Knees bent,
But cheeks spread,
Look out prostate,
Here I come.
Afternoon delight.
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An Ode to Physics
Physics is the poetry of motion.
Apply a force (F) to a mass (M), and you’ll produce an acceleration (A) every day, per Newton’s Second Law.
Once in motion, that mass will have kinetic energy, per K.E.= 1/2 M V^2, where V is velocity.
See, physics is the conductor of the cosmos, per Einstein’s Field Equations, which I won’t list here for the sake of those of a less science persuasion.
It’s the pied piper of particles, master of the ocean’s motion via Newton’s Law of Universal Gravity (F= G [M1*M2/ r^2], where G is the gravitation constant and r is the radial distance between the masses.
Physics is the destroyer of worlds, the cracker of the atom per Einstein’s Theory of Special Relativity (his famous equation E=MC^2).
Physics lays bare the heart of the universe.
I don’t mean to geek, but we are all children of star dust.
And once we shuffle off this mortal coil, we will return from whence we came to continue the great comic dance.
For the First Law of Thermodynamics states: energy can neither be created nor destroyed, merely transferred or converted from one form to another.
From one star brother to the another, the beauty and elegance of reducing the universe to a series of equations has no parallel in heaven or hell.
It’s the music of creation and makes my heart swell, the ringing of the universal bell and knowing exactly for whom it tolls.
Word to your mother, there’s no limit to the wonders physics can produce with a few formulas and numbers.
Update and a Poem
Hey, sorry I haven’t updated in a while. I’ve been dealing with some mental health issues, but I’ve talked with my psychiatrist and am doing better now.
To make up for not posting, I’ll post a new poem every day as part of National Poem Writing Month.
So here’s the first one called “An Ode to Summer.”
I can hardly breathe or believe you’re lying next to me.
You are summer personified, your legs entwined with mine.
I’ll never forget your meteor-shower hair, your sunflower-scent
Your eyes aglow, fireflies dancing to a song only we know.
Your skin, caramel ice cream; your face, a vision from a dream.
Your watermelon lips, kisses so sweet they ought-ta be a felon.
Your smile, radiant as the sun shining on us as we strolled, hand in hand, sand beneath our feet.
While I could praise your booty–I mean beauty from here to eternity, this poem has come to an end.
But summer will come again.
The Man Who Cried MAGA
Introduction
For those who haven’t been following the Jussie Smollett case, several weeks ago, the Empire star claimed two hooded men wearing “Make America Great Again” hats assaulted him late one night, while he was on this way back from a Subway shop in Chicago.
He claimed the men called him racial and gay slurs, made reference to this being “MAGA country,” fought him, and then poured bleach on him and put a noose around his neck.
However, in the weeks since he first made this claim, police have arrested two men in connection with this crime, whom it turns out were Nigerian extras on the show Empire and knew Mr. Smollett.
Furthermore, these men allege Mr. Smollett paid them $3500 to fake the attack because he wasn’t happy with what he was being paid.
Now, I’ll reserve judgement until more facts come out about this case, but it doesn’t look good for Mr. Smollett.
IF He Lied
If this incident does turns out to be a hoax, then Mr. Smollett should not only serve jail time for making a false police report, but he should pay restitution, plus interest t to the Chicago Police Department for all the resources they wasted on his case.
Moreover, by lying about this incident, it makes it less likely that investigators will believe the victims of actual hate crimes, and more likely that people will carry out hate crimes based on the belief they won’t get caught, and if they do, they can just say their victims are lying.
He owes an apology to the Black community and the LGBTQ+ community, two marginalized groups with overlap that continue to be victimized.
By playing upon both racial fears and homophobia in this attack, Mr. Smollett ratcheted up the already tense mental states of people from these and other marginalized groups who have been on edge ever since Mr. Trump’s election, which combined with his inflammatory rhetoric and support of white supremacists and neo-Nazis, has led to a sharp increase in hate crimes.
Now every marginalized person will have the worry at the back of their minds that if they are the victim of a hate crime, will they believed? And all because Jussie Smollett wasn’t happy with his paycheck and cried wolf.
Furthermore, if Mr. Smollett lied about this attack, he will have played right into the narratives some on the right have about liberals being unscrupulous liars who will say and do anything to denigrate Mr. Trump and his supporters, and then play the victim card when things don’t go their way.
Conclusion
I don’t claim to speak for either the black or LGBTQ+ communities. I’m simply stating my frustrations at Mr. Smollett’s alleged actions. As a queer black person, I could readily put myself in his shoes, and I know many others could as well, which is why the possibility of his lying is so infuriating.
If this was all about money, he could have taken many other routes that didn’t involve staging a hate crime.
