The Rain is Our Lullaby

The Rain is Our Lullaby

We lay in bed with the TV off because ratchet shows named after love and any musical genre are purposely, poisonously tainted images of what love is supposed to look like, no matter what state in America they are filmed in. Both of our phones are off and sitting on the nightstand because no one is calling us that we have any interest in speaking with at this hour. I only want to hear her voice and she only wants to hear mine. There’s nothing happening on Instagram, Twitter, or Facebook that’s more important than what’s happening between us so we leave the rest of the world where it belongs for now, outside of our bedroom as we remain locked together in our intimacy, protected by the sanctity of our privacy.

There is no music playing as we show our affection in the most primal, passionate ways without shame. We’re not trying to hide the sound of our sex with R&B songs with the volume of our stereo turned all the way up. We don’t care if all of our neighbors can hear the headboard banging rhythmically against the wall to the melody of the noisy springs in our mattress. Only the pillow gripped in her teeth muffles her moans and if people outside of our walls listened closely, they might hear all of the beautifully dirty things I say to her while we make love. That’s what she wants and what she likes. She’s told me before that I have the soul of a poet but fuck her like a savage. It gives her butterflies when I’m sweet and she shows me how wet she gets when I become a beast. I love that I can be myself because she welcomes the complicated, creative, soulful side of me that most other women never understood but, she also isn’t afraid of the unpredictable, unbridled maelstrom that I can be. She gets sucked into what I am and doesn’t drown. Besides that, she’s just as wildly uncivilized at times as I am and proves it to me every chance she gets. She gives me wild sex when we’re alone, deep science when we exchange knowledge and real soul in ways that I’ve never had before.

Once we’re done, we lay side-by-side, still sexually high and not bothered by the gray skies outside. While we try to catch our breath, the storm clouds finally burst with a flash of lightning that momentarily illuminates our dark room followed by the deafening clap of the thunder’s boom. She rolls over, throws her leg over me and puts her hand on my chest as droplets of water beat against our window. I hold onto her tightly as if I fear that she might somehow disappear as the rain outside rocks us both to sleep like a lullaby.

Copyright © 2016 Keith Kareem Williams

All rights reserved.

***I hope you enjoyed this short piece I wrote specifically for the blog. I've been inspired lately and have been meaning to write it for a few days now. I'm thinking about including it in "Sometimes Brooklyn, Mostly Mars Volume 2." ***

LINK  for AUTOGRAPHED COPIES

kEIth's amAzOn AutHOR PaGE

LEGACY

LEGACY

The Things I Want to Leave Behind

When I wrote and released my first novel "Water Flows Under Doors," I really just wanted to see if the professor of my Fiction Workshop in college, Leo Hamalian, was right about how talented he believed I was. I never graduated from college but I was damn sure determined to finish writing the novel that I started in his class.

Now that I’ve just self-published my 10^th novel, written a ton of articles & essays, had dozens of stories published in anthologies, what I want is much different than when what I first started out. My “Why” is not the same as it once was. Of course, as a full-time author, the goal is ALWAYS to keep the bills paid and the family taken care of but there’s also something bigger that I have my eyes on. I have enough plots for novels written down in my “little black idea book” to keep me busy well into my twilight years which is a beautiful thing. I’ve also come to terms with the reality that I might never be recognized for the books that I’m currently writing during my lifetime. However, that won’t stop me from writing them. Long after I’m gone, my goal is to have enough books written and published that the royalties can take care of my children. I hope to have dozens of unpublished, completed novels that they can release themselves, or seek publishers for. When I was working a regular 9-5, the only thing I had to leave behind was the money from my life insurance policy. Now, I’m thinking about leaving behind a real legacy because whether I’m here physically or only in spirit, I never want to leave my children alone or on their own. That is the “Why” that keeps me up all night writing. 

