Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Rainy Days in Brooklyn Vol.1


Rainy Days in Brooklyn Vol.1

I won't tell anyone that you're still afraid of thunder and lightning if you won't tell that I still wake up in cold sweats from my nightmares. I will never tell another soul that you're lonely if you let me keep you company when the weight of the silence is too much. Because you're nowhere near right now, I turn everything off so I can hear your voice in the rain. The sound is so clear on that cloudy day that I didn't have to strain to understand everything that you'd never say out loud. The same water falling on you is the same water falling on me. We're both caught up in our own thoughts about what we are now as opposed to what we could be. I use the ink from my pen to form these words scrawled on blank pages. It's my interpretation of what I read in the downpour. Later on tonight you'll be curled up in bed with a pillow between your legs wishing it was me. If you wouldn't fight with your conscience and come over here… then it really could be.


Sunday, April 22, 2012

Lost


Lost

I should have finished writing this book months ago because writing things that really happened is much easier for me than inventing compelling prose drawn entirely from the depths of my imagination. The only difficulty should have been cleverly masking reality in a thin veil of fiction to keep the real characters from quickly recognizing their counterparts on my pages. All the same, I've struggled at times and for a while I couldn't figure out why. The story is always on the surface of my psyche, waiting to be told but on so many nights I just couldn't write. I wasn't able to pen the words with any semblance of consistency. Recently, I've finally figured out what's wrong. Something is missing and I'm mad at myself for not sensing what was lacking sooner.

I always sentence myself to solitary confinement when I write. Even if I'm scribbling chapters in my notebooks with people's bodies pressed in around me in the confines of a crowded subway car, I find a way to block out the rest of the world. It always feels like I'm holding my breath underwater. The problem is that I haven't been coming up for air and I've been running the risk of drowning. I worry too much about whether or not people will understand or appreciate this book in the same way they did with the other books I've written. I question every chapter, sentence, paragraph and word. I'm trapped underneath the waves of self-doubt even though I shouldn't be. Finally I've decided that the key to my problem is that I'm missing my muse. I've pushed this reality to the back of my mind, over and over again. I've done everything to tell myself that the idea of needing a muse is just a silly notion conjured up by my overactive, romanticized writer's mind. Of course, as is the case with a lot of things, I've been wrong to ignore this.

Who else but a muse is going to motivate the ink to flow from my pen at the proper pace to carefully put the right words in the proper places? Only a muse is going to inspire the concentration it takes to scribe the things I need to say, exactly the way I meant to say them. Only a muse's tears on the pages that were meant to be sad can let me know if I'm getting it right. Who else is going to let me know when I don't have the right vibe or complain when I've taken the story completely off track? In the end, who else is going to be brutally honest, not to be cruel but because they expect the best from you? The problem is that not just any muse will do. It makes me sit back and wonder if I need you and if that's true………

*** Regardless of the struggle...the show goes on and I need to finish...sooner than later.***

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Only You


Only You

Only you know if you think about me every day. Another soul would never know if you check every alert on your phone as if by some miracle it could be me calling. You would never tell anyone whether or not you have to fight the urge to call me. There's not another person alive who knows about the secret, slight, subdued moment of excitement when you catch a glimpse of me online. Only inside your mind you still anticipate the end of my sentences, hang on the words, finish my thoughts or think the same things I'm thinking. Only you know if your heart would jump out of your chest if I would just say hello. You're the only one who knows if you ache for long nights in Brooklyn.

Those are all the things for you to know because you'd never share those things with anyone…not even me. (Stop me if I lie.)


Friday, April 20, 2012

Introducing Gia

Introducing Gia
from "Glass Goddesses,Concrete Walls"© by Keith Kareem Williams

***As I promised earlier....well, as I promised a few days ago....here's another sample of the new book. (Still raw and un-edited but....enjoy.) Feel free to leave comments and feedback. ***


An iron maiden is an early 19th century torture device consisting of an iron cabinet with a hinged front, tall enough to lock a human being inside. Once the victim was immobilized in the cruel contraption, iron spikes were driven through the openings in the casing to pierce the flesh of the person locked inside.



