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Favorite books over the years would include: The Bell Jar; Post Office; Ham On Rye; Double Indemnity; the Last Good Kiss; A Confederacy of Dunces; Point Doom, et al.
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Book is FREE on amazon starting 9/30/2014 thru Oct. 4, 2014.
Here is a short sample from the book:
The church was upstairs, on the second floor, the social hall downstairs in the basement. Had an old piano, tables, chairs; full service kitchen was in the back, where Henry, Jimmy’s father had gotten him a job as dishwasher. Anything to help the family out. He worked part-time, after school, on Holidays and weekends. Wage was slightly above minimum. Willabelle, a stern-looking, tall black lady with some serious junk in her trunk was in charge of the kitchen. Sometimes her eighteen year old daughter Cheyenne would help out with preparing meals or serving, or else when Marcella, who was primarily the server, would help in this area: take orders, serve the food. She had just graduated high school, was deciding which college to go to, etc. Willabelle was divorced. She was a controlling, all business type. She ran that kitchen like a drill sergeant. She and the daughter often fought. They’d argue because Cheyenne, when not serving the food and coffee, would be in the back alley smoking pot. The mother would have a fit over it. “Can’t you be more like Marcella?” she’d say. “Or even Jimmy. Lookit that boy: clean cut; don’t do drugs; don’t even drink.”
“He’s the preacher’s son, ma!” the daughter would yell back. “He’s supposed to be all that: role model.”
“Your brother don’t fool with dope; why can’t you be more like him?”
“You know that’s not his name,” the mother would say. “Stop calling him that.”
“Everybody calls him that, ma! Wormy! The reason he don’t touch weed is because he’s dealing!”
“You a lie, girl!”
“Ma, your own son is a pusher!”
“You can’t mean Darius?”
“Yes, Darius, ma!”
“He’s a bicycle messenger! Delivers documents and such; Western Union telegrams and such! Affidavits and such! Delivers important court documents for that downtown law firm in Chicago! All on the up and up! Legal!”
“Dope; he delivers dope! On his bicycle! See the sneakers he’s got on? One hundred sixty bucks! Where would he get that kind of money delivering summonses? Weed, cocaine, heroin, pills! Where you think I got my pot from?”
And the mother, now infuriated, ran outside, where the two of them had a real knockdown, drag-out: mother and daughter. And Jimmy and Marcella? This was the mid-morning lull, the congregation upstairs listening to his father sermonize, doing his best to raise money for a new church the elders had decided to build in a ‘more appropriate’ neighborhood. After weeks of letting Marcella buy him candy bars and suckers while he attempted to play the piano out there in the hall, and watching her spend time with one guy, couple of years older than him, then another in his early 20s, she had been concentrating on Jimmy. They’d go for bicycle rides at the local park, find a thicket or grove of trees away from the bike path and strollers; she’d unzip his pants, reach inside, rub him for a while, gently, feeling his groin stir and grow and would withdraw it, already erect and massive. She’d continue to run her palm over the throbbing head, while in her other hand she would cup his testicles. The girl was experienced. Didn’t have to be told anything, not that he would have even known what to say or how to instruct her. He did know certain things he liked to have done: he wanted to see it inside her mouth, sliding in and out, gradually, all of it, if possible. He also liked seeing her tongue the shaft, then go lower, down below, lick and then suck on his balls; take them inside her mouth while looking up at him and smiling. She could do it; knew how. Sucked his nutsack, while with her left hand she would be stroking his massive pole.
The pleasure was incredible, and he also knew it was at these times he needed to withdraw, or else chance erupting too soon. He did not want the thing to happen this early in the lovemaking. Nope. He’d heard enough from other guys, women talking, premature ejaculation was not a good thing. “Not yet. . .” he’d softly say. He’d turn around, his rear end in her face, pushed back against her mouth. He liked having his ass licked and kissed; liked feeling her tongue inside his butt crack. “Lick my asshole, Marcella; my sweet Marcella.”
“Mmmmm, Jimmy. . .”
