment of hilarity.

Every kid in the immediate area started whooping and hollering together, and what made matters worse is that Collin used to stutter when he was younger, so instead of him snapping back at her with a quick response, he stuttered on the letter “F” for about 15 seconds and it made him sound like Porky Pig, and the laughter already in progress increased in volume, accompanied by high fives and knee slaps. The expression on his face was one of defeat and, like any kid, being teased by the majority; a teary-eyed Collin fled on his bicycle, dropped it right off  in  front of the steps of his parent’s doorway, and went into the house.  We didn’t see him until the next day.

Danita always had a sharp tongue and a short temper, but I truly believe that she had a serious crush on him.  You know how little kids are when they fancied another kid.  LOL

That memory made me smile, and as I looked over at my buddy who was trying his best to maintain his composure under the circumstances, my heart was warmed.  Being as supportive as I could, I had my left arm wrapped around their young house-guest, Rafael, comforting him so that Marco could focus solely on his mother.  I knew the young cat was afraid because I could feel his body trembling, so I repeatedly kept telling him, just above a whisper, that everything was going to be fine.

When I shifted my attention back to the center of the room, I saw Marco looking at Rafael and I, and he mouthed the words thank you. It pained me to see my buddy so distraught, and times like these always made me want to kick myself in the ass for being so self-centered and acting like an idiot all the “got-dayum” time.  I knew how much Marco loved me, and I had to stop leading him on, knowing that I could never give him what he wanted by being  the man he so desperately wanted to grow old with.

He isn’t a sexual conquest to get my rocks off with.

He had feelings that deserved to be cultivated and cared for by the right man.

Friends don’t treat friends the way that I had been treating my dude; lying to him, not telling him about his former boyfriend’s presence at that freak party at the Brothaman’s Club with Darrius, Peewee, and that deceased asshole, Lance.  Then, hooking up with that no account Peewee and getting hooked on cocaine… you just don’t do dirt and think that you can rinse it off without any traces of it being left, because anything that is done behind closed doors is easily revealed at some point in time.  In this particular case, my unkept appearance was a dead giveaway that I was living foul.  A real friend, sometimes, knows you better than you know yourself, and though they may not be able to pin point exactly what it is that is going wrong with you, their noses are sensitive enough to get a whiff that something isn’t right.

When it comes to his boys, Marco becomes a “got-dayum” bloodhound and that’s what all of us liked about him; his heart was humongous and that’s why when we finally made love it was so fucking intense.  His sensual touches made me want to scream out loud, “Mercy!” and the way he darted that tongue around on certain pressure points of my body literally made my toes curl.  His whispery pillow-talk made the roots of my hair tingle, and when I closed my eyes he took me on an erotic ride where I felt like I was flying… fucking flying… I am not lying.  That’s why I get so weak and want him, because I’ve never had my thirst for passion quenched the way he quenches it.


“D’Andre, open the door, son!” My father said, snapping me out of my daze.

“HUH?” I said, startled a bit.

“The door, son, the door…open the door for the paramedics,” He instructed.

“Oh, okay,” I said, embarrassed at the fact that he had to call me a couple of times before I heard him.

You see, that’s what I am talking about, sometimes I think way too much about myself and my own lustful needs.  How in hell could I be thinking about sex when Mrs. Flora-Mae was lying down there ill?  I had to pull myself together and get me a new “get-right” attitude, because karma is a real bitch, and I didn’t want her showing up slapping me without any “Mercy!”  Yes, Peewee, Lance, Darius, and NeeNee were all paid a visit by her and look what happened to them, so who was I in her eyes?  A prick holding a number that she would surely call on one day when I least expected it.

Everyone watched in silence as the paramedics checked Mrs. Flora-Mae’s vital signs, and outside of the medical equipment noises the only people doing any talking were the paramedics; giving one another instructions and exchanging medical terms back and forth. The anxiety in the room was so thick that you could almost slice through it like a piece of cheese sitting on a wooden cutting block.  I tell you, nothing is more nerve-wracking than watching someone close to you being poked and prodded by strangers with needles and other medical apparatuses – it really is pretty sobering to watch.  You just never know whether the outcome will be life or death; all you can do is hope for the best.

That’s what we were all hoping for.

After approximately fifteen grueling minutes of uncertainty, the tall ripped & ready caramel colored brotha broke the silence and said, “Well, it looks as if she might have experienced a slight stroke, however, we cannot be certain until we get her to the hospital and run some more test, but we’ve managed to get her blood pressure stabilized. Will one of you be accompanying her to the hospital?” He asked, scanning the room.

“A stroke…?” Marco asked, in a tone of anguish.

“Yes, sir, it appears it could be, but, again, we cannot be sure at this point,” he said, in a sympathetic professional manner.

“But, she’s already had one stroke,” Marco said, shaking his head as tears streamed out the corner of his eyes.

“Well, that’s why we need to get her the main center immediately, because we are not sure about the severity of it,” the paramedic told all of us.

No sooner did he say that did Collin appear. I suppose he walked in through the open front door.  He asked what was going on to no one in particular, and everyone just shrugged their shoulders and watched as the two paramedics carefully lifted and placed Mrs. Flora-Mae on to the stretcher.  The entire scene was surreal, for we had all experienced before, and I’m sure that none of us expected to go through it again this soon.  She had been doing so well, and I was certain that she was eating correctly because Marco was always commenting about how he missed the way she used to cook.  Anything that used to be flavored with pork was now flavored with spices minus the salt, and he said, even though it was tasty, it wasn’t as tasty as before.

“Everything that tastes good is bad for you, fuck!” He’d always say whenever the subject of a home cooked meal came up.