Iron Maiden

I met Gia on a street in the Bronx while promoting my books. Gorgeous is the best word I can use to describe her physical appearance. Arrogant is the most appropriate adjective for her overall attitude. The combination of both made me notice her even in the midst of the sea of people that walked by my table in waves. Out of the thousand pretty faces I'd seen for that day, I couldn't stop staring at hers. Although the majority of people who buy my books are female, I didn't make the effort to stop her because of the conceited, cockiness she walked with. It hung over her like a dark grey cloud about to burst. The high probability that she would assume that I was flirting was the strongest deterrent. As attractive as she was, all I really wanted was to make a sale…mostly. At the end of the day, I have warm blood in my veins along with an eye for pretty women, which has often been my bane. However, whenever I'm out trying to get my books in the hands of readers, making sales remain my main priority. Any favorable entanglements I get entwined in are merely a bonus but really serve as minor footnotes in the big scheme of things in my life. As tempting as it always is, business always comes before pleasure or the pursuit of it. At least that's the way I tried my best to handle it. From the corner of my eye I spied that Gia was offended that I had stopped her slightly less-attractive friend instead of her.

"Let's go! You didn't come out here to buy a book so why are we stopping?" Gia complained which annoyed me to the point of anger. With great effort I maintained the same demeanor even though I hated when people did that, especially when I could sense that I had a definite sale and more importantly, a new reader. Early on in my career, when such nonsense was still new to me, I might have told her mind her own damn business with a few expletives mixed in for flavor. Fortunately for her, I had learned to temper my words diplomatically. Instead of lashing out at her, I remained focused on her friend. I took the woman's hand, squeezed it suggestively, played with her fingers and then caressed the smooth skin of her palm as I continued to try to convince her to buy a book. The way that I was touching her must have been working because she became as annoyed with Gia as I was.

"Will you just wait a minute and stop rushing me! I want to hear what his books are about," said Gia's friend whose name I've shamefully forgotten. I feel bad about that because she eventually did buy a book from me in spite of Gia's incessant nagging that she shouldn't waste her money. The fact that I never saw her again is partially to blame for why I can't remember who I autographed the book to. As for Gia, two day would pass before I saw her on that block again. She'd aggravated me so much the first time we'd met that no matter how good she looked, I wasn't enthusiastic about laying eyes on her. I couldn't have been more surprised when she came over to talk to me on her own.

"You're still out here?" she asked with that look that I had grown accustomed to seeing from people while promoting my work on the streets. It was a look that implied that they viewed me as being beneath them and regarded me as only slightly better than a beggar. Once upon a time, such things stung and wounded my pride. Eventually, my ambition and determination made me numb to it all.

"Well, I've been home twice since your friend bought my book but yes, I'm STILL out here," I answered and immediately regretted part of what I said after I realizing that I had given her the satisfaction of knowing that I remembered her. The smug grin on her face made her seem pleased.

"You know what I meant," she said.

"Well, if I don't come out here and make it happen, who's going to make it happen for me?"

"That's true. Whose books are these that you're selling? I've never heard of this author."

"They're mine."

"You mean you wrote these?" she asked which showed me just how much she had paid attention when I explained all of that to her friend.

"Published them myself too."

"Wow! Ok, I see you Boss."

"Did your friend tell you if she liked the book?"

"So far she won't shut up about it. That's why I stopped at your table today."

"That's good. So you came to buy a copy too?"

"Not at all. I'm going to wait until she's done and then borrow hers."

"Not cool. That's not even funny. You should buy your own."

"And why should I do that?"

"Because I'll write my number in the back of it for you."

"And who says I want your number?"

"Just thought I'd take a chance. You came over here for something. You're still standing here because you're interested in either me or my books."

"Oh really? You sure about that?"