“I’m too far gone on the path I’m on to accept or tolerate things that I don't want, or need in my immediate circumference. I’m fully committed and focused on the future I want for the people I love.”- Keith Kareem Williams

kEITH'S aUTHOR pAGE oN amAZON

Sexy Chapter 3 of "The Higher Learning Curve" by Keith Kareem Williams

Chapter 3

M

arlon gazed out of Vickie’s apartment window into the darkness high above the surrounding buildings. The full moon had caught his eye as it glowed like a bright pearl against the backdrop of a cloudless night sky. He had always preferred its pale glow to the blinding glare of the sun and was fascinated by the moon’s almost magical properties; the way it influenced the levels of the ocean’s tides and how it altered people’s moods. The fact that it was exponentially closer to the earth than the star whose light it reflected made the moon feel even more special to him, like a friend that only lived a few doors down.

“What are you over there staring at?” Vickie asked from the other side of the room.

She was in bed, dressed in just her underwear, surrounded by textbooks, notepads, pens and highlight markers. The multi-colored sticky notes that she used as tiny bookmarks flapped like feathers from a colorful, tropical bird because of the breeze generated by the small, desktop fan on the nightstand next to her. Her panties and bra weren’t a matching set but she was comfortable enough around him that she really didn’t care. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders, messy and wild, a sharp contrast to the conservatively neat styles she usually wore when she ventured outside of her cozy, one-bedroom apartment. The side of her that she showed the rest of the world and what she allowed him to see were two completely different things.

“I’m just looking up at the moon. It’s full tonight,” he answered, turning away from the window to give her his full attention. “What are you over there studying?” he asked.

“I’m working on a paper for my anthropology class,” she answered as she dragged a yellow highlighter across a passage in the textbook in her lap.

“Anthropology. Now, there’s a subject that’ll come in handy in life,” he said playfully.

“Says the guy who hasn’t even decided on a major yet who passionately expressed the virtues of being well-rounded and learned when he tried to explain why he was taking World Arts 101 to me earlier today,” she answered, raising her glasses off of her nose and resting them on top of her head.

“You’re so cute when you’re being a smartass,” he told her.

“Oh really? So cute that I’m doing my Anthropology paper instead of getting that second round that you promised me?” she asked sarcastically.

“Don’t pout. You know that I’m a man of my word,” he said as he walked away from the window and got back into bed with her, shoving some of her papers aside.

“Ugh, you’re making a mess,” she complained halfheartedly because the truth was, she could think of a long list of things she would rather be doing at the moment and none of those things had anything to do with her Anthropology paper or any form of schoolwork.

“What’s the theme of this paper that you’re working so hard on?” he asked while running his finger gently across her naked shoulder.

“I’m writing a paper on how women are depicted differently from men in almost everything you read in literature. I’m calling it Subtle Sexism,” she answered, slightly excited by his touch.

“That seems like an odd subject for an anthropology project. I thought anthropology was about digging up old bones and cracked clay pots,” he joked.

“That’s part of it but it’s a lot more than that. Anthropology is the study of humankind. In more technical terms, it’s the comparative study of human societies and cultures and their development,” she answered.

“You know I love it when you talk nerdy to me right?” he told her, then gently started planting kisses on her shoulder blade.

“Is that so?” she asked as thoughts of how language was used in a recent newspaper article to describe a female nominee for the next U.S. presidency in a manner that made her seem weaker than her male counterparts floated out of her head, replaced by carnal curiosity about what Marlon planned to do next.

“Yes, that’s a fact. Smart women are way sexier than dumb ones,” he answered while playing in her belly button with his index finger.

“I have a lot of work to do,” Vickie sighed, protesting weakly.

Marlon slid his fingers in a straight line down her stomach across her soft skin gradually until he slipped his hand past the waistband of her underwear. She was wet and sticky between her most feminine lips. The highlight marker fell from Vickie’s fingers as she began to moan and pull her own hair. Marlon smiled, because of how she responded to what he was doing to her with just his fingers. To him, it was like playing a musical instrument. The sounds she made changed depending on how and where he touched her. There was no guessing involved on his part anymore because he knew what she liked and had learned what she loved.