He could have held out until the end of his contract with Fox, and then played hard with them, or he could have left Empire and joined a show that valued his talents.
Leveraging social media, he could have had his fans threaten to boycott Empire and Fox unless they paid him what he thought he was worth.
Crowd founding a project starring him for Hulu, Amazon Prime, or Netflix is another route he could have taken.
Mr. Smollett could have also started a patreon account and shared exclusive demos and songs with his followers if he was so strapped for cash.
He didn’t have to pull this hoax, if that’s what this turns out to be. And he didn’t have to play on people’s fears in such a visceral and heinous way.
So if this is a hoax, then I say to him, “Fuck you!”
Call to Action
Why do you think? Let me know in the comments, and share this if you liked it.
T
Living While Black
You throw on your favorite hoodie, gather your things, and go to the corner store to get a few days’ worth of groceries.
Even though the store owner jacks the price up on everything, you still shop there because the closest grocery story is twenty minutes away and you don’t have a car.
And even if you did, you couldn’t afford the car payment, insurance, and gas because even though you work two jobs and a side hustle, you’re broke two days after payday.
On the way to the store, you pass a white woman; she glares at you, pulls her purse tight, and then crosses the street. It’s not the first time this has happened to you, nor will it be the last.
You shrug and carry on, but then a cop car passes and you slow your step, holding your breath until it drives by.
You pick up the pace until you get to the store, where you remove your hoodie, but the person behind the register still eyes you cautiously.
You ignore him, get your stuff, and add a bag of skittles and an ice tea to your order.
After paying, you’re down to twenty dollars until next Friday.
You go home to find a message from your mother saying your uncle Jules has died and the funeral will be in three days. It’s too late to request a day off from your jobs, and you couldn’t afford the greyhound ride there and back, so you ask your mother to take plenty of pictures and send them to you.
After eating a meal of over-processed food, you shower and change for work, then walk to the bus stop; you’ll spend the next two hours transferring from bus to bus before getting to your first job, working minimum wage at a big box store.
Your coworkers are mostly lower middle-class white people, and when they don’t think you’re in earshot, they let loose nigger jokes, only to be all smiles to your face.
You’ve been at this job the longest but have only received a twenty-five- cent raise. Meanwhile, Joe, who has only been there two months, was promoted to assistant store manager.
You shake your head but continue stocking the shelves until your boss tells you to go work the register because Leanne is out sick with another of her “family emergencies.” Given that it’s Monday, you surmise that said family emergency had something to do with her friends Jack Daniels and Natty Light.
She’s come to work hungover several times, yet when you came in a only few minutes late, your boss ripped you a new one and docked your pay for the day.
You force a smile as you ring up customers, ignoring their rude behavior and condescending attitudes because you’re not moving fast enough for them.
You get through your shift without killing someone, and thank God for small miracles.
You clock out, walk to the fast food joint across the street, and get two items off their dollar menu.
You finish eating, catch the bus home, shower, and then head out to your next job working sanitation engineering for a hospital. It’s just a fancy way of saying you’re a janitor.
You do your job without complaint, only to come home and find a past-due notice for your student loans.
Life wasn’t always like this.
You did well in school and had dreams of becoming a mogul Like Russel Simmons, Diddy, Or Jay-Z. However, you quickly found that if you weren’t willing to suck up to the old-moneyed white establishment and play the roles they deemed you were worthy of, you got nowhere.
So, you told your boss to shove it up his ass and quit.
But all those years of business classes didn’t go to waste; you’ve used your marketing skills to build a brand as the go-to weed dealer in the tri-county area, and you’ve been saving up to start your own medical marijuana dispensary, and selling weed on the side until then.
You know that if the police catch you, there won’t be any community service, probation, or house arrest. You’ll just be another statistic of the Prison-Industrial Complex.
But what choice do you have?
Even when you were hobnobbing with the upper crust in your $5,000-suits and custom-made Italian Leather loafers, people looked down on you and assumed you were a server.
You have ramen noodles and a candy bar for dinner. Afterwards, you turn on the news to learn white police officers have killed yet another unarmed black person.
Sure, people will protest, but yet again, the cops will get off. Assuming they’re even charged in the first place.
Not for the first time you wonder how a country that was founded upon the words, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness,” could treat you and others less than dirt.
Then you remember when Thomas Jefferson wrote those words he was rapping Sally Hemmings, one of his slaves, and that blacks were only three-fifths a person for the purpose of the census.
Like many, you thought the election of Obama would have eased racial tensions and marked an end to America racist past. However, all it did was give racists a convenient target to project their hate upon.
And now when you or other black people bring up things like institutional racism or the school to prison pipe line, you’re told you’re stirring the pot because if America was so racist why did they elect and then re-elect a black man president?