"Absolutely. Either reason works for me."

"Suppose I prove you wrong and just walk away?"

"That's possible…but unlikely."

"You're certainly sure of yourself."

"That's how God made me. I don't know how to be any other way."

"You're lucky that I'm in a good mood today," she said as she fished around in her designer purse for money.

"I guess I am. And who am I signing the book to?"

"Gia," she answered.

"That's G…I…A…right?"

"Wow, you can spell."

"Well, if I'm selling you a book I wrote I better be able to. Otherwise I've made a horrible career choice," I answered as I signed the book. I wasn't one-hundred percent sure because it was so slight but I thought she blushed when our hands accidentally brushed against each other. It made me think back to an ex who said that I had magic in my fingers and superpowers in my touch.

"Did you write your number in the back of it?" she asked as she paid me.

"Of course I did."

"Don't look so pleased with yourself. I only want it so I can call and curse you out if I don't like it."

"You'll like it."

"And if I don't?"

"If you read it and honestly don't like it, I'll take you out to make up for it."

"Sounds to me like you win either way. You already have my money and now you're trying to hustle a date out of me."

"You see me out here in the middle of the hood fighting to get people to buy these books right? What makes you think I'm in a hurry to spend my hard-earned money on you?"

"The way you look at me," she answered, tucking the book into her handbag before she walked away. All I could do was smile as I watched her leave. Besides those hazel eyes and full, kissable lips that were a perfect fit on her pretty face, she had the type of wide hips, juicy ass and thick thighs that I wolfishly lusted for. The tramp stamp tattoo on her lower back was usually a turn-off but on her it was perfectly sexy, sultry and seductive. Her shirt too short or her jeans too low exposed it and seemed like a cruelly teasing taste of the rest of her flesh. I was sure that in other places now concealed by the rest of her clothes she had more ink in places that I would perhaps get to put my hands. Don't get caught up with this one, the tiny voice of reason I usually ignored tried to warn me.

As much as I was attracted to her physically, our brief encounter left painfully obvious clues that it would be a bad idea to pursue any type of intimacy with Gia. Both of our egos were in jeopardy of being twisted and mangled in a car-crash type of collision. It definitely didn't feel like a favorable situation for a man like me who was more inclined to swallow my own blood before I swallowed my pride at times. I shouldn't have flirted with disaster and I should have been satisfied with selling her a book. My own reckless ambitions have rarely been beneficial. My intense attraction to her was illogical and it was possible that I was getting caught up in a delusional moment where I felt I'd met my match. In terms of personality, many women that I've come across have often felt like merely clones of women from my past but Gia was a different creature entirely. My judgment was tainted by intrigue despite the very strong chance that she was indeed nothing more than a beautiful monster. Two weeks would pass before I saw Gia again.

I would love to believe it was somehow fate that we met again. The truth was that our second encounter was more likely the direct result of me consistently going to the same corner with my table of books for two weeks straight, secretly hoping to run into her.

"Hey Mr. Author," she greeted me while I tried not to smile.

"Finished reading the book?" I asked.

"In two nights."

"So, what's the verdict? Should I be proud to be posted up here promoting my books?"

"Nope," she answered playfully.

"No?"

"Nope, not at all. You should be relaxing on a beach somewhere while your book sits on the bestseller's list."

"Well, that damn sure sounds better than standing out here starving for sales."

"I really liked the story. You're actually a really good writer."

"Thanks. I'm glad you liked it. Guess that means I don't owe you that date then?"

"Suppose I still want to go?" she asked.

"Then I suppose I'll have to take you anyway," I answered too quickly and too easily while thinking, Damn you sound thirsty.

"I hope you'll be ready for me when I call you," she said before she kissed me on the cheek with those lips that I couldn't stop staring at. A kiss can be deadly if delivered by the right lips. Those who have also experienced what I felt in that moment will fully understand the truth of this. Once that connection was made, I knew I'd have to see things through to the bitter end, no matter what type of pain or problems might plague me along the way.