As much as Vickie enjoyed his touch, she refused to become so completely lost in pleasure that she forgot that she had power over him as well. The Victoria that she carefully and deliberately constructed each morning to present to the world served as the cage that kept the wilder side of Vickie contained and metaphorically restrained. She had always been afraid to let that side of herself loose. The countless lectures from her mother about always being a proper lady and a good girl at all times had warped her perception of sexuality to such a degree that she was ashamed of some of the things she desired to do, and to have done to her. It was only since she moved into her own apartment and met Marlon that she had been able to do so much of what she had been taught not to do.

When Marlon’s fingers were no longer enough to satisfy her, she shoved all of her schoolwork out of the bed and onto the floor. Anthropology, sexism in social media and everything else that pertained to school was swept from her mind. Marlon might have started out as the aggressor but Vickie quickly became more lustful than the first woman who bit into the biblical forbidden fruit in the first garden. Even Marlon was surprised by how aggressive she suddenly became.

In the blink of an eye, Marlon found himself flat on his back on Vickie’s mattress. She nearly ripped his T-shirt as she pulled it up over his head and once it was off, she flung it across the room. He winced in pain when she roughly shoved her hand down in front of his boxer briefs and groped him. Women sometimes underestimated how sensitive a man’s male parts were. He took off his underwear himself and to his relief, she was much more gentle with her mouth than she had been with her hands.

With her full, pouty lips, Vickie kissed him on his stomach first and then much lower. The wetness of her mouth was one of his favorite parts of their ritualistic foreplay when they warmed each other up for what came next. He skillfully unhooked her bra with one hand and freed her breasts so that he could fondle them. The stiffness of her nipples excited him and Marlon marveled at how God had shaped and molded women into such beautiful forms. Curvy, voluptuous, pleasantly plump, slim-thick, chunky, short or tall, he admired them all but at the moment, Vickie was his Venus and he knew exactly what to do with her.

Vickie tasted pre-cum and knew that she had brought Marlon to the brink of climax right before he grabbed her head and stopped her. Mischievously she smiled, satisfied that she had almost finished him off with just her mouth. She recognized in his face how hard he fought to stay in control, of his own body and the entire situation in general. Vickie empathized with his struggle and decided to relinquish the reins, just for little while. Her lover switched places with her and she ended up on her back with her legs on Marlon’s shoulders. The course stubble where he had trimmed his beard tickled the soft and sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

Marlon boldly pressed his face between her legs and with a firm grip on her supple limbs, he forced her legs apart so that he could taste how sweet she really was. Like a small waterfall, she flowed and made his face glisten, from the tip of his nose to the bottom of his chin. Vickie loved the way he kissed her second pair of lips. Her toes curled as both of her legs began to tremble. The way she smelled and the flavor of her sweetness on his tongue was one of the things Marlon loved because it intoxicated him. He brought her to the edge of climax but, before he pushed her off into the pleasurable chasm that was an orgasm, he took his tongue away.

The way Marlon abruptly stopped making love to her with his mouth nearly drove Vickie insane. She was tempted to reach down and choke him because of how he had cruelly teased her. He deserved at least a slap. Before she had a chance to voice her displeasure, he climbed on top of her. Then she gasped from the sensation of his penetration and fell recklessly in lust from the feeling of that first stroke. Each one after that one intensified and made her body shiver as he delivered even more than she had expected, forcing her to wonder what might have inspired him so. That question danced in her head for a split-second but, as waves of pleasure washed over her, she simply didn’t care, at least not in that moment. Women tended to be mentally gifted in that way. She filed away her suspicions in the back of her mind for later discussion so that she could focus on what she was getting from him and simply enjoyed what was happening.

Marlon’s lips curled into a wicked grin when Vickie pushed him off of her so that she could roll over and get on all fours on the mattress. She looked back at him over her shoulder as he licked his lips and prepared to take her from behind. He used his  left hand to hold her slender waist and his right hand to squeeze the meaty cheek of her butt that was larger than one would imagine on a woman with her petite frame. Aside from her breasts, she had the upper body of a skinny woman but her lower half was round and plump. Marlon often wondered how she successfully hid all of that, such an incredibly voluptuous body, underneath her clothes.