You shake your head.
One black president doesn’t make up for the centuries of slavery, Jim Crow, red lining, and the continued discrimination and bigotry against black people.
You turn the TV off and go to bed, hoping tomorrow will be better.
Conclusion
What did you think?
Let me know in the comments, and if you liked this post, please share it on social media.
Update
Introduction
Hey there, you’re probably just as shocked as I am that I updated this blog (assuming you’re not a spammer, in which case welcome to the new improved blog. But more on that in a minute).
The Road so Far
When I started this blog, I had no idea what I wanted to write about or even what type of writer I wanted to be, and consequently posted any old thing on here. To disastrous effect, I might add.
However, the thing is, I’m not a professional blogger, nor do I want to be. My interests lie in fiction and creative nonfiction, and that’s what I’ve been busy writing over the past few years.
However, I need to build an author platform, a part of which is this blog. So rather than half-ass things by posting a bunch of shit I’m not interested in writing and you’re not interested in reading, I want to post quality stuff that I’m passionate about and which I hope you’re passionate about, too.
What’s Next?
Here’s my game plan going forwards. Fiction and creative nonfiction will still be my jam, but I’ll post at least once a week on Wednesdays.
What to Expect
I’m passionate about geeky queer stuff and diversity in the media, so you can expect reviews of books, movies, video games, comics, animated films, manga, and anime.
You’ll also find posts about writing and writing related stuff such as snippets from my works-in-progress; characters sketches, aesthetics, and play lists; short stories, poems, and essays.
Call to Action
If this sounds like a blog you’re interested in following, click here to sign up for my mailing list, or you can follow me on Twitter
Thanks for reading this and have a Happy New Year!
The Box
Introduction
The following piece came about due to a particularly bad bout with depression about three years ago. I’ve had other depressive episodes since then but am doing much better now thanks to medication and therapy .
One again I sit here, some procedural cop drama or reality show blares on the TV, but it’s just white noise to fill the void. I tried sleeping but the chaotic energy coursing through me won’t let my brain shut off. Three years have gone past in an instant, but what do I have to show for it? Hour after hour I wait. For what, I don’t know.
Another night spent at a bar downing cheap beer just so I can feel normal for awhile, but in the end I wound up in the corner, as everyone else had fun. Why do I do this to myself? Why do I bother going out when I could be surrounded by a million people, but still feel as if I’m an alien.
It’s 3AM and I click on another profile. Why bother, girl or guy it makes no difference. Sorry not interested; sorry not into chubby guys; sorry, insert excuse here. Not smooth enough, young enough, hung enough, or the right hue for you to screw—oh go spew. Here’s something new: I want more than a paramour or to be your whore. Sex is great, but how about a date? How about a life mate? Who am I shitting? It’s my wrists I should be slitting.
Not like I haven’t thought about it before, not like anyone would care. Sure, they would be sad, but no one would miss me. What’s the point of living if I never participate, but then why do I hesitate?
I look down at the scare along my arm and the answer is clear. Fear of everything: being different, rejected, alone, and being a failure. A brief moment of pain and it’ll all go away, but no. I trace the scar and remember the operation: thirty seven stitches, no anesthesia or pain killers, and too many blackouts to recall.
But I survived it and countless other operations. Six months in a comma, months more learning how to walk and talk again. Through it all I survived. Even when every breath was a battle I never gave in and if I do now then it was all for nothing. I can’t, I won’t. Because then they’d win and I won’t allow that.
I will stand and fight for a place of my own. And if I’m the only in it then so be it. I’m so much more than the characters in a box, then my stats or pictures. They can try to label me, but I’m done caring what anyone thinks, I’m going to be me.
If I fail then it won’t be because I didn’t give it my best. If no one ever reads a word I write then so what. I still wrote them and they will always be a reminder that I existed and, Goddamn it, I mattered. Yes it’ll be hard and I won’t always know what to do, but I’ve spent too long in this box already. Yeah I’m scared, but I’ll take one step and then another until I get to where I’m going.
If you or someone you know is contemplating hurting themselves contact the National suicide prevention lifeline at 18002738255 or on the web at suicidepreventionlifeline.org
How Music Can get Your Creative Juices Flowing
Introduction
I don’t know about you, but when I write I need some background noise to keep me going. And when thi
ngs aren’t flowing right, or a scene isn’t coming together like I want it to I listen to some music and usually that does the trick.
One track mind
But it has to be the right track for the scene. For angsty scenes my go to is Linkin Park and I’m transported back to my teenage years. For fight scenes I like to listen to hard rock and metal tracks to amp the energy up.
Often I’ll listen to a song on repeat until I’m done, the music painting a mental picture in my head that I try to translate onto the page. I’ve found that certain songs evoke specific emotions like sadness, anger, joy, etc and that helps to get into my characters’ head.