"I'm always ready," I told her as she turned and walked away.


*** Well, hope you enjoyed this sample too. There are a few more "goddesses" to share but I think you'll have to wait for the official book release/reading for those. For now....it's back to the lab trying to finish this up.***

COMING SOON


Thursday, April 12, 2012

Creative Collaboration

Creative Collaboration

by Keith Kareem Williams
An idea is like air. It is intangible and invisible. The only way to know that it even exists sometimes is for some type of movement to turn something was that otherwise intangible into a draft, a breeze, a strong wind or a hurricane. Ideas die quickly if no action is taken to make them tangible. The whole world is full of ideas that never reach their potential because most people never take steps to make their dreams become reality. If you find yourself in a circle that kills your creativity…get out of that circle as fast as you can.

I've always been a person that believed that if I wanted something done right, I'd have to do it myself. That was partly because I was surrounded by too many "talkers" and not nearly enough "doers." I'm more careful about the type of folk I allow into my circle. There is nothing better than ideas bouncing back and forth between people who are passionate about what they do. This is exactly what transpired when I shared my vague vision of what I wanted the cover of "Glass Goddesses, Concrete Walls" to look like with Am W. I appreciate her work ethic, respect her passion and greatly admire her talent. When she makes up her mind to do something….she gets it done with the enthusiasm of someone who truly, deeply, loves what they do. I put the creation of this cover totally in her hands and she took it to another level. When I saw the finished product it inspired me to work even harder to finish the novel. Now that's a good person to have in my circle.


 

Follow the link to read where I interviewed her for the blog:
 
Take a look at her artwork:
 
***In the meantime...let me get back to finishing up this novel so I can have some amazing prose to go along with this gorgeous cover.***
 

Friday, April 6, 2012

Jasmine from "Glass Goddesses, Concrete Walls"

***Yesterday I promised to feature Gia from my new book but while working on that chapter last night, I realized that it still needs a lot more work. I'm not a man to go against my word often so...I'll introduce you to Jasmine instead.***


Enjoy this preview of "Glass Goddesses, Concrete Walls" taken from a chapter titled: Of Flowers and Birds.

Time teases us constantly, consistently and cruelly throughout life. Sometimes the things that are best for us float by, just beyond the reach of our fingertips simply because they appeared at awkward moments while we were in the wrong frame of mind.

Occasionally weeks but more often months would pass without us seeing each other. Sometimes it was because I was caught up with my children's mother, wasting time and energy, fighting to fix a relationship that flies had been circling for a very long time. Every time I was done with that folly I found my way back to Jasmine's lips, all four of them. I was still fascinated by my freedom so there were other women as well but the light she cast was the brightest and always lit the way back to her. Out of all the storms I'd stood in and calmed, her tempest was the best.

"Men are always jealous. Why you never ask me where I am or who I'm with? You don't love me Papi?' she asked. The real truth was that I cared about her more than I was willing to admit. I didn't ask her questions because I never wanted her to ask me any. That's not to say that I wouldn't have been jealous if she was seeing other men but I paid for my own freedom by allowing her to keep hers. It seemed like a fair trade and I never expected her to complain. From everything I'd heard from the mouths of women, shouted or whispered, they wanted men and not jailers. Maybe women lied about that.

"I don't ask you questions because you're free Mama," I explained to her one spring afternoon on a pier close to where I lived. The wind had been blowing through her hair the same way it rippled across the surface of the water. As I looked down at the miniature waves all I could think about was how deep the water must have been. If I fell in I would most likely drown. I had never learned to swim although my children's mother had tried to teach me. I shouldn't be thinking of her right now, I remember telling myself.

"Suppose I don't want to be free Papi?" she asked as she ran her fingers against the stubble on my face as she was fond of doing. I took her hand to kiss it, first the soft palm and then the smooth, honey-brown side.

