RIPPED & READY S2 (PART 1)

RIPPED & READY S2/(PART I)

We are four, young, African American men, living our lives, trying to become more than just statistics on a judicial system’s list of delinquents and menaces to society.  The odds really seem stacked against us as we try to make our way through life, because not only were we black, we all were also same-gender loving men.  

 Accepting people as they are puts the key in hand, but what can you do when you are fighting an uphill battle all of the time?  Some men use a tough exterior to cloak themselves from roving, suspecting eyes, and I was so tired of the lies and deceitful tactics down-low guys used in effort to blend into the heterosexual society of which we are all a part of, until I wished I had the ability to send them all into oblivion (well not really, but “day-um”). 

D’Andre Washington and Collin Clarke – two of my three childhood buddies were living their lives on the down-low, hiding behind the women in their lives to mask their true identities, whereas, Todd Berry and myself, Marco Thompson, were living ours as honestly as we could, but with all of these closeted clucks pecking around constantly, I found myself struggling against circumstances beyond my control.  I always found myself getting sucked into their underworld. 

Yea, I said it, “Got-dayum-it” – it is a fucking underworld and they are all like fucking vampires, sucking all of the blood out of me emotionally.  Things were much easier when we were younger because youthful ignorance, I know now, is bliss, but once the step over into adulthood is made, that’s when you realize that the fun times, most times, come with numerous complex complications and too often an even higher price. 

Right now my romantic world is in turmoil because I am being pursued by the leader of an infamous gang called, The Anthill Mob, and his infatuation and charisma caused me to slip up and now I cannot turn him off.  Things escalated after I spent the night with him in hopes of uncovering the meaning behind that phrase that one too many people had recited to me.

“Play that muthafucka to the end, Brotha Marco,”   

 It was falling out of people’s mouth like spit.  Peewee Jones (The gang leader pursuing me), his brother, Darrius (Who showed up at my apartment one late night, unannounced, brandishing a gun) – a gun that went off and missed shooting my lover, Joseph Sparks, had both recited it; as well as, my childhood friend, D’Andre Washington (Who was now in the trench with all of the other questionable ass niggas – and that included my pops, Henry-Lee).

D’Andre had foiled Darrius’s attempt to hurt Joseph and I by tackling him from behind and to the floor (But why in the hell did he just happen to be there at the right time?)  In their scuffle, the gun went off and Darrius caught the bullet intended for me and Joseph and he was the first I heard say it.  He kept reciting the phrase over and over as he was being wheeled out the front door on a stretcher. 

Last but not least…

The late friend of my lover, Joseph, was a member of that gang.  His name was Lancelot Livingston, and he had also quoted it to me and I believe his association with this gang is the reason behind his murder – at least that’s what I think he was murdered for.  I knew it was an execution because of how he was found – his private parts were sliced off and his body was discovered in a neighboring apartment complex’s dumpster.  Joseph notified me of his death by phone and he was mortified – luckily he found out the truth about his shady friend before he got knocked off, because I’m thinking it softened the blow a bit. 

I cannot say that he wasn’t upset thought because, he cried as he told me all of the gory details about Lance’s missing body parts, and where  it was discovered.  I suppose that even though Lance had done something so low, as raping me, neither one of us wanted him to be murdered; however, it’s one of those things that go along with the life he chose to live and the people he chose to run with.  I cannot say that I am not relieved that he is gone, because I would be lying to myself. 

In a few weeks I would be turning 22 years old, and my first year of legal drinking age has been one for the memory books.  I now considered D’Andre Washington to be a former friend because he has abused his friendship privileges in so many ways that I cannot imagine finding a way to forgive him in my heart.  Our association should have really ended years ago when I was giving him boss and he was asking me if I thought my stepsister, Denise, would give it to him.  Hell, right then there was the eye-opener – all I was to him was a means of getting a nut.

Then there were the numerous times that he called me a Faggot.  I mean, come on, once might be a mistake, but twice, and three times more is just out right disrespectful and I always forgave him for his slip of the tongue, but right now I wanted to give him something alright, and it wasn’t forgiveness.  Just the idea of him being involved with The Ant Hill Mob, and the fact that he might be the father of our friend’s girl’s baby, well; there are just too many foul coincidences that are piling up. 

The mere mention of his name caused my skin to crawl now and I know that he had gotten the best of me at Claim Jumper’s that day, but I still wanted another shot at him.  Behind those hazel eyes a snake is lurking and I was going to make “got-dayum” sure that he didn’t continue his unscrupulous charade.  It was time for D’Andre Washington to face the music without a stage, without an audience, and without any exit doors.  Every time things went down, he managed to disappear out of sight and head back to school, but now he was here for whatever reason, and I was going to hold his feet to the fire and get a confession out of him. 

He always managed to roll a 7 or 11, but this time I was going to make sure that he was going to roll snake eyes and crap out.  By the time I got through with him he was going to be singing like a fucking canary. 

When I reached into the envelope that Peewee had left for me, I pulled out a black box that was approximately 4.724 inches squared, with a red bow sitting on top of it, and there was a handwritten note attached that read:  

“Thickness…play this muthafucka to the end…

And when you do, call me,

P.W."

*****This is an excerpt from Season 2****

*****Season 2 will only be available at my store front****

***Monday 12/14/09 by 12:00pm is when I will post****

*****The first 10 Chapters of Season 2****

**** 10 More will post every Monday until Season 2 ends****** 

My Store Front Link on LULU is: http://stores.lulu.com/enlightenment4theheart

LULU uses PayPal a secured method for debit or credit cards. 

The cost to Download will be: $2.00 (USD) each post (10 Chapters Will Be Included in Each Post)

The registration process for LULU is quick and easy and similar to Story Alley’s process.  In registering, there is no obligation for you to buy. 

Again,

Thank you for all of your support and love

Hope to see you on LULU

G. D. Freightman (AKA G. D. Grace)