Change It Up
When I get sick of a song or when it isn’t working its magic I hit shuffled on my Iphone and just write. Often I find this helps to break up the monotony and get me to focus on the scene in question as the music fades into the background.
When the Music Stops
For me the best writing is done after getting in the groove. Usually this is after I’ve been writing for awhile and the whole world fades away, and it’s just me and my laptop. Then I don’t need the music anymore. The words just flow from my fingers and all is right with the world. Those are the days you live for but sometimes they are few and far between.
On the days you struggle to write try listening to music and coming up with stories to go along with the song. I find this gets the creative juices flowing and helps you to ease into your writing session.
Conclusion
The right type of music to make you soar, or bring you to our knees. It can help you make out a scene or give you that creative spark that you’re lacking. So next time you’re in a rut pop on some music and get to writing. For more tips on writing click here.
Why I write
Why do I write? Good question. I write because first and foremost I love words and the English language owing to my father reading to me at a young age and growing up seeing him always with his face in a book.
As a child I’d read the dictionary for fun and had thoughts of becoming a linguist. During middle school I fell in love with Greek, Norse, and Egyptian mythology and practically lived at the library.
I also write because I want to be heard. When I was six my vocal cords were accidental severed while I was in a coma and since then I’ve had difficulty speaking. Once shy, since discovering writing the world has opened up to me and given me the confidence to speak out on what I see wrong with the world and work to change it.
If I had to pick the main reason I write is because I want to let other people out there know they are not alone, and not to give up on life no matter how difficult it becomes.
So why do you write? Leave your answer in the comments section and be sure to check out my about page.
A New Beginning
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Invictus by William Ernest Henley
It has been several months since I last posted to this blog. I’ve been putting off this post for some time. I’ve started this blog for the wrong reasons and now realize in order to resonate with others I have to first write for the love of writing and then for myself.
In order to grow I must change the them of this blog. I’ll try to post at least once a week from now and go from there. The focus of this blog will center on science and geek culture with and a QUILBAG point of view. I’ll still write the occasional political rant but that is not the overall theme going forward.
If you have any thoughts on how you’d like to see this blog change feel free to post your ideas in the comments section.
Halloween
Once again Halloween is upon us, but have you ever stopped to wonder why we celebrate this holiday?
The answer is community. The days have grown colder and shorter, so what better way to stay connected then by dressing in costumes and going door-to-door for treats.
Second only to Christmas as my favorite holiday, it was the one night of the year you got to stay out late and came home with pillow cases full of candy.
The procedure was always the same: fruits got tossed and then you shorted through your bag, treating the ones you didn’t like, and then it was off to bed. One years we got so much candy we were still eating it come Christmas.
Halloween also allows us to be someone else for one night and have fun. Horror movies are a big part of this experience because we all like a good scare to make our hearts beat faster and remind us we’re still alive.
That spine-tingling shock as the monster gets back up or the killer crashes through the door, axe in hand. And laughing at others as they fall for the old jump scare scene.
I remember one year we were Watching A Nightmare on Elm St and my younger brother got so scared he refused to sleep in his room down in the basement until he turned on all the lights and checked for monsters.
Freddie, Jason, Michael Myers, Pin Head I can never get enough of the bloody goodness and love this time of year as many channels show all my favorites.
Out of the hundreds I’ve seen of the years Monster Squad, Killer Klowns From Outer Space, and The Lost Boys still rank up there. Granted they’re tame by today’s standards but still fun to watch.
Therapy Thursday 1
I was the quintessential black nerd: glasses, asthma and would rather read the dictionary than play sports. Like many of my ilk I got teased for acting white e.g. speaking with proper diction, using correct grammar and doing well at school.
At first I ignored it but as the years wore on I couldn’t take it. I stopped caring about learning, and thought about suicide more and more each day. On particularly bad days I’d lock myself into the bathroom at home and cry my eyes out.
It was during these dark times I retreated to a fantasy world where I was strong, never got sick and didn’t take crap from anyone. As time wore on i build walls to keep everyone out. If nobody got in they couldn’t hurt. People come and go, it’s pointless to become attached became my motto.
I prided myself on being above petty emotions and using logic to solve my problems. But the truth was I hadn’t vanquished my emotions but merely suppressed them.
As the years rolled by I learned you can’t stay behind the walls you’ve built if you want live a full life. The first step came when I met my first boyfriend. He was shyer than I and that required me to drop my defenses and become more active. While we broke up we’re it not for me I’d probably still be living in my head.
Since then I’ve learned to let others in and although you will get hurt you will also stumble upon great friends like those in my critique group. I never would have met them if I didn’t take the plunge and come to the first meeting.