He never mentioned it to his mother though, because he never wanted to run the risk of hurting her feelings – he prided himself in being supportive of his mother’s low-sodium diet, but outside of the home, well let’s just say, we don’t’ call him thickness without reason.  The “fellas” and I stayed on Marco about his love for fast food and the 45lbs he had picked up gradually over time.  We always mentioned it in a way as not to offend him, because he has always battled the bulge for as long as I could remember.  He wasn’t obese, but he was thick, and if he didn’t watch it he could easily start tipping the scale in the wrong direction.

With the morning winding down, we all picked who would be riding with who out to Stanford Hospital.  My parents took Rafael with them, and Marco, Collin and I went in Marco’s car.  The paramedics wouldn’t let Marco ride inside the ambulance; they said it was against the rules now.  It caused a few raised eyebrows but we didn’t want to add any stress to the already stressful scene, so we left it alone.  I decided to do the driving because I figured that Marco really didn’t need to be behind the wheel of his VW Jetta, which he relented without a fuss – that’s when I knew his mother’s condition had gotten to him.  Marco hated anyone driving his car, he didn’t care who it was.

Before pulling out the driveway, I looked over at my friend and said, “Stay strong, Marco, your mother needs you to be the man who your father couldn’t be.”

With that, I backed out, put the car in drive, and headed towards the unknown, filled with hope, and heavy in prayer.  I was glad that Collin showed up because there is always strength in numbers.  The only one who was missing was the fourth member of ou friendship square, and that was Todd Berry, but he was battling his own demons.  The three of us had planned on visiting him at the Veterans Hospital in Menlo Park today, but with Mrs. Flora-Mae’s life waiting in the balance that would have to wait.

God, please…

Producer & Blog Radio Host, Author G. D. Grace

Call in number for the show: (347) -215-6245
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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 November

Ripped & Ready s4 (Boys to Men) *Part 4* {Adult Themes}



When I closed my eyed to put that horrific evening behind me, I honestly felt that life would return to normal until I was awakened by my mom’s panicked call for assistance.  To be jolted out of dead sleep by the cries of someone in distress allows you to surpass all the groggy, slow-moving, stretching and yawning activity that normally goes along with the “rise-and-shine” routine.  At first I thought I was dreaming, but when I realized that I wasn’t a surge of adrenaline flooded my reflexes and I yanked the covers off of me, jumped up out the bed and hauled ass into the living room where she had apparently fallen to the floor.  The pained look on her face looked extremely familiar and when I did a fast rewind, it dawned on me that she could be having another stroke.

I knelt down beside her, lifted her head gently up, resting it carefully on my lap, then I gazed into her eyes, reassuring her with calm in my voice that things were going to be okay.  Once I had gotten a few it’s-gonna-be-okay-it’s gonna-be-alright’s in, I called out to Rafael but he didn’t respond.  In that I could hear a loud thumping coming from his room, I knew he was in there with his music blaring too loud to hear me calling.  Now, I had repeatedly spoken to him on more than one occasion about how loudly he played his music, and I told him that it was unacceptable and inconsiderate – especially since his room was closest to mom’s room.  She never complained about it either, and would always ask me to lighten up on him when she felt I was being too strict.  I couldn’t believe it either because Danita and I weren’t allowed to have any bass in our music when we played it back when we were young.  I tell you, older people sure did give the youngsters more leeway than they ever gave us.

After my third frantic call to him I grew impatient.

“RAFAEL!!!!!” I screamed out, in agitation, hoping that he would hear that one.

When I heard his door swing open I breathed a sigh of relief.

He entered the living room with a nervous look on his face right into my icy glare.  I could tell he was bracing himself for an all out verbal assault from me, but when he saw moms laying in my lap his facial expression shifted to uncertainty, but I didn’t need for him to fold under the pressure of what was occurring, I needed him to run across the street to D’Andre’s and get help.  During an emergency nothing else mattered, but I did make a quick mental note to rip him a new ass about his disobedience.  The one thing I constantly had to do was reiterate directives and I was running out of patience.

How many “got-dayum” times did you have to explain the reasons why to a teenager?

Why didn’t they comprehend the first, second, third or fourth time?

How come it always had to be a battle for control just for respect?

If you bought them all the little electronic luxuries that they asked for, then why couldn’t they show their gratitude by doing what you ask them to do?

Why did they make you want to knock their teeth in just to get their attention?

I didn’t know and I didn’t give a fuck, I was about sick of him.

Why did my mother allow her heart to overshadow sound reasoning?

She was too old to be raising a teenager – especially a troubled teenage boy with a history of behavioral problems.  I remember coming home that day and finding this new addition to the family, and I was not pleased at all.  My mother’s term as parent of children ended when Danita and I reached the age of eighteen, and she had earned the right of being able to enjoy the rest of her life without the headache associated with rearing a young child.  Well, what I didn’t count on is that she pretty much enlisted me to assist her in looking after him, and I was not pleased at all with it.  Hell, if I wanted a damn kid I would have made one myself – all of my equipment worked fine.

“I…I’m sorry, Marco…” he said, stuttering like a CD that was skipping.

“Little man, I don’t even have time to get off into your disobedience right now… what I need for you to do is to take your ass across the street and get Cassey and Wallace – tell them that moms has taken ill and that they need to come over her with the quickness,” I told him, as calmly as I could.  I didn’t want to upset my mother anymore than necessary.

When I saw the tears welling up in his eyes, I couldn’t be cross with him.  I knew he was afraid, so rather than add to his anxiety I repeated the request in a gentle, firm, tone.  “Rafael, she’s going to be alright, but I need you to do as I ask you to do, okay,” I told, as I tenderly caressed the side of my mother’s face.

“I…I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…” He said, but I cut him off.

“Rafael…now, okay…” I said, repeating my request.

Dear God, was I the only one in the joint that realized the urgency of the situation?

Oh, snap, I forgot, he was just a kid.