"You'll always be free as a bird. That's the only way I'll ever want you or have you. That's how I'll always treat you. That's the way I'll always keep you," I answered.

"Suppose I only want to sing for you my love?" she asked, folding her arms and pouting like a spoiled child.

"That's up to you. Sing for me but I'll never put you in a cage. My window is always open for you to fly away from me, whenever you're ready to," I said before I pressed my lips to hers. She wanted to be a flower just like her namesake, firmly rooted in place. I preferred her with wings. A sudden gust of breeze stirred up from the water and I've never known if that is what made her eyes water. As I said before, the smartest men make the biggest mistakes because they overlook the obvious. I couldn't tell if she wanted to kiss me again or toss me into the waves but for a moment, as I looked into her dark eyes, I realized that the waters below weren't really that deep.

I'll never forget the day of her birthday when she asked me for a gift that she desired more than anything else in the world. For all she had done for me she deserved whatever she wanted so I promised before I even knew what she would ask for. Parked on a quiet street close to her home, as rain beat down on my car, Jasmine gave me one whole year, all three hundred and sixty-five says, to decide if I wanted her to be mine alone. On her next birthday, if that was what I wanted, that is what she swore she'd be forever. I left her alone after that night.

Months went by before we spoke again but by then she had a boyfriend that was on the brink of becoming a fiancée. From everything she told me, I can't say that he wasn't a good man. He loved her son as if he was his own, eagerly embraced her family and wanted desperately to make her his wife. I shouldn't have stood a chance but I did. When I showed up she still chose me and whether it was because her heart was fickle or if it was just determined to have me, I have never been sure. Most likely it was a little bit of both. Women are like storms, powerful enough to sweep a man away but also dangerously unpredictable, especially for fools who presumed they could control them. I should have left her alone so that she could have forgotten about me but when I didn't, I suppose that makes me a villain. All the same, she was my eager, willing accomplice in all of it so the blame belongs to both of us. At first we only spoke on the phone. We talked for hours and towards the end of our conversation she told me about her tongue piercing and all the things she was going to show me. It all sounded like music. I didn't know her man so I had no conscience when it came to looking forward to the things she planned to do with me behind his back.

On the night Jasmine and I were supposed to go out I called her just before I left work. When she answered her phone, she made it clear that she was in the car with her fiancée. It was cute how she liked to remind me that he wanted to be her husband. I was surprised when she boldly told him that she was hanging out with me that night. She even told him my name to be sure that he knew that I was a male friend. I listened, literally in horror as he amiably agreed to let her spend time with me without even a miniscule hint of disapproval. His blind trust sickened me, not because I believed that women weren't to be trusted. I just knew that in this case, SHE wasn't to be trusted, at least not around me and especially because of the things I knew that she'd be doing by the end of the night.

When I got home that evening I showered and got dressed but never picked her up. I didn't even call to let her know that I wasn't coming. I would have if she had just lied to her man about everything outright but the way she dangled a half-truth draped in innocence in front of him disturbed me. It was disgustingly cruel and made me sick to my stomach even if I was the one who would benefit from her deception. I guess it's possible that I might not be a monster without a conscience after all. She was never far from my thoughts and her presence still lingered but I stayed far away from her until her birthday.

Three-hundred and sixty-five days had passed and here we were again, in the car with the music low as it rained outside, nowhere near as heavily as it had been exactly a year before. Jasmine seemed happy enough to see me. She kissed me more times within our first hour together than all the other women I'd been seeing in the months we'd been apart combined. It felt like she was savoring a last meal. Up until that point, I'd done well avoiding words spoken what seemed like a lifetime ago and the gift I'd promised her.

"Well?" she finally asked and I knew our time together was perched precariously on the edge of a precipice.

"Well what?"

"Don't play with me. You know what!" Now she wasn't smiling. The rain came heavier when our eyes met. When I was a child an old woman told me that whenever it rained, it was the heavens weeping for our suffering and pain on earth. Most words are wind, especially the ones shared between lovers enthralled for a moment. Some of mine have always been concrete, even when I remained silent and never spoke them. "Free as a bird," she said with tears in her eyes that flowed heavier than the rain outside. I had to look away from her or drown.

