So I am writing my first book and I thought I'd drop off a preview:
Just a minute ago, I was laughing at these bitch ass white boys as they drove their Ford Taurus down that wall, that some people would call a hill. “What the fuck are those idiots doing? I was cracking up, thinking to myself: damn people do some crazy shit for kicks around this bumfuck boring ass town. The dirty Taurus did a donut in the middle of the parking lot as the car I was in, was about to pull off. The boys jump out—my smile faded quickly—with guns flashing....
.. ..
GET YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR! Get both of your hands in the air where I can see them! Now get out of the car slowly! I want to see both hands!
How the fuck am I supposed to show both hands, and get out of this damn car as the same time you idiots, I asked myself as I attempted, unsuccessfully, to push the seat in front of me up. “I said hands up motherfucker! Don’t make me shoot you!” yelled the ATF agent, as he cautiously moved closer to the car. “I can’t get out unless I use my hand you dumb ass”, I retorted. “Move your left hand—slowly—don’t make one wrong move, or I’ll put you down!
As I slowly pulled my hand out of the air, to pull the lever that lets the seat up, a crazy thought flashed through my mind: grab that shit out your waste, and let these bastards have it! I ain’t trying to go to prison, son. I ain’t made for that shit. I’d rather die before going to the slammer. Bust on these bitch ass feds.
As I lowered my hands slowly, my mind, and my body fought. Mind was telling me to reach for the chrome plated .45 that was tucked in my waste, right up under my shirt, while my body pushed my hand past my waste and on down to the release on the back of seat of the 2 door Geo Metro. The seat lurches forward, as hands suddenly grabbed my body, pulling me out of the car and throwing me to the ground.
The agent quickly cuffed me and searched me, pulling the concealed heat out of my belt. I watched as the other agent went over to the car, opened the trunk and grabbed the duffel bag containing the 18 pistols, I was planning on selling. “Shit!” I said to myself.
.. ..
As I sat in the back seat of the dusty, unmarked ATF car, I wondered to myself; how did I get myself into this shit? What the fuck happened. As I waited for the agent to come back to the car, my mind raced, heart beating uncontrollably out of my chest. I tried to get my thoughts together. What the hell am I going to tell these fuckers about those 18 Nines and 45’s they’re looking at? How the hell am I supposed to get out of this? I don’t know, but I ain’t going out like no punk ass bitch. I ain’t snitching on nobody! How did I get here?....
6 months earlier. . .
“I hate this fuckin job”, 24 years old Deion “DC” Chambers thought to himself as he leaned over to silence the alarm clock at ..7 a.m... He slowly got out of his plush king sized bed, and sleepily wandered toward the shower. He turned on the water and as he waited for it to warm up, he brushed his teeth, then checked out his chocolate skin complexion and admired his physique in the full length mirror on the door of the large bathroom. Standing at 6’2”, weighing 205 pounds, he was lean, and muscular. With broad shoulders, thick biceps, forearms and a toned six pack, he kept the ladies in lust whenever he went out in a wifebeater. He ran track in high school, so he had muscular legs with rock hard calf muscles. He critiqued his fresh shape up, which he wasn’t too pleased about, but he thought to himself, “I’ll just have to find a new barber.” DC was a stickler when it came to his appearance.
After a quick hot shower, Deion dried off with an oversized dark green towel that matched the décor of the bathroom, and put on lotion, deodorant and sprayed on Burberry cologne. “This is my shit, I’ll have ‘em all up on me, saying ‘Oooooooh DC, you smell soooooo good, and I love a man that smells good”, he said, smiling at himself in the mirror.
After making sure his body was fresh, the young player walked over to his large walk-in closet to select what to wear to work. He pulled out his Jos. A. Bank Navy Sharkskin Windowpane suit with the matching single reverse pleated trousers, and a pink Traveler Tailored Fit Pinpoint Solid Spread Collar dress shirt and matching tie.
After slipping into his clothes, Deion put in his contact lenses and admired himself in the mirror one last time. After he was satisfied with his appearance, he grabbed an apple and bottle of orange juice and headed for the door.
DC worked for Robert Half Finance & Accounting, a moderate sized accounting firm just north of Raleigh. After graduating from St. Louis University with a degree in Accounting from John Cook School of Business, he obtained a low level Accountant position with goals of becoming a Senior Accountant with the prosperous organization.