By the time the Calvary returned, my mother had regained her composure somewhat, because she had started talking to me in a raspy-whisper.  Listening to her admit to me that she was frightened about tore me in two.  I felt so helpless not being able to do more for her than what I was doing, but even in her weakened state she managed to purge maternal strength in the form of a warm smile and a light peck on my the top of my folded fist.

How could I ever live without her in my life?

If I lost her I don’t know how I would be able to go on.

The future could only be a dark one without her familiar voice in it.

Who would wrap their arms around me as tightly and lovingly as my mother?

Nobody could ever replace her angelic presence in my life.

I don’t want to even think about what that would feel like….

No, it hurts too much to…

“Marco! What’s going on with Mrs. Flora Mae?” asked, Cassey, as she knelt down beside us.

“I don’t know, when I got in here she was lying on the floor,” I told her as tears streamed down my cheeks.

Cassey looked at me, and asked “Have you called 911 yet?”


I never even thought about that.

Damn, how could I be so damn stupid?

I suppose my fear had gripped me so tightly that I wasn’t thinking clearly.

“NO, I didn’t!  Please, somebody do it now… do it now!” I exclaimed, slowly unraveling as the seconds passed.

“Wallace…” Cassey called out, but he responded before she completed the request.

“I’ve got it… don’t worry…” He said, as he lifted the cordless land-line phone and started dialing.

“Mrs. Flora-Mae, dear, just relax, help will be here shortly,” Cassey said, placing her hand on top of the one I had resting on my mother’s chest.

“Please look after Danita, Marco, and Rafael…” my mother said, which sent a shock wave through me.

“Mom, stop talking like that!” I demanded, scared out of my wits.

She just smiled without responding.

“She’s a little out of it, Marco, don’t worry, she’s just saying what comes natural to her, trust me, she’ll be okay,” Cassey assured me, stroking my hand.

I looked at her, wanting to believe what she was telling me, but I was at odds with her words and my mother’s fragile state.  How could she be okay looking like she was about to slip away from us so quietly?  That’s the one thing about situations like this one, people always tried to say what you needed to hear, but I wasn’t trying to hear it.  All I knew is that my mother had already had one stroke, and for all I know she could have had another one, so nothing was going to ease my worry until she was at the hospital.

“Where are they at?” I asked, only minutes after Wallace called.

“Son, you’ve got to give them time to get here, so be strong for Mrs. Flora-Mae, okay?” he said, standing over the three of us.

I looked over toward the entry way to living room where D’Andre was standing, with his arm around a distraught and teary-eyed Rafael.  When I saw him there a quick, fond, memory entered my mind.  I remembered the first time I had ever met him – we were just eight years old at the time.  Our family had moved in and he and his family were out in the front yard doing lawn work.  Believe it or not, I knew that I was gay then, because when I saw him I was instantly smitten with him.  He was the cutest boy I had ever seen before in my life, and those hazel eyes of his melted me even back then.

“Hey…” he said.

I blushed and said “hey” back.

“You wanna ride bicycles?” he asked, flashing that killer white smile (Yeah, he even had it back then, though a tooth or two was missing.

“Mama, can I ride my bike with…” I didn’t even know his name yet.

“D’Andre, my name is D’Andre, but you can call me D…that’s what all of my friends call me…” He said, not finishing his sentence.

I looked at him puzzled.

“Well, what’s your name?” He asked, with one hand propping up his blue mountain bike, and the other on his hip.

I blushed.

“Oh, my name is Marco,” I told him.

“Well, Marco, go get your bike and let’s go on an adventure,” He said, climbing onto his bike.

“Mama, can I go riding with D?” I asked, all excited.

“Hell no, you can’t go riding, you need to help unpack all of this shit that we’ve got to unpack,” my father, Henry-Lee said.

“Oh, you old fool, shut your mouth, let these kids go on and play…he’s only eight years old, good Lord, man!” My mother said, throwing up her hands.

The memory caused me to smile.

For as long as I could remember my mother always protected me.

If she passed away, who would protect me then?

“Moms, please, you’ve got to hold on…” I begged, in a soft whisper.

By the time the paramedics arrived her eyes were closed.

Dear God, just a little more time, please, I said, praying silently to myself.

I really hoped he heard my prayer.

Producer & Blog Radio Host, Author G. D. Grace

Call in number for the show: (347) -215-6245
A Touch of Grace Blog Talk Radio Link:

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 November

Ripped & Ready s4 (Boys to Men) *Part 3* {Adult Themes}



I was determined to get my life back on track, because I refused to be another statistic roaming the streets homeless, looking for my next hit of blow.  I was glad that my supplier had been toe-tagged and was now being driven to the nearest morgue to be drained of that rotting blood in his lifeless body and then embalmed.  I’m not sure that it is politically correct to be thinking something so cold and callous, but Peewee Jones was a pimple on the ass of society that was long overdue for a precise squeezing.  To see a vibrant person with their future ahead of them become this walking zombie with bugged out eyes, wearing dirty clothes, and pacing the streets late into the wee hours of the morning is a sight that I hoped to one day never see.

A drug dealer is nothing but a cancer to society, eating away at the human spirit little by little until there’s nothing left but skin and bones. Marco’s stepsister, Denise, was such a lovely dark skinned sistah when I first met and fell in love with her.  Her smooth chocolate unblemished skin had a light glow to it, and she didn’t even need makeup to bring out her beauty – she had it all naturally.  I remember how heated Marco became when he was down on his knees servicing me and I asked him if I thought she liked me.  The look of disgust in his eyes tore me up inside and I really felt bad for inquiring about her while he was down there with his lips wrapped around my flesh wand taking care of my sexual needs.

That’s why he refused to sleep with me for a long time after that encounter.  I have to admit that I was being insensitive, but to me when I get down with a dude it’s purely a sexual encounter and not a romantic one – that was the difference between him and I, I accepted it for what it was, but he couldn’t.  I suppose it is because he really is gay and he wants all the romantic activities that go along with the sex, but I just cannot see myself settling down with a nigga.  In my future, I see a lovely women who will bare my children, the house with the white picket fence, and two vehicles – one being a minivan.  Nothing about that picture includes another swinging dick, so as much as he desires it, he won’t be getting it from me.