I was petrified and didn’t come back for a few months but once I started attending regular meeting I learned so much form them, chief among them that I could write and the main obstacle holding me back was my fear of rejection and not being good enough.
Thanks to them and Jeff Goins Tribe Writer program I’ve gained the confidence to complete two novels, and will begin work on a third shortly, all in less than a year. There have been some bumps along the road.
I went through a four moth depression spell beginning in January of this year. It was thanks to my critique group that I was able to claw my way out that pit and begin getting my life in order.
Writing has not only given me a voice and platform to share my message but has also become a form of therapy for me. I’m still in the habit of bottling everything up but I find writing out my thoughts and emotions before they become overwhelm me is like a soul colonic.
Over the past four years I’ve struggled with mental health issues but last week I took the fist steps to managing it by seeing a psychiatrist and scheduling weekly visits with a councilor. My appointment is tomorrow and I can’t wait.
6 Tips For the Newbie Artist
Every artist was first an amateur. –Ralph Waldo Emerson
In this age where everyone claims to be an expert or gurus of something or other it can be daunting for the new kid on the block. However fret not. Everyone has to start somewhere and once you know where your faults and forts like then you can begin improving your skills.
Practice
I for one used to write crappy poems and stories that would make your eyes bleed. However by taking the time to learn the craft and practice everyday I’ve gotten better. The same applies to you. There is much room for you to grow no matter your current skill level.
Perform
The same is true of you. If you want to become an expert in your niche that means putting in the time and effort to become component, not only writing wise but also in connecting with your audience.
Engage The Audience
Find out their hopes, dreams fears and aspirations, and then produce content that addresses them. For instance my niche is nerd/geek culture with a focus on LGBTQ folks within them. In this way I can address the problems of my niche while having crossover appeal to the larger LGBTQ and geek/nerd cultures.
While you’ll hear the occasional over night success story the truth is the majority of artists must go through the everyday grind, churning mediocre, working crappy job they hate. Until one day they find they touch greatness. Then things fall in place and they get recognized for all the hard work they put in.
Define success
If you fantasize about being the next King or Rowling but don’t put in the effort you’re deluding yourself. Even if you write all day everyday you still might not reach those heights. The publishing has changed drastically and continues to be in flux.
Does success mean getting agent and having a contract with a traditional publisher, or publishing your work online through programs like Amazon’s KDP, Smash word, or wattpad? Or going it alone with ebooks?
Shipping
No matter the route you take once you send your work out into the world there’s no going back to the drawing board, so it’s incumbent upon you to produce the best product you can so you have a base of life time consumers ready in the wings for your next product.
An Audience of Moi
I got back From the gym a few minutes ago and it was one those days. I’ve put on 12 pounds in less than a week and could barely run half a mile in ten minutes. Granted I worked out my legs for an hour before hand.
What does this have to do with writing or LGBTQ issues you may be asking right about now?
Everything.
See the pressure to be the best gets drilled in your head ad nauseum. Every time you to click on a m2m site you get bombarded with ads for porno sites and sex items, all reinforcing the notion that you aren’t good enough as is.
Well I’m here to tell you you’re fine the way you are. Sure exercise if you want to stay in shape or stave off diabetes or other obesity related diseases. But not so you can conform to some exaggerated notion of male beauty.
The same is true when it comes to writing. Everyday it seems some new guru appears with the promise that if you take his/her course you’ll become the next Rowling, King or E.L. James.
The truth is while some of these courses offer valuable information most are of fill of shit or worse: things you already know. This is also true when it comes to free information.
Most of the time the things being pitched on twitter and elsewhere are the same nuggets of information repackaged. Write what you know, kill your darlings, show don’t tell, etc.
While these are all good things to know when you’re starting out hearing them stated over and over again becomes puerile.
You can spend thousands on courses and conferences, and hundreds of hours on social media trying to build your brand and establish a platform, and still fail.
Why?
Because you forgot the most important thing. Write first for the joy of it, not because you’re chasing the latest trend or seeking your fortune. Readers are more clever than you give them credit for and will sniff out your bullshit in a heartbeat.
For this reason I limit my time on social media sites and concentrate on producing the best work I can. So when it comes time to ship I have a small core of readers who tell me where I went wrong and how to fix it before I ship to the general public.
One genuine reader is worth a thousand fakes who only look at your work once it becomes cool/hip. This is what building a tribe is all about and why you should be focused on that instead of trying to write like so and so.
Don’t conform to others’ notions of what it means to be a writer. Set your own standards and damn the critics and cynics because when you do something you love and find joy in doing it every day you’ve won.
Pinky and the Brain
I finished the first draft of book one of the Phoenix Diaries and started on the rewrite of my other book. So without further ado here’s the first chapter.