It had been a little over two years ago since he first started with them, and he had been in his boss’s office more than he had been in the Principal’s office in his entire school career. Vincent Russo was the reason for his despise for the place that he’d once had so many hopes for, as being the place to start and blossom in his career.
“That racist fuck,” thought Deion, checking out his reflection once again in the rearview mirror. “I came through the door, and showed Russo people that I have what it takes to be one of their best Senior Accountants, and just because I look like a nigga from the hood, they trying to treat me like, I ain’t shit. He smoothed down his neatly trimmed goatee and primped for a few seconds, pulling back his shoulder length dreads, in a rubber band. “That fool's just mad because this ‘nigga’ looks good and can get any of them hoes up in that office; black and all.” He thought to himself as he rose from his black 2007 GS 430, I can’t be too mad though, these idiots are paying my bills and a bit more.
Despite his discontent with his job, Deion was pretty well off. He made $75,000 in his first year with all of the hard work he put in at Half. When he offered the job, he was promised a base salary of $50,000 plus quarterly bonuses. The bonuses varied, depending on how well the company did, which is why Deion made sure to do his part and more, to keep his pockets fat. He lived in a nice condo on Crab Orchard Drive, in Raleigh. He loved the location, because it was far away from the hood, but close to North Carolina State University, where he would have the opportunity to meet women and possibly a few homeboys to kick it with.
.. ..
Staci was a sexy half black and Puerto Rican tender. She stood 5’2” with a medium sized frame, shaped like a coke bottle. She first spotted DC on one of his many journey’s to the local bar. The moment she saw him, she knew she had to have him. “Oh my god, look at the way he moves. I bet he would stroke this pussy real good”. As Staci watched him dance to song after song, she knew that this sexy man was not from around this area. She, being sick of the niggas from this area, decided right away that she had to find out what was up with him. She knew she had to make a move soon, because soon others, after seeing him, would certainly try to get at him. She went so far as to going home with him that same night.
DC allowed her to accompany him back to his place, after they got something to eat from Denny’s. As they entered the living room, they smothered eachother in wet, passionate, lust filled kisses. His nine and a half inch dick was hard as a brick, pressing into her stomach. Staci grabbed it to feel the thickness of it and her pussy started dripping like Niagara Falls. She wanted him inside of her now but there was a problem. She had just come on her period today. “Well, she thought to herself, “I’ll just use this as a test to see if he really can get the pussy”. As they kissed and hugged and fondled eachother as DC led her upstairs to the bedroom, he started taking her clothes off. She allowed him to take her shirt off, and she looked at him lustfully as she reached behind to unstrap her bra. He watched her intensely as her 34 DD’s spilled out. “Dayum”, DC said to her, “you got some pretty titties, girl”. She thanked him by placing his hands on them, allowing him to play with her nipples, her nipples getting hard; sticking out about a half an inch. He gently pushed her backwards onto her back in the bed, and started to unbutton her pants. She stopped him, telling him, “I’m sorry, but we can’t go there right now”. DC, looking extremely confused, asked her, “What’s wrong?” Staci looked DC right in the eyes and said, “I want you so badly right now, I really do, but—“. “But what?” he asked impatiently. Staci looked down, and muttered, “I’m on my period.” And why the fuck would you be all over my dick, if you ain’t plan on fuckin’? You playing games with me or something? You must be prepared to suck a nigga’s dick, since you got it so hard and been grabbing for it. Staci must’ve been reading my mind, as she reached for my belt, and slowly unbuckled it. “Mmmmmmmmmmm”, Deion moaned as she pulled out his semi hard dick, and slowly massaged it with her soft hands. If this feels good, imagine how those lips are going to feel, he thought to himself, as he relaxed and let her go to work on him.
Staci looked at DC’s wood, lovingly has she massaged his shaft. This is just right; nice and thick and not too much for me to handle, she thought. DC was 9 and a half inches long, and thick.
Staci slowly stroked the shaft of DC’s quickly hardening dick, while looking at his reactions to her soft hands working his piece over. She wet the tip of his dick with her tongue and wrapped her lips around him as he let out a low pleasurable moan. . .
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