Yeah, I know that might seem cold, but I’m a man – a handsome man at that and the world is filled with too many beautiful women for me to be held up in some life with some hardhead, but this is why I needed to find a dude that sees it the way I do, that way there wouldn’t be any loose strings that constantly needed clipping.  We fuck and do what we do, get up and wash our asses, give one another the “brothaman-shake” and go on about our business.  After the seeds have been spilled it’s all about moving on until the next time we kicked it.  One thing for sure, I have to stop playing with my boy’s emotions the way I do.  He deserves to be happy and I know that the kind of life he wants, I could never give him.

But damn he’s got some good ass “bussy” (Boy Pussy).


Looks like you’ve learned a new word today, haven’t you?

Well, it’s time for me to get the day started it’s after 10:00AM, and after that exchange of gunfire last night daylight’s hue is simply refreshing.  Unfortunately I wasn’t the type of guy to open up his eyes and climb out of bed – no, I had a ritual that included locating the remote control to the television, turning it on, finding a sitcom rerun, and playing with my man tool until I had worked it up to the point of squirting. I never released my juices while laying in the bed, instead I got up before the point of no return, took my ass into the bathroom, stripped out of my draws, then completed the task while beneath the warm soothing waters of a shower.  This particular morning I was extra horny, and so I had to stifle my moans to prevent my parents from hearing me as I stroked myself into ecstasy.

“Shit…” I uttered softly.

Damn, sometimes nobody else can do it better than you can do it yourself.

A couple of times I almost lost my footing as I squatted down, gyrating in rhythm, arching my back like a feline taking a satisfying stretch.  The sensation I was creating going up and down the shaft of my thick and meaty had me in such a state of euphoria until it was actually hard to keep myself from adding sound to my activity, but I knew I had to refrain from getting too vocal.  I know for a fact that both my mother and father had overheard me a couple of times before, because when I sat down at the breakfast table they looked at one another and chuckled nervously.  It was rather embarrassing too, but they never made me feel shame about what I was doing behind the closed door of the bathroom.

“Fuck!” I said a little too loudly.

It caused me to stop what I was doing momentarily and cup my mouth.

Before continuing I listened to make sure that I didn’t  hear any footsteps going down the hallway outside the bathroom.  Once I was certain that the coast was clear, I resumed handling my business.  The pulsating stream of water shooting downward onto my magic stick seemed to intensify the effect and it caused my head to spin.  I was so deep in my private moment until it felt like I was floating off of the wet mat I was standing on inside of the tub.  After a few more strokes I was at the point of no return and when I finally shot my load my entire body shook uncontrollably and I accidentally bit down on my bottom lip a little too hard.

“UGGGH!!!!” I cried out as the sticky contents of my nut sack splattered against the white porcelain walls.

My body convulsed for a couple of minutes after the release and I was out of breath.  If  there was anyone standing outside that door I know they heard that last sound I made, but it was unavoidable.  I tried to be respectful, but shit, when it feels that good it’s hard to contain yourself.  After calming down, I grabbed a bar of soap and lathered myself all over and then I rinsed myself off.  The lasting effects off that nut were still ringing in my ears when I stepped out of the tub and onto the thick blue bath towel sitting on the floor.

Once I had dried myself off, I took the towel and wiped the condensation that had built up from the steam of the shower off of the mirror.  Next I grabbed the dental floss, pulled the appropriate amount of waxy-string out, and I placed the container back on the shelf inside of the medicine cabinet.  After flossing my teeth, I grabbed my red toothbrush from its resting location in the family stand, coated the top of it with some toothpaste, and I spent about five minutes brushing my pearly whites.  I was a stickler when it came to my teeth, and anyone I dealt with had to have decent teeth.  It’s a pet peeve of mine – if you look like you’ve been chewing rocks all your life, then your lips were never going to touch any part of my body.

I meant that shit too.

The rest of my grooming included shaping up my goatee, trimming my nose hairs, and applying moisturizer to my face; for some reason I was taking extra time on myself and I believe it was because of the comment that Marco had made about “smelling” me last night.  The vain part of my personality wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up, but I knew he was telling the truth.  I had skipped the tub a couple of days and I knew that I might have been emitting a slight odor.  Now don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t funky, but I couldn’t lie to him at the moment, because it would be too much like lying to myself.

I checked the mirror to make sure that everything looked cool, and once I was satisfied with the outcome, I exited the bathroom and went into my room to get dressed.  Before leaving the bathroom though, I checked to make sure the coast was clear because I didn’t want my mother to catch me streaking through the house in my teal-colored boxer briefs.  Hell no, not with all of this meat I got protruding in the front of them.  Every time she catches me though, I try to covering myself , but she always tells me that she used to change my diapers and I don’t have anything that she hasn’t seen before.

Excuse me… I believe that what you saw when I was a baby has matured, mother dear.

I never mouthed that off to her; I just thought it to myself.

Bragging about your size to your mother is not a good look.

Hell to the fuck no.


Sometimes I just cracked my own damn self up.

“D’Andre, you had better get your ass out here before I start clearing food off of this table – that’s if you want to eat,” my mother said, standing outside the closed door of my room.

“Alright already, I’m almost dressed,” I said, hastening the pace in which I dressed.

Whatever it was my mother had cooked smelled good as hell.

By the time I made it to the dining room table, my dad was sitting in his favorite position at the head of the table, looking over his reading glasses while reading the morning paper.  His silence assured me that he was on one, and that he was going to start hounding me about my future. The last thing I wanted was to get into a heavy discussion with him about my life.  I loved my father dearly, but he had this way of making me feel stupid whenever I tried responding to his questions.  I’m telling y’all I wasn’t ready to enter the ring with Wallace Washington this early in the “got-dayum” morning.