He tried to last for as long as he could but the way she threw it back on him, he just couldn’t hold on. In complete ecstasy and trapped by the walls of her wet warmth, he almost didn’t pull out in time. As he finally exploded, he felt as if he had spilled a part of his soul all over her back, butt cheeks and bedsheets. It wasn’t difficult for him to understand and relate to why orgasms were once called “the little death” by that old, famous playwright, Shakespeare. Marlon was completely convinced that a portion of his life force was drained every time he came. He wasn’t sure if it was the same for women. Vickie always appeared to be the exact opposite, energized, as if she had been given life, and was ready to go again.

Vickie was impressed with herself when she saw the spent expression on Marlon’s face. She could have allowed him to control how fast, or how slowly he pushed inside her so that he could have lasted longer but, towards the very end, she took back the power she had allowed him to borrow when they first started by controlling the rhythm of their sex. The way she had thrust herself back into him stimulated the most sensitive part of his manhood as his tip hit the deepest parts of her. After he erupted and collapsed on the bed, she cuddled up beside him. Now that they were both satisfied, her mind returned to the thoughts she had temporarily suppressed. Marlon put his arm around her and Vickie planted a few soft kisses on his smooth, hairless, bare chest.

“What are we doing?” Vickie asked.

“I thought that was obvious,” Marlon joked, assuming that her question was completely random, absolutely unaware that the nature of their intimate relations was something that had been weighing heavily on her as of late.

“I’m being serious,” she continued to press.

Although she affectionately tiptoed her fingers across his chest, he could sense the seriousness and the angst that stirred within her. This concerned him because he wasn’t exactly sure how to answer anything she was asking him. In the past, he had always done his best to give Vickie his most honest self and for the first time since they met, he wasn’t sure if that was what he should do.

“Okay, but you do understand that that question is really open-ended and ambiguous?” he asked, holding her hand to stop her from walking them across his chest because he could feel that they were about to have a very serious conversation. “It’s also a can of worms, a Pandora’s box, and a big pile of dog poop that we should avoid stepping in at all costs,” he told her.

“We opened that can of worms when we started flirting and fishing for each other’s affections. We already opened Pandora’s box when you first opened my legs. And, I’m pretty sure that dog poop washes off,” she answered which made Marlon grin. (as he had told her earlier, he loved when she was being a smartass.)

“I guess you’re right,” he answered.

“I’m always right. Now, stop stalling and trying to be cute. Answer the question,” she told him.

“What question was that again?” he asked.

“You know what question,” she answered and slapped him on the chest with the palm of her hand. “What are we doing?”

“Ouch,” he said as he winced.

“Answer the question or I’ll slap you harder the next time.”

“Okay, okay,” he said and held her wrist with a firm grip as she raised her hand again. “We’re making each other happy,” Marlon finally answered.

Vickie sat up in bed beside him when she heard that. It wasn’t quite the response she had expected and it caused her to consider things that she hadn’t considered before.

“I make you happy?” she asked with humble disbelief.

“Of course you do,” he answered, surprised to hear in her voice how taken she was by his sincere statement. “Wait, don’t I make you happy?” Marlon asked, also sitting up in bed so that they could see each other at eye level; well almost. Vickie was a little taller than he was.

“You make me happy, in a way,” she answered.

“In a way?” he asked, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable about where their conversation seemed to be heading. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There are times that you make me happy, and then there are times when you confused me,” Vickie answered, turning her eyes away from his.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” he said, suddenly as confused as she seemed to be.

“When we lay together, whenever you’re inside me, I feel close to you and it feels like you really do care about me,” she started to explain.

“And when we’re not having sex?” Marlon asked.

“Well, when we’re not having sex, it feels like you’re not really here with me. Your mind wanders off and I feel like I’m alone, like you don’t know if I’m here at all, like it doesn’t matter whether or not I’m here.”

“I don’t mean to make you feel that way. I didn’t realize that I zone out like that sometimes,” Marlon tried to explain. “I love spending time with you.”