“Lick it, Marcella. . .” Then he’d have her plant kisses all over his buttocks. He’d turn around again, and her mouth would be on his cock, lips sucking, the tongue licking. She took him in, the entire massive shaft, all the while sighing, making throaty sounds, as though cumming. She’d take his hand, guide it down towards her hairy bush. He’d insert the one finger, then two. She’d take his other hand, and guide it towards her rear, between her buttocks, and have him insert a finger inside her asshole.
He’d never known about or even been aware of the clit, the importance of it; you could never, ever underestimate the importance of the clitoris. She had had to literally show him by lying on her back, spreading her pussy lips and pointing to the nib of flesh, about the size of a pencil eraser, at near the very roof of the vagina. “Right there,” she’d say. “The most sensitive area for a woman. Rub it gently, but persistently, and when sucking or licking me, you want to concentrate the tip of your tongue on the clit––and stay with it. The best orgasm you can give a woman is to eat her out this way while shoving a finger deep inside her ass, as well as running a couple of fingers inside her pussy, if you can manage.” Then she pointed out he probably wouldn’t be able to do all three at the same time. “Slide a finger in my ass instead,” she said. “Use the fingers of your other hand to part my pussy lips above the clit, so you can get at it with your tongue, honey. I want you from time to time, to slide your tongue inside my vagina; lick the inner walls; up and down, and all around, and get back on the clitoris. Then, from time to time, take your finger out of my butt and run your tongue down there, give my clit a break, let it rest for a while, lick my asshole, honey boy. I like having a man’s tongue deep inside my butt crack. My butt crack needs love, too, darling, just like my pussy. Bet nobody ever told you as much.” When he didn’t say anything, apprehensive and shy, she went on: “Well, I’m telling you what I like. I’m not ashamed of it, either. Wished more girls would do so; because then men folk would know exactly how to please their lady.” He would do this, and was a quick learner. Watched her writhe in ecstasy. His middle finger, the pussy finger did its job, staying on the clit, strumming gently, while pussy juices flowed out just below it; creamy and plentiful. She made sounds, a bit too loud, and made Jimmy nervous, while he looked around, wondering if a cop might show or a passerby, and think someone, a woman was being assaulted––and yet, it added to it all, the fucking was far greater because of it.
She came, again and again, convulsing, thrusting her pelvis, saying his name, beseeching that he not stop. “Don’t you dare stop now,” she said. Then all of a sudden, with both hands on either side of his head, pulled him down there, wanting, needing to feel his hot breath on her cunt; desperate to feel his tongue on the clit.
Jimmy obeyed, and gladly licked away. Did for her what she had done for him. And his tongue found its way down toward her butt crack, that sweet spot that he could not get enough of. And when his mouth moved back up gradually enough to get back on the clit, the middle finger of his right hand was inside her asshole, all the way in, while his tongue moved quicker and harder, causing her to have one powerful orgasm after another. This was when she demanded that he enter her. She’d had to say it more than once. Jimmy, being afraid and knowing it would be a way to get her pregnant, was understandably reluctant. But she insisted. “Do it! Now! Do it, Jimmy! Please! My lover man! I need you so! Please, honey! Please, enter me! Put your cock in my hot pussy!”
Truth was, he wanted to as much as she needed him to, and did it. Slid it in there. Stroked and stroked. Taking his time, per her instructions: this was where he had learned to do this: all the way Jimmy, but take your time don’t rush; there is no hurry. I want to feel you inside me, but save the fast strokes for someone else. “Fast strokes don’t work here, not with me, Jimmy.” And then he had exploded; the both of them coming again, at the same time. “Put him in my mouth now,” she had demanded.
“You heard me, Jimmy,” she said. “In my mouth. I want to finish you off. I want to taste him. Put him in my mouth. Please.”
He did. And it was fabulous. Watched as she made his cock twitch with every lick and alternate caress. He watched her take in the knob, then withdraw, take it back in, pull it out; watched as she worked the cockhead with her tongue, running it around the rim, over, under, and sucked what remained of his come and her cunt juice, making his groin twitch crazily, it was that sensitive, and a cop had shown up just as they had stood up, Marcella dropping the hem of her skirt in time, and Jimmy shoving his groin inside his fly and zipping up his pants.
“What’s going on here?” the cop had said.