“Don’t worry I won’t bite, unless you’re into that?” Mike looked Amber in the eyes and ran his hand up her back.
Amber pulled him close and bit his bottom lip just enough for Mike to feel it, then pulled away with a smirk on her face.
Not to be outdone Mike laid a chaste kiss on her full lips, and then transitioned to French kissing her. He pulled back drawing a moan from her then walked away. He counted to 3 and like clockwork the blonde called after him and they exchanged numbers. Mike showed her a few joint locks and submission holds, then excused himself and promised they would hang out soon.
“Oorah!” Mike said. He’d k-closed his three hundredth set and had opened his thousandth set.
It was a quarter to one and no sign of the screw crew yet.
“Nigga, where you at?” Mike said when Luke picked up after the fifth ring.
“Ease up B—he said through a yawn—Give me like an hour. My ass is still tired from them freaky hoes I hooked up with last night. Where you at son?”
“I should smack the black off yo ignorant ass. You knew we were sarging today. Seriously, I told your ass not to mess with those skanks cuz we’d be pulling HB9 and 10s. Son, I pulled 5 HB9s and it hasn’t been an hour yet.”
Mike scoped out the food court and then sat down.
“B, you know the rules. No sarging unless the crew’s together. You owe us two sets.”
Luke yawned then scratched his butt.
“What can I say that pussy was calling my name and I couldn’t resist. Tell ya what, I’ll give you first crack at all HB8 and 9s. But if you get blown out, then it’s game on. And you know damn well I’m at Great Lakes Crossing. I swear if your dick wasn’t attached you’d forget it too.”
Mike ran his hand over his wavy hair and noted it was almost time to line up his low top fade.
“Aw you got jokes? Don’t forget I remember when your ass couldn’t pull a grenade. so don’t get conceited Brain. I’ll holla at you later,” Luke said then hung up and hit the showers.
With two months left before the start of 11th grade Mike was on pace to break his all time record of 20 hook ups in a month. As he scrolled through all the hot babes he’d landed, he came upon a picture he’d nearly forgotten: his former best friend Pinky was dressed up like Santa while his brothers, Jaden and Kaden, dressed like elves. God he hadn’t thought about them in forever.
And he smiled.
Mike met the hyper blonde in the sixth grade, and became friends after Pinky pestered him to death to hang out. And then there were the hellacious twins who he whipped into gentlemen using all the tricks his dad taught. Most of all he remembered how much he loved Pinky and the promise they made to each other, but Mike shook his head and locked those thoughts away.
All things considered his life was good. He had a bunch of friends from the swim, wrestling, football and track teams. He had a decent job at Ed’s Dojo teaching karate and jujitsu classes and lifeguarded at a local public pool, but it wasn’t all good.
He had to deal with his dad who pushed him into tons of extracurricular AP and community college courses. But as long as he was the perfect soldier and kept his grades up he could come and go as he pleased.
Granted he had to give James a full itinerary, and if he didn’t answer when his father called it was a weekend in the Pit. But Mike’s father had been hinting at a car for his 17th birthday, and he was counting the days until October.
Mike started in on his bacon cheeseburger and root beer float when he received a text from Luke saying they’d be there in thirty minutes. He finished off his lunch, punctuating it with a loud burp, causing a boy three tables over to burst into laughter.
“Something funny cocksucker?”
Mike jumped to his feet and stared him down.
“Who you callin’ a cocksucker?” the boy said with a slight New York accent and came towards Mike. They circled around each other. Mike dropped his chin, put up his fists and in one fluid move dropped his weight, bent his knees and delivered a right upper cut.
The other boy tackled him to ground, but Mike broke his fall and wrapped his legs around the waist of the smaller teen . The boy tried to break Mike’s rear guard. failing that he attempted front choke hold.
Mike trapped his right arm and transition to back mount, then wrapped his right leg around the kid’s throat in a triangle hold. The boy tapped out and they helped each other to their feet and then sat down to catch their breath.
“You’re pretty good. How long have you been doing BJJ?”
Mike looked at the blonde with a new found respect.
“Not long. just about two years now. How about you? I’m Jack by the way,” he said and extended his hand.
Just then a mall security guard came up to them and asked them to follow him to the holding area. They complied and watched him he waddled away. Once in the holding area the security guard asked for their names.
“Well don’t y’all talk at once,” he said and tapped his pen on the clipboard.
“Michael Jordan Smith.”
“Jack Moses Johnson.”
The pair looked at each and said, “No way!” and then hugged each other.
“You two know each other?”
“Know each other? we’re practically brothers. Fuck man good to see ya,” he said crushing Jack in a bear hug.Jack returned the hug with vigor and hoped Mike couldn’t fell his boner through the thin khaki shorts he was wearing.