When he closed up the newspaper, I prepared myself for battle.

“Well…” He said, looking at me over top of those black rimmed reading glasses.

My mother seated herself, and shook a linen napkin from it’s folds and placed it on her lap, very ladylike, without saying a word.  That was her way of being respectful to the man of the house.  She was old fashion in that way.  What my father says pretty much goes beneath our roof.  He is never disrespectful to her, and he has taken very good care of both her and me.  No one could ever say that my father wasn’t a good provider, because he was.  He had always been there for me – he was even there for my friends.  They would always tell me how lucky I was to have a father as cool as mine, but I would tell them that if you were his son you wouldn’t be saying that.

Excellent provider, yes…

But he was also a strict disciplinarian.

If I came home with a C on my report card that would always lead into this three hour discussion and the end result would be no television, no phone calls, no outdoor play, no fucking nothing.  Looking back on things now, I know he was only hard on me because he wanted me to have a better life than he had.  Furthering my education after high school was not my goal, though he always wants to say it was.  I didn’t care the much for the classroom structure; I was more of a free spirit.  I loved sports and I loved music, but if my grades in the other subjects weren’t right, all of that was cut out until I brought them up.

When I didn’t respond, he slid the glasses off and sternly called my name.

“D’Andre, I believe I asked you a question,” he said, sucking his teeth in agitation.

I rolled my eyes at him.

“Nigga, don’t let my church going attitude fool you; I will bounce up and down on your cute ass if you ever disrespect me. Now again, what the fuck are you going to do with your life?  You have been home six months and the most you ever do is roll over out of that bed, scratch your young ass nuts, and go into that bathroom and play with your goddamn self for an hour!” he said, in an authoritative tone.

“Oh, Wallace…!” My mother said, visibly embarrassed by the last part of his comment.

“Cassey, enough is enough now.  We did not raise our son to be a sorry ass good for nothing nigga.  He needs me to give it to him just like I’m giving it to him, because the calm logical conversations doesn’t seem to be working!” He sneered, looking over at me with a disgusted look on his face.

Before I had a chance to respond to his rant, the doorbell rang.

“FUCK!” he said out loud.

“I’ll get it,” I told him, wanting to get out of his line of sight for a moment.

“No, you’ll sit your ass right there until I’m through talking to you,” He said, as he stood up, throwing his napkin down onto the table.

As he stormed off down the hall I could hear him cursing under his breath.

“Little twenty-something year old nigga ain’t gonna be lying up in my goddamn house without working or going to school.”

My mother looked at me and shook her head.

Once she was certain that he was out of hearing range, she leaned over to me.

“Whatever you do, do not sass him, D’Andre,” was all she said.

I braced myself for his return, but instead I got relief.

“Cassey and D’Andre, grab the car keys…. It’s Mrs. Flora-Mae!” he called out from the front door.

Marco’s mother, oh my God, what’s wrong? I asked myself.

My heart was racing swiftly as both my mother and I scrambled to do what we were told to do without asking any questions.  Please God, don’t let anything be wrong with my boy’s mother – he’s already gone through too much as it is.

It just seems as though the drama has set up shop here in the “got-dayum” court.

Marco, I’m on my way, buddy…

Producer & Blog Radio Host, Author G. D. Grace

Call in number for the show: (347) -215-6245
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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 November

Ripped & Ready s4 (Boys to Men) *Part 2* {Adult Themes}



Peewee Jones died in my arms earlier that evening.  His shocking and untimely death seemed surreal, but I suppose the emptiness I felt was actually a natural emotion associated with the mourning process.  Yes, regardless of what he had put me through over the months, there was still a sense of sadness hovering over my thoughts and it confused me.  I thought for sure that I would be relieved knowing that I no longer had to look over my shoulder twice to make sure that I wasn’t being followed by him, but for some strange reason I wasn’t.  Perhaps it was because, deep down inside, I really did have feelings for him, but not ones dripping with romantic love.  No, it had more to do with me being sympathetic to his perilous journey from childhood to manhood.

You see, I realized that Peewee’s innocence was infected by corruption when he was too young to be able to make the right choices for himself.  His path in life was pretty much altered because of what he had learned at such an early age by hardcore hustlers who just happened to be his parents and grandparents.  They pummeled his impressionable mind with their street philosophies from the time he took his first breath until the day they died, so he really never had a chance to evolve into anything more than what he had became, a hoodlum.  I’m not even sure if his obsession with me had anything to do with “love” itself; I believe it had more to do with an infatuation with control.  I also believe that cocaine heightened his sexual prowess and he just flat out liked sex – it didn’t matter if it were with a man or a woman.

I remember him telling me that he had been “digging” me ever since I was a teenager so; perhaps, he really was a tormented homosexual, too afraid to be himself because of the judgments that might have affected his prominence in the heterosexual community he existed in.  I’m sure that if the elder male Jones even suspected that his oldest son was into men, he would have tried to beat the homosexuality out of him with his bare hands.  I know it might sound crazy, but a lot of people still believe that being gay is a life style choice and not a trait from birth.  I suppose that’s why Collin and D’Andre guarded their homosexual desires the way that they did – it’s out of fear.  Hell, I understand it because I hadn’t really come to terms with my own sexuality until after high school.  I mean, I used to mess around with other dudes, but that was after dark when the lights were out, per say.

My late father and I had a horrible relationship.  I believe that he never accepted the fact that he had a gay son, and that realization kept us divided and we were both too stubborn to tear down that invisible wall that kept us from connecting on that father and son level. I knew he loved me though, and I loved him, but we were just two totally different people.  I often wonder how D’Andre’s dad would take the news about him, if he knew.  His reaction would probably duplicate the reactions of most Fathers with sons, but then the ones that you least expect to embrace their children, are the ones who do. Collin’s dad had already passed away so that’s one bridge that Collin would never have to cross.  I’m pretty sure that his pops died believing that his son was 100% heterosexual.