That was the last time I ever showed up to interfere in her life because I wasn't selfish enough to stay in it. By her own doing, her love for me had locked her in a cage even though I did not wish it so.


***I hope that this has wet your appetite to read more. I'm working hard to finish this up soon. As usual, feel free to leave comments and feedback. Thanks for reading***

AND..................

While you're waiting for me to finish up my latest...here's the link for the books I've already released: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0063K6JJC



Wednesday, April 4, 2012

A Raven's Kiss


***Just as I promised, here is a sneak preview of one of the chapters of my new book, "Glass Goddesses,Concrete Walls." Enjoy and leave comments if you like.***

Intro
Many years ago I saw the darker side of life through the eyes and life of a raven. We don't always want to abandon the things we leave behind but the weight of everywhere we've been and everything we've done can equal tons. Not everyone you meet will be able to see differently or be able to necessarily comprehend the things that you see. When someone does, cherish them. When they don't, you have to walk away…quickly.


A Raven's Kiss
(an excerpt from "Glass Goddesses, Concrete Walls"© by Keith Kareem Williams
It had already started to get cold and all of the leaves had fallen from the branches of the trees when I met a dancer once. I was still in my teens and it seems like a thousand years have passed since then. Every relationship, situation or entanglement feels like a different life. The unique experiences and sentiment of each still linger long after they're over. For me, each one has left marks, wounds or scars and none ever truly fade.

I'll never forget what Raven looked like standing in front of her project building in Queens. That night I'd left Brooklyn in my rear-view mirror and found myself far from home. I was parked downstairs waiting for another friend when she caught my attention. From her face down to her waist she was average-looking but still fairly attractive. Her breasts were small and far from impressive. She was very cute but it was a common cuteness. Honestly, I barely remember her face after so many years have passed. However, every part of her below that was ridiculously curvy and unforgettable. Her skin was the same soft brown as the cognac I'd been drinking earlier and the taste of it still lingered on my tongue. It would be a difficult task to find many women physically designed the way she was. It was impossible to ignore the fact that she had the type of shape that drowned boys in wet dreams and effortlessly inspired grown men's wildest pornographic visions. I felt the temperature of my blood rise when my friend Lisa finally showed up and walked Raven over to the car to introduce us. Lisa giggled when she noticed the wolfish, sinister smile on my face, said goodbye to Raven and got in the car so we could go hang out as planned. It was so long ago that I can't recall exactly what I said to Raven that first time but whatever it was had left enough of an impression that the next time she ran into Lisa in the building, she told her that she wanted to see me again. As a friend, Lisa reluctantly did me a favor and gave her my number. I had always sensed that Lisa liked me a little more than as a friend.

After one phone conversation we set up our first date. Raven was much older than me, something I found awkward and fascinating at the same time. I was accustomed to being with women much closer to my own age who took everything slow because most of them had just started to have intimate, adult relationships. Women my age were still delusional enough to hold onto the hopes that one of the few men they tediously, meticulously chose to have sex with would likely become the great love of their life as per the prescribed fantasies they had been programmed with. They hadn't reached the point in life where reality ruled so that at times they could be excited and sometimes even satisfied to simply do it for the fun of it. Based on everything Raven was saying on the phone, it wouldn't take an arsenal of charm to make that first date interesting but I still conjured up a sound game plan on the drive over to her place. We were only supposed to be going to see a movie but I wanted more because as I said before, she inspired XXX-Rated thoughts like mind control.

When I pulled up and parked outside of her building I walked through the gauntlet of goons that stood out front like sentinels. Being a product of Brooklyn, I was used to the bullshit so they didn't really stir any cause for concern, even with their shady looks as I passed them. I already knew how to move like the monsters do because I had also been forced a few times to do the same things that the monsters do. There was a silent, uneasy tension between myself and them before Raven buzzed me in. I wasn't prepared for what I would walk into when I got upstairs.