“I’m sure you do but for how long? If the only time we connect is when we have sex, how long before that runs its course? How long before one of us, or both of us, realizes that sex is not enough? Maybe we should stop now before one of us gets hurt,” Vickie suggested.

“What’s going on? Why would you say that?” he asked.

“Because it’s true, and I want to stop before I get too attached to you.”

“But what if I’m already attached to YOU?” Marlon asked, reaching out to take her hand in his.

“I think we should be careful, so that neither one of us gets hurt. That’s all I’m saying,” she told him.

“But I would never hurt you,” Marlon told her and immediately realized how cliché the words that just came out of his mouth sounded. That had to be the most famous phrase used by desperate lovers who almost always turned out to be liars in the end.

“No, not on purpose. And I would never want to hurt you either but, people do a lot of hurtful things by accident so let’s just be careful,” she answered.

Copyright © 2015 Keith Kareem Williams

All rights reserved.

NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON

Excerpt from Chapter 20 of "The Higher Learning Curve" by Keith Kareem Williams

“I didn’t expect to see you until class later on today,” said Priscilla, surprised to see Marlon walk into her office.

“We need to talk,” he told her gruffly.

“You really think this is the appropriate time and place?” Priscilla asked, recognizing the aggressive hostility in his voice.

“It can’t wait,” he told her.

“Well, in that case, what’s the problem?” she asked and folded her arms.

“You need to speak to your husband,” he told her, pointing his finger in her chest.

“I already did. Last night. We came to an understanding and he’ll get over what happened eventually. He’s fine,” she informed him.

“You sure about that?” Marlon asked.

“Of course I am. Why?” Priscilla asked.

“Because your husband walked past me in the hallway earlier this morning and pretty much threatened me,” he told her.

“Threatened you? I doubt that,” Priscilla laughed.

“He walked past me and did this,” Marlon said and demonstrated what Charles had done with his fingers to simulate taking aim and pulling the trigger of an imaginary gun.

“He was just playing with you,” she said.

“Yeah? Well tell him not to fuck around with me. I don’t play those kinds of games,” he told her.

“Fine. I’ll talk to him,” she promised.

“Yeah, you do that,” Marlon told her and turned to leave her office.

“Wait,” Priscilla said as she reached out and grabbed him by the arm.

“What is it?” Marlon asked as she turned him around.

“When you first walked into my office just then, I was hoping that you had come to see me for something else,” she explained while playing with the collar of his shirt.

“What would I have come here for?” Marlon asked, less angry that he had been just moments before. There was honey in the soft, melodic tone of her voice that soothed him and forced him to lower his guard against his better judgment.

“I thought that maybe you had come to finish what we started last night. Now that would have been a pleasant surprise,” she said seductively as she touched the fresh stubble on his cheek with the soft palm of her hand.

“You really think this is the appropriate time and place?” he echoed the same question she had asked him moments before.

“No, probably not but I hope that there will be a time and place where we take care of our unfinished business,” she said and before Marlon could agree or disagree, she leaned forward and kissed him.

Marlon knew that he shouldn’t have let her but he did. He could’ve easily pushed her away but he didn’t. Instead, he enjoyed the taste of her lips, the scent of her perfume and the feeling of her hand which she had greedily shoved down the front of his jeans. The kiss they shared was a small sin compared to what they had done the night before but it couldn’t have taken place at a worse time because Vickie opened Priscilla’s office door and saw them.

Copyright © 2015 Keith Kareem Williams

All rights reserved.