Ignorance is certainly bliss, now isn’t it?

Speaking of D’Andre; I am very concerned about my friend.  He never verbally admitted that he was using cocaine, but his defensive reaction earlier assures me that he is indeed in trouble.  It pains me to know that one of my closest friends is strung out on drugs, but instead of pretending like it’s not a happening, I am going to live in reality and be the dick that rides his ass until he gets this situation in check.  Now that is one thing that will take me a long time to forgive Peewee for; turning out D’Andre.  It amazes me that D, and not Collin, is the one who gets strung out on this shit.  Hell, as much weed as Collin smokes I surely thought that he would have been the coke-head, but he claims that he has never touched the stuff before.  Yeah, and I’ve never sucked a dick before either (Now if you believe that one you really haven’t been paying attention).


Sometimes I wish I could live as carefree as Collin does, but I know that’s not a progressive existence.  I’m concerned about his well being too, because his hearty appetite for cannabis is destroying him.  I bet he’d have to dry out for awhile to get all of that THC out of system to pass a drug test.  What the hell does he expect to do with the rest of his life?  Hang out with his “wanna-be-gangsta” posse, smoking and grinding weed twenty-four hours a day?  I believe that Craig from “Friday” asked Smokey how he could sell weed and smoke weed at the same time.  Now that question right there makes absolute sense to me.  Collin and his crew couldn’t be making any money at all because they smoke weed like breathing air.   It’s ridiculous too, and it seems as if his usage kicked it into overdrive shortly after the birth of his son, like he is trying to numb his thoughts.

Now that I thought about it, that’s exactly what he is probably trying do – block out the fact that his son may not be his son.   When that baby opened up his eyes at that hospital and I saw those hazel peepers of his I knew that something didn’t smell right.  I wish I could say that it was coincidental but, Tootchie isn’t the model girlfriend either – hell, it was her admission that saved Collin’s life that night that Peewee had a gun aimed at his head.  Had Tootchie not disclosed the fact that she and Denise were held up in some motel room together, Collin’s life would have ended a couple of years ago.  Both she and Collin are bisexuals – they can go either way, but I didn’t know that about Tootchie until that night.

You see what I’m talking about, my life and the lives of the people I call friends are a mixture of jaw dropping drama and love.  We care a great deal about each other, but some of the questionable situations we wind up in would make good material for a damn soap opera.  I cannot believe that for a couple of years I was being stalked by the leader of a gang, who I slept with on more than one occasion.  I also find it hard to stomach that I slept with not one but two of my best friends and their girlfriends knew about it. We were all living fowl ass lives and I for one needed a change.  The only one of us that seemed to be living a pretty normal life was Todd, but now his mind appears to be short circuiting from his stint over in Iraq.  I really needed to find out exactly what is going on with his health. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is what they diagnosed him with, but come on, that butt naked dance in my mother’s living room is more than a PTSD behavior.

Now, I have a great deal of respect for doctors because I know that they truly worked hard for that title, but give me a fucking break.  A tall, dark, handsome, mentally stable young man leaves home to fight overseas, he comes back the first time and he seems okay; the second time he comes back there are a few of his marbles missing.   Todd Berry’s personality is different – I mean, there are moments when I do see the old Todd that we all know and love, but then he gets this weird expression on his face that lets you know he has shifted into post war Todd and it is eerie.  If you are staring at him when the switch flips his entire character changes and there is a blankness that replaces his charming spark.  It’s hard to describe, but you get where I’m coming from I’m sure.

After his aunt passed away, Todd seemed to drift over to blank-man a little more often than he did prior to her death.  I believe that her passing added to his mental instability and it hurt my heart to see him like that.  I was surprised to see him earlier because, in all honesty, he seems so out of touch with everything going on, but he and Collin showed up and joined D’Andre and I in the center of the street just as Peewee Jones was passing away in my arms.  For as long as I could remember it had always been that way between the four of us – we always managed to be there for one another during times like those.  That’s why I loved all three of them as much as I did, and I wished we could go back in time – when we were teenagers without a care in the world.

But that’s not how life goes.

When my mobile phone started scooting across the top of my night stand it caused me to jump a little.  I was so preoccupied in thought lying back on the bed that I was mentally someplace else, so the sudden noise startled me.  For a split second I thought it was Peewee Jones calling or sending me one of his cryptic messages, but then it dawned on me that it couldn’t be him, he’s dead.  I leaned over without sitting up, grabbed the buzzing phone and looked at the display and saw a familiar number that I had not seen in awhile.  I recalled the first time I ever saw that number flash across my phone’s screen, how the butterflies filled the corridors of my heart and warmed me.


He now worked as English teacher at the school that Rafael attended, and that day that I saw him standing there shoulder to shoulder with Euware Agbowo, the guy that I briefly dated after he and I broke up, I could’ve have melted right on the spot.  It puzzled me now and I couldn’t imagine, for the life of me, why he would be calling me.  My curiosity got the best of me and I answered before the call was sent to voice mail.  When I said hello and he responded back, his deep voice caused a tingling sensation to run up and down my spine.  I guess that he still did have a certain affect on me.

“I miss you, Marco…” He said, tenderly.

What the hell did I just hear?

Was I going crazy?

Was I dreaming this?

I thought that he and Euware were…

Did I imagine the two of them being…

But he was dancing around butt naked at that…

In that…

“Hello, are you there Marco?” He asked, snapping me out of my reflective stutter.

“Yeah… yeah… I’m here, Joseph…” were the only words I could manage to spit out.