Raven greeted me at her apartment door with a hug and a wet kiss laced with the sweet taste of Alize on her lips. She pulled me inside and I found myself in her living room with five gorgeous women deeply engaged in marijuana-induced meditation. They seemed a little older than me but younger than Raven. Before I even got a chance to sit down on the couch one of them had already poured me a drink delivered with a flirtatious smile. After I took my first sip, another attempted to pass me her weed but I declined. I wasn't a smoker and besides, contrary to the habits of most people, it's never a good idea to smoke with strangers because you can never be certain of what might be rolled up and mixed with their leaf. Different people do different things when basic highs become too weak to stimulate them. All the same, I was engulfed in clouds of smoke as two of the women cuddled up beside me on the couch. So this is what a harem is like I thought to myself in a room full of sexy, seductive distractions. Raven must have read my mind because it wasn't long before she said her goodbyes and shuffled the girls out of the door. Once the last of her friends were gone, she poured me another drink and started to chat away.

As Raven rambled on about things that I really didn't care about, I watched the time tick away on the clock. I drank, she smoked and I answered every trivial question that she asked me politely. I thought that she would talk forever until finally she checked the time and decided that we should hurry so we wouldn't miss the movie. The entire drive she continued with the questions and as much as she talked, it started to feel like an interrogation. She purposely avoided saying much about herself but that was fine with me. The only secret I wanted her to reveal to me was hopefully warm, wet and willing when I wanted it. That night I was single-mindedly driven by hormones, horny-ness, youthful enthusiasm and images of what her butt would bounce as I rocked her back and forth if she let me take her from behind. I couldn't help it. For my part, I kept the conversation clean but she kept bringing up sex. To my delight and her disappointment, by the time we got to the theatre we had already missed the last show.

"I'm so mad. I already sent my sons to stay with my sister for the night," she said when the security guard turned us away. That happened to be the first time she mentioned her sons. I later found out that she had two. The younger was six but the older boy was sixteen, just about three years younger than I was at the time.

"Well, we don't have to waste the night. You can always stay out late and hang out with me," I told her.

Twenty minutes later we found ourselves blanketed in the darkness of my bedroom. The only light was the soft pink glow from my fish tank created by the fluorescent light reflecting off the neon gravel. I poured myself another glass of cognac while she rolled up and started to smoke. Once her mind went where she wanted to go and she was right, Raven turned on my cheap stereo. Once the CD stopped skipping she slowly danced out of almost all of her clothes. She got down on the floor in front of me as I sat on the edge of the bed in nothing but her pink thong and shoes. I hadn't seen breasts so small since I'd touched my first naked pair when I was in junior high but her nipples were sexy. Before long she was playing with the zipper on my jeans and when she put her hands down my pants, I spilled my drink in my lap. I didn't expect it when she licked it up and pushed me onto my back on the mattress. All of the liquor in me already had me worked up so her hands found me ready for whatever she had in mind. Her eyes opened wide when she pulled it out and pressed it against the side of her face. She wet her lips with her tongue and then pressed her lips to the tip to show me that she liked it.

"You don't want me to do that, do you?" she asked and I had to force myself not to laugh. I thought it was a silly question considering that she had already rubbed it all over the soft skin on her cheek and kissed it.

"Do whatever you want to do" I answered and..........................................

***Sorry, you'll have to wait until the book drops to read what happens next. Tomorrow, I'll introduce Gia, another character from the book.***

Written on Her
by Keith Kareem Williams




"She’s got my lines, verses & chapters written all over her; from her neck, down her spine, to the top of her panty lines. She’s got my paragraphs etched on her thick hips and she recites the words I write with sexy lips. (I’m going to give up writing on paper.)" - excerpt from my 3rd book titled "Sometimes Brooklyn, Mostly Mars."