“OK since you appear to know each other I’mma letcha off with a warning, but act up again and your banned for the rest of summer.”
“Understood Sir,” Mike said and they left.
“That was a close call.”
“Yeah,” Jack said trying to contain his emotions.
“ Anyways I’ve had my purple belt for like 5 months, and about to test for brown belt. I’ve missed you…”
Mike stopped mid-sentence when he heard Luke’s ring tone blare form his cell. After a short chat he told Jack goodbye and apologized. He made his way to where Luke, Aaron, Jason and Chris were in a three set with two blondes—Kim and Christina—and Gabriela, a hot Latina.
He pulled out his trusty inhaler, introduced himself to the group, then merged the set and targeted Gabriela.
“Excuse me but you should come with a warning label. Cuz you take my breath away.” He took a puff of his inhaler and Gabriela laughed, while Kim chuckled a bit at the cheesy line.
“You call that game?” Christina said, hands on hips.
“Nope it’s the truth, check the prescription,” Mike said and flashed his innocent face then handed over the inhaler.
“OK but your game is still garbage,” she said and drew a smirk from Mike.
“ She’s cute, for a blonde, but I guess her mother never taught her how a lady should act, huh?” he said to Gabriela who fought to hold back a laugh. But Kim wasn’t as successful.
Christina’s face flushed red and she laid into Kim.
“I see anger management classes in this one’s future,” he said while Luke and the others watched on waiting to see if he got blew out the set.
“Oh stop it.”
Gabriela smacked him on the head.
Christina rounded on Mike with a look that promised death. Luke and the boys cracked up and counted the seconds till it was their turn. Mike stood up straight and put his hands behind his back.
“My dearest apologizes, how uncouth of me not to introduce myself properly. Michael Smith.”
He bowed then extended his hand. Christina looked towards the other girls who told her to her to be nice.
“Pleasure to meet you my lady,” Mike said then kissed her hand drawing awes from the other girls, but Christina still wasn’t buying it.
“You think you’re slick, but I know what you’re trying to do and it aint happening.”
“Sorry but you’re not my type,” Mike said cool as ever.
“Oh?”
“Yes, you’re much too innocent. I wouldn’t feel right corrupting you.”
“Really now?” Christina said leaning into Mike with a predatory glint in her eyes.
“Yep and I’ll prove it to you. Here hold this for a second. I need to go talk to my friend Jack for a minute.”
He handed her his inhaler then walked away.
***
Jack watched the exchange with a quizzical look on his face and shook his head. Straight guys are so weird sometimes, but he could still see glimpses of the boy he fell in love with years ago.
“Sorry about that but duty called. Now where were we?” Mike plopped down beside him as if nothing had happened.
“Um what heck was all that about?” Jack said pointing to Luke and the girls.
” That was just me using the asthma kid opener, disarming the obstacle and then pumping BT.”
“Umm OK, but why’d you give her your inhaler?”
“Oh I used it as a lock in prop so I have an excuse to go talk to her later.”
“What?”
“I swear, you’re totally AFC,” Mike said pinching the bridge of his nose before continuing, “Never mind dude, you’re a lost cause anyways. So like what have been up to?”
“First answer me this: Why do they call you B?”
“It’s short for Brain, the. Basically I’m the go-to guy for homework and test prep.”
“Oh, OK. Umm do you remember when we were younger and used to hang out?”
“Yeah, why?”
And then it Mike.
“Pinky, are you pondering what I’m pondering?”
“Yes, but where are we going to hook up with all these people around?”
“Eww you shit head. Hey, why didn’t you tell me you moved back?”
“We just got back like three days ago and are still unpacking. But what about our promise? You pinky swore we’d keep in touch you asshole,” Jack said and socked Mike in the arm.
“Look dude give me your number and we’ll catch up OK?”
Mike grinned showing off his elongated canines and dimpled cheeks.
“Sure man you promise?”
Jack’s face blushed and brought out his brown eyes.
“Yeah I pinky swear,” he said then looked around, and when Mike was sure no one was looking, locked his pinky with Jack’s. They did a one arm hug and parted ways.
“Mike?”
Jack’s once confident voice faltered as he stood up and then averted his eyes.
“Yeah?”
Mike turned back looking over his shoulder with hands in his baggy jeans.
“I still love you man.”
Jack’s eyes met Mike’s. He smiled and then played with his puka shell necklace.
Mike turned around and whipped his hand across his nose.
“Seriously, after all this time?”
“Always, man.”
“I love you too, no homo. Sorry about that and earlier. Well later,” Mike mumbled and walked away.
He put on his game face and tried to forget what Jack said. He approached the set, reintroduced himself and then targeted Christina.