I closed my eyes and remembered the first time he rested his head onto my shoulder.  It was as we were ridding through the tunnel after our evening coaster ride in Santa Cruz.  His cousin, Darren, a guy that I worked with had invited us (Collin, D’Andre, and I) up there for the weekend, but I had met him during an earlier visit.  Back then his sandy colored-locks were longer, and he had on this see-through, aqua blue, sleeveless, net shirt that exposed his Ripped & Ready torso. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen before in my life, and when Darren told me that he thought I was cute, I didn’t believe him.

Just as quickly as I flashed back to that first moment when we met, was as fast as I shifted back to a later time in our lives, when we lived together in a two bedroom apartment at “The Woods” complex in San Jose.  Images of he and the late Lance Livingston standing there, wearing tiny-swimming trunks, dripping wet, giggling in unison shot through my mind and then when I caught up to the sobering one that reminded me of why I broke it off with him, I came to my senses.  I had “played that muthafucka to the end” and when I did I remembered looking at the TV screen speechless, watching him and D’Andre shaking their butt naked asses in front of a camera that Peewee was using to record the sorted activities taking place at the Brothaman Club.

This motherfucker…

Then there was the shocking revelation about his son…

I wanted to slew a string of curse words at him until his ear drums burst…

Hurt raced through my core like snake venom ravaging my bloodstream.

In an instant I was bitter.

“Joseph Wade, long time no talk to,” I said, in an even unexcited tone.

“Marco, before you shoot me down, please hear me out,” He said, obviously choosing his words carefully.

I scoffed in disgust.

He ignored it.

“Marco Thompson, contrary to what you might believe, I have never stopped loving you,” he said, warmly.

His confession had me tripping over my thoughts.

Instead of meeting his confession with a response, I stayed silent, shocked by what I was hearing.  I loved him too, but I had my father’s stubbornness in me and it would not let me move past the memory that played over and over in my head.  He and Darrius, Peewee’s brother, were all hugged up and rubbing up against one another in that video.  I couldn’t not erase the fact that the man I loved was at some nasty ass freak session with a bunch of hoodlums doing any and everything.  I couldn’t get passed that visual.

The anger was building up inside of me like bubbling magma in a volcano.

I was about ready to erupt.

How could anyone say that they loved someone doing some underhanded shit like that?

You would think that my silence would have let him know that I wasn’t feeling the conversation whatsoever, but do you think he picked up on it?

Hell to the fuck no.

“I know that I hurt you, and I wish I could take back everything, but I made a mistake.  When Lance invited me to that party I had no idea what I was getting myself into, and then once I was there, and after about three or four drinks, I got a little loose, but I swear to you, Marco, I never did anything with anybody at that party,” He said, with an inflection of a tear in his voice.

No he did not…

Did he just say that…

I could not believe what I was hearing…

I wanted to reach through that phone and slap his lying lips off…

I couldn’t believe how I angry I had gotten, and I wasn’t prepared for the conversation between him and I to go in the direction it was going.  What in the fuck did he want from me?  Did he expect me to lower my guards and allow him back into my life?  I know “got-dayum” well he did not think that this sorry ass attempt to rekindle our dissolved relationship could resurrect the love that I had for him.  This apology was hitting me like a bad afterthought.  Besides, where was Euware at?  Had he dumped him already and now he was looking for another place to stick his dick?

“Joseph, it has been a rough day today for me, and I cannot even conceptualize what I’m hearing, so I really need to hang up now and digest what you’re saying,” I told him, bothered but interested at the same time.

I wasn’t going to lie to myself.

I missed him too.

“Okay, Marco, but please promise me that we’ll talk, okay,” He asked, with relief in his voice.

I’m sure  he thought that he was making some headway with me, but what he didn’t know is that I was just buying myself some time until I figured out how I wanted to proceed. If he believed for one second that he could slap a band-aide over my wounded heart and make it miraculously heal, then he evidently needed a stone cold reality check.  It took everything within me not to open up a barrel of whip ass on this pathetic begger, but I hadn’t quite decided if I wanted to put that last nail into the rim of the coffin yet.  I thought that our relationship was dead and buried, but he had disturbed some emotions inside of me that had me questioning if it were truly dead.

Instead of exploding like I wanted to, I held back and said…

“I don’t know about all of that, Joseph.”

And I didn’t.  I really didn’t.

“Well, at least you didn’t say no, Markoos,” he said, imitating the way little Joe Joe says my name.

No he didn’t.

Damn him.

“Joseph, I need to go,” I said, abruptly.

“I understand,” he said, weakly.


Damn it, why in the hell do they always crawl out of the woodwork?

You think I would be done with this shit by now.

Marco Thompson, this is your life…

Producer & Blog Radio Host, Author G. D. Grace

Call in number for the show: (347) -215-6245
A Touch of Grace Blog Talk Radio Link:

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 November

Ripped & Ready S4 (Boys to Men) *Sneak Peek* (Explict Language)

RIPPED & READY – Season Four

(Boys to Men)



Life, the incredible passage of time summed up into four simple letters that encompass a constantly unfolding unpredictable experience.  I would have never imagined in a million years that I would become an addict, but when you make the choice to use illicit substances you open up the lid to Pandora’s Box and closing it becomes relentless efforts composed of a multitude of failed attempts to quit.  That evening as I sat side by side with my boy, Marco Thompson, I was pretty amped up on the powder, and when he called me on it my first reaction was to deny it, however, my defensiveness “dimed” me out.

Peewee Jones’ subtle persuasiveness during that initial invitation suggested an erotic encounter was about to occur, and like a bitch in heat I accepted it without realizing the exorbitant price that I would have to pay for engaging in such activities.  The main reason I went over to his house to begin with was to discuss a partnership pertaining to my musical endeavors, but one thing turned into another and I found myself unable to resist his animal magnetism.  He was wearing a grey pair of cotton sweats without any underwear, and I couldn’t take my eyes off that unsightly bulge protruding from them.