*** I hope you enjoyed this short sample from my erotic novel, "The Higher Learning Curve." Feel free to leave comments and reach out to me if you'd like an autographed copy directly from me. Thanks for reading.***

Prologue for "God of the Ring" by Keith Kareem Williams

PROLOGUE

I AM A GOD

Before the bell, I am not afraid, and then I am but I welcome the fear because it’s that fear of failure that keeps me sharp. There are thousands of eyes on me here in the arena and millions more focused on me through the lenses of these video cameras, watching intensely via pay-per-view television screens with all of their hopes and dreams rolled up tightly in MY fists. Some of them have wagered everything they own except their souls that I will win… again. Most of them still hate me and pray that I will lose but didn’t have the nerve to foolishly bet against me. Above the thunderous music booming from the sound system, I can hear the serenade of hateful words the mob spits at me as I walk towards the ring where a giant will fall tonight. Although he outweighs me by at least twenty pounds and has a much longer reach, I do not fear my opponent. He is a large man indeed but he is only skill and training, wrapped in flesh that I will bruise, and bones that I will break. He is only a student who has studied me diligently, searching for weaknesses to exploit. No matter what he thinks, he will find none. I will destroy him because the truth is, he is only a man… but I am a god. Even those that hate me will roar my name, even if it’s only to curse me was his unconscious, face-down on the canvas and they realize that I cannot lose. They will watch the recordings of this fight long after I am dead. I am immortal.

I step into the ring. I see my challenger bouncing gracefully from one foot to the other for confidence and to settle his nerves. I stand perfectly still with my feet planted firmly beneath me. We stare each other down and I peer into his soul for the truth that he is trying to hide behind his eyes. He has trained hard but still isn’t sure if he’s ready. That doubt alone lets me know that he is not.

After the ring announcer dramatically shouts our names and our fight records into the microphone dangling in front of him, the referee summons us to the center of the ring. He gives us a speech about the rules of the fight and what he expects of us. I don’t listen. None of it matters. I am a god. Everything else that happens feels like a dream with muffled background noise until the bell sounds. Then I see red, everything slows down and the fight begins.

Round 7, and I’ve taken his best shot. He doesn’t know it but he nearly broke my jaw before I opened up that cut above his eye. I watch his cut man trying desperately to seal it up. That was his best shot, his only chance to win and as the blood flows into his eye, he knows it. From his corner, he can see in my eyes that I’m laughing. He doesn’t want to be knocked out…not yet. For pride, and honor, he has tried to avoid the inevitable. His children and his woman may be watching so I’ll grant him that and let him survive another round. I am merciful. I can finish him as soon as the next bell rings but I’ll wait and let him have his pride before I end it. Besides, the ravenous, ringside mob wants a good show…so I’ll toy with him. I will show them style and flair combined with deadly skill. That’s why they love me. The smart ones will see that I am holding back. It will feel as if we’re sharing a secret and they will love me for it. I feed off their energy and become stronger. For tonight, I am their deity, their false idol to worship…but I am not just GOOD at this. I am the BEST at this. Inside this squared circle, I am unconquerable and unstoppable.

The 9^th round is the last round. This is where this battle comes to an end. In the 8^th round I punished his body with body blows and I’ve broken at least two of his ribs. Another shot to his body will make him drop his hands and then I will put him out of his misery with some of his dignity. He has fought bravely…with honor. I almost change my mind about knocking him out until I remember his brazen bravado at the weigh-in, and all of his chatter in the media for weeks about how he would kill me in front of my weeping family. Blasphemy!

Everything…slows…down. One  crushing punch to his body followed by an uppercut that nearly lifts him off the ground and his eyes roll back until his pupils disappear until only the whites remain. He is broken, cast down from the self-made pedestal he stood upon. He hits the mat, limp and lifeless. He stays down for more than the referee’s count. He is no more and I am still undefeated. I raise my gloves, covered in blood and bask in the glory.

From the corner of my eye, I see that my opponent is still motionless on the canvas. His trainers are frantically trying to revive him while a woman ringside with a baby cradled in her arms weeps hysterically for her fallen husband. I step out of the way as EMTs rush into the ring.

Copyright © 2016 Keith Kareem Williams

All rights reserved.

***I hope you enjoyed this sample from "god of the ring." You can expect this book to drop right on the heels of "Death in the City." Apologies for being gone so long from the blog. I was caught up with the release of the 1st book in my "Reem After Dark" series of erotic novels, "The Higher Learning Curve." So far, the readers are LOVING all of the sultry, nasty, freaky, sexy, naughty things I put in that book so I can finally breathe a sigh of relief.***  

COMING SOON