“See told ya so.”
He smirked then stretched his arms out before placing them behind his head.
“Yeah.”
She rolled her eyes and then returned his inhaler.
Mike titled his head and placed his fingers on his dimpled checks while giving her his sad puppy face and asked how she could stay made at this face.
Christina’s defenses shattered and at Mike’s insistence she gave up her number to Luke, who’d been glaring at Mike the whole time. He retargeted Gabriela and got her to kiss close.
Luke whined about Mike cock blocking him and they got into an argument over who had dibs on Christina.
“Not my fault you a weak nigga trying to take pussy that don’t belong to you,” Mike said drawing a chorus of “damn son” from the others.
“B, we boys and all but I will straight jaw ya if you keep trying to hoe me.”
Luke jabbed a finger into Mike’s chest.Mike stepped forward so he was right in Luke’s face.
“Because we’re boys I’ll let that slide, but don’t you ever try to holla at me like that again. Is that understood?”
“B—”
Luke was cut off then backed up and balled his hands into fists.
“I said is that understood!?”
Always the peace maker of the group Chris was the one who usual pulled Mike out of Drill Sergeant mode. He told then to squash their beef and they move on to the next set.
“Sorry man, but you know I don’t take shit from anyone. Dad would kick my ass if I did. You feel me?”
Mike stuck out his hand.
“A’ight my pops is crazy too, but cool it with that shit.” Luke high-fived him and the matter was settled.
After a long day of sarging Mike had netted five more numbers and by week’s end he’d have Amber in his bed. He yawned then cracked back and got to his nightly work out.
Fifty one-handed pushed with each arm, followed by a hundred crunches then katas for 30 minutes. Mike whipped off face then got out Buster, his training dummy, and dropped into Basic Warrior Stance and pummeled it with punches, kicks, and elbow strikes until satisfied he’d done enough.
He pulled out his Ka-Bar Combat knife and began slashing Buster’s neck fifty times with each hand then moved on to thrusts. Stifling another yawn he got his practice riffle with a bayonet and ran slashing drills and then for good measure he bashed Buster’s head with the butt of the riffle thirty times.
“Hey boy, lights out in an hour,” James said sticking his head into Mike’s room.
“OK Sir. Just finishing up here.”
“Good boy. Looks like Buster has seen better days hmm? Tell you what if you can take me to the deck I’ll let you have my car when I’m not using it for the rest of summer. Deal?”
“Sir yes sir!”
Mike shook James’s hand, they fell into Basic Warrior Stance and then circled around each other.
James fired off a round kick nearly missing Mike, who countered with a right elbow strike to James’s sternum. He followed up with a left hook, but James moved forward, blocked it then grabbed Mike’s arm and threw him over his shoulder. Mike broke his fall and rolled to the side as James’s foot stomped where his chest had been.
“Double or nothing?” Mike said and got back into stance.
“OK but you’ll have to do all the chores for a month if you lose,” James said, smugness oozing from his every pore.
Mike stepped forward, faked to the right and came under James’s guard. He unbalanced James and swept his leg , taking him to the deck. Before the elder could counter Mike put him in a leg bar.
Shelia glared at the pair on the floor and said, “What in the heck is going on in here?”
“Sweetie, it’s nothing. Me and Mike are sparring is all.”
James smiled through gritted teeth as Mike applied more pressure to his kneecap.
Shelia shook her head then left after Mike released James.
“Sneaky kiddo. Keep it up and you’ll be ready to take me on for real. But don’t get cocky.”
He ruffled Mike’s hair then sucker punched him in the gut.
“Yeah Dad thanks,” he groaned then continued, “since I’m getting older don’t you think it’s about time I can go to the House of Pain by myself?”
Mike straightened up and rubbed his stomach.
“OK you’ll be heading off to college in a bit so you’ll need all the training you can get, but only if you keep your grades up and stay out of trouble,” James said and patted him on the back.
Mike flashed his trademark smirk.
“Don’t I always?”
“Hey now don’t act brand new. You’re not too old to be taken over my knee. Lights out in 30. I’m getting too old for this mess. ”
James hobbled out nursing his shoulder and leg.
“Sorry. Goodnight Sir.”
“Night Mike and the pass codes to the storage locker and security alarm is 7638.”
Mike yawned then finally took off his weighted vest and stretched out on his bed until his spine popped. Then he applied vitamin E to his back and shoulders. He checked his face book account and saw a new friend request from Jack “Pinky” Johnson. He froze.
He loved the hell out of the kid, but the last time they met Mike’s world turned upside down. Hey what’s the worst that could happen, right? He accepted the request then logged off and made a note to Skype Kyle and the other Soldier Boys.