As time progressed, it would grow and deflate like it was on a timer, but instead of ignoring it and keeping my eyes where they belonged, above the waist; I allowed them to frequently wander down to his crotch area.  On more than one occasion he caught me glaring at it, and each time he did a seductive smile would triumphantly stretch across his ruggedly handsome face.  The first time he caught me peeping at it I was embarrassed, fearful that he would take offense to my actions, but my discomfort quickly subsided with each approving grin.

His silent acknowledgement enticed my lustful curiosity and by the end of the second hour in his company, I couldn’t contain the onslaught of erections taking place between the warmth of my inner thighs.  The anticipation of what might occur sent my sexual desire into overdrive, and the harder I tried to avoid getting sucked into seduction’s lair, the more excited I became.  It was as if I had lost all control over my sense of reasoning.

He knew it too, and once he realized that I was at the point of no return he whipped out a tiny rectangular package from his upper pocket, opened, and dumped the white substance onto a circular mirror sitting in front of him on the coffee table.  He didn’t offer me any of it right away, instead he leaned backwards onto the couch he was sitting on, spread his legs wider than they were before, and then he slid his right hand into the waistline of the sweats he was wearing.

There was a noticeable drop in the tone of his voice when he picked the conversation we were having back up where it had stopped prior to him spreading the contents of the package onto the mirror.  By this time he groped what was struggling to be contained freely, squeezing it repeatedly to assure me that he was down for whatever, and I felt utterly helpless.  The apprehensive expression on my face must’ve sent him a message that, if there was going to be a first move made, it would have to come from him.

I guess he had read my mind, because that’s when he pulled the front of his sweatpants down, exposing the massive meat he had been fondling.  The length of it was above average, and the massive head of it was swollen to capacity.  He looked down at it then over at me, slowly stroking it in a calculated rhythm while licking his lips.  As I watched the performance from where I sat, I couldn’t help wondering what vibe I threw off that would make him feel comfortable enough to do what he was doing.

“Hey, nigga, why you sitting over there acting scared, like you ain’t down with this shit, I already know about you and your boys, because y’all hang around one another just like me and mine do, so don’t pretend you’ve never fucked with another dude before, you handsome, hazel-eyed, muthafucka,” He said, in a seductive tone, branching away from the business discussion we had been having.

“I don’t know where you’ve been getting your information from, Peewee, but you way off the mark, brotha,” I told him, in an effort to avoid admission.

He shook his head and chuckled.

There was no possible way he could know that I had kicked with Marco and Collin, because neither of them would put our business out there in the street to be scrutinized by other people, especially Collin, and even though Marco was gay, I knew he would never breach the trust between us.  I knew Peewee hoped I would affirm his accusation, but I wasn’t born yesterday.  I kept my mouth shut and denied it.

“Nigga, who in the fuck do you think you’re talking too?  What’s done in the dark always comes to the light,” He said, snickering, leaning forward towards the coffee table.

Without putting his mouth-watering beef back into his boxers, he took his hand off of it, took a playing card from the stack of 52 he had sitting nearby, and he scooped up a dash of cocaine on the corner end of it and hit his left nostril, then repeated the action with his right one.  Once he hit both sides the second time, he leaned backwards onto the couch again and resumed his masturbatory activity.

“Your turn,” He said, motioning for me to partake.

“Naww, man, I don’t fuck around with that shit,” I told him, which was the truth because, at the time, I had never fucked around with the shit.  I had no plans on doing it either – especially after witnessing what it had done to my former girlfriend, Marco’s stepsister, Denise Thomas.

“Dude, you ain’t going to become an addict just by taking a one hit, damn, stop acting like a terrified little bitch, D’Andre,” he said, in an irritated tone.

Now, when I look back on that moment, all I can do is shake my head.  How could I have been so “got-dayum” stupid to let Peewee talk me into doing that shit?  I have made a lot of mistakes in my life, but that one was the one that I regretted the most, because it caused me to stray way off track.  Everything that I held sacred was now in jeopardy.  All of my dreams were quickly being chipped away every time I inhaled that white powder, and Marco knows that I am destroying myself, but I feel so defenseless against its lure.

I used to pride myself in my appearance, but now my complexion is showing signs of the wear and tear I was putting on my body.  I couldn’t even remember the last time I worked out, or even dribbled a basketball.  My father and mother were also concerned about me too, especially since I had left college to pursue a career in music.  Both of them looked at me like I had lost my damn mind when I returned home in the middle of a semester earlier in the year.  My dad was very vocal with his displeasure.

“Are you out of your damn mind, son, you’ve been talking about college ever since you were in the sixth grade, and now you’re telling us that you want to be a fucking rapper?  Boy, what the hell do you know about the streets?  Not a motherfucking thing!  I’m telling you right now, you had better get your shit together and take your ass back to school or you will need to get a job and find another place to live, because I refuse to take care of a grown ass man!” He shouted at the top of his lungs.

That showdown between my father and I had taken place six months ago, and with each passing day, the friction between he and I was getting stickier.  Now if that wasn’t enough to rattle my cage, the recent gun battle that had taken place earlier in the court where we lived should have sent the clearest  signal to me that it was time to clean up my act , and get my ass back into school.  I mean, what company would hire me without a college degree?  I wouldn’t even be able to pass a fucking drug test, so it was futile for me to even apply anyway.

The only trump card I had left to play was that I knew who the real father of Tootchie’s baby was, and if I had to resort to blackmail in order to maintain a roof over my head, then I was going to do what I had to do.  Hell yeah, keep fucking with me and I’ll expose your dirty little secret.  I had almost slipped up and disclosed  the real father’s identity during a moment of weakness, but I came to my senses and realized that I needed to hold onto that knowledge just a little bit longer; however, Marco is a pretty inquisitive black man, so I knew that he would revisit that topic once he felt I was mentally stabilized, but in due time all would be revealed.

D’Andre Washington, this is your life…

Producer & Blog Radio Host, Author G. D. Grace

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