Sinners Have a Soul Too

By R Smart

People live at least two lives; the one in front of the family and the one outside of that. Now I can say that my more dominant personality is the only life. As a professional, it makes me feel good to know that people look upon me as someone competent, and possessing leadership qualities. Earning the Bachelors and Masters degrees have provided a different level of confidence; however, my development is attributed to a major portion of life in which I call the human services era or the stripping and male prostitution era.
For the past 6 years, teaching and training have been at the forefront. Why tell this story now? Am I worried about what people think? People always compliment the man that I am, so it is necessary to know that mistakes made me into this man. There is not a day that goes by that my thoughts dont rewind to the days of easy money, and frequent sexual encounters. Every time I open a check or check my bank account, my mind takes me to a place where there was no working 8 hours a day to earn minimal money or money being taken from the check to pay taxes. Going back is not an option because of a life fulfilled now. I touch people now, but differently: with my words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 25, 2008
• ISBN: 9781467864794

R Smart

Born and raised in Flint, Michigan, I was drawn to trying to get away from here and the dying area, so college it was. Although college would be out of my reach for some years, my life lessons were prepping for the school. I attended college at Western Michigan University where I earned a Bachelor of Arts in Education and an M.A. in Administration and Supervision from the University of Phoenix. I also involved myself with tons of organizations such as Project Mentor, Big Brother, NAACP, YES, Alumni Network, 21st Century, Upward Bound, Project Team, Bridges, etc. It was important to stay busy everyday to learn new things and veer from the past. My teaching career began in Kalamazoo, Michigan, where I gained wonderful knowledge. I then moved to Charlotte, North Carolina where I taught for the Charlotte Mecklenburg School District, and ended up settling back in the hometown of Flint, Michigan. I moved back to Michigan for my family and now reside in Grand Blanc, Michigan where I taught three years for the Beecher Community School District in Flint, Michigan. During my initial teaching period, I completed a book titled “All in Love is Fair” which helped me calm some demons. I traveled around tremendously to promote the first book and learned the past is only negative if you let it. Writing is something done when not in the middle of training. Teaching and training is my first love; however, my goals extend far beyond the classroom. Now that I am a corporate trainer, my life is fulfilled in different ways.

Book preview

Chapter I

Where Did I Come From?

Introduction

It all started when this young man met this beautiful young woman in the deep-south. Edward Graham met this woman named Nana Mae Robbins. The two of them were like fire and gasoline or fart and a match because they ignited. I have seen the two of them argue and fight. Believe me, it’s some funny shit to watch up close and personal. Imagine two old folks arguing with one another. These two are a story in their own right, but besides that, they had 11 children. One of those children mixed in all that craziness is my mother Leodora Estella Graham. She is a combination of the both of them. Will say anything she deems is appropriate which means she runs off at the mouth, especially if she is in her home. My mother gets angry and everything is shit, ass, dammit, and on occasion you might hear a motherfucker.

On the flipside, there were these two young people who weren’t as explosive but they had enough explosiveness to have at least 12 children of their own up in their early 50’s. Two of those children were just cousins that were considered their children. One of those children was my father Jessie Willie Smart. My Dad is a typical description of a man. He doesn’t say much with words, but he says much with his looks. Takes him a minute to warm up but when he does, you can’t shut him up. Cool and laid back for the most part and only says what is necessary.

Now we have the combination of Robbins, Graham, and Smart. My parents have since taken the place of Nan and Ed because the two of them are funny as hell. The two of them combined to have three children of which I’m the middle one in all this insanity. Why do I call it insanity? My family is crazy as hell. From the top to the bottom; however, I respect it because in all that insanity comes learned logic and growth. My parents came from strict households; therefore we were in a strict household. They didn’t give us shit. Now that I’m a father and sometimes my son needs shoes, I totally understand why my father would say You better get yo ass over here to these cheap shoes. You don’t have no damn job when my eyes looked towards the name brand shoes. Wearing those buddies or what I would refer to as cheap ass shoes taught me so much about earning what is mine. Hard work, labor, sweat, and discipline were year’s worth of boot camp for us. Do not consider this a complaint at all. Those nights of being beat out of my sleep for not doing the dishes or stripping down to nothing to get whipped for not doing well in school all motivated me. There is something about leather on your ass to make you move. People are so sensitive about that stuff now. Beating makes children aggressive. If that is the case, I should be aggressive as hell because my ass saw its fair share of beatings. Those kids who shoot up schools must have gotten their asses whipped too then.

What is so important about my family? Other than the fact that I love them dearly and they taught me the best they could, nothing. It just goes to show that no matter what your parents tell you or try to instill in you, there is always self discovery. Is my reflection and/or story any different than others told? That is a question that couldn’t be answered by me, but by the reader. You can be the judge of that. My story is told in a subject matter format and not in a necessarily sequential setting. Why? The topics that are faced by us now are reflective of many things that we encounter everyday such as religion, relationships, our careers, etc. Everyday we struggle with one of those categories as we try to survive through the days.

As a child, my mind was full of hate for white people, gay people, or crackers and faggots as we used to refer to them. My mind could not fathom the ideas of going to college, citing that those who went to college were sellouts of some sort. Opinions expressed then were those of merit, at least, which is what was thought at the time. My views on women were skewed as well, thinking that all one had to do was treat them well. When we are young, we swear we know everything about the world. My family would always say, You don’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. Seems that line rings true.

Being an educator now, my ears burn and mouth drops at some of the things echoed from the student’s brains, television, and radio. It’s funny because they are only expressing what I used to be; ignorant. My opinions now are only speaking my own personal truths or speaking the truth through eyes that have been on both sides of the fence. Sitting in the gray area is nice in the sense that my worries are limited. If you don’t understand, read on and you will understand exactly what is meant.

We live in a world full of narcissistic people and frankly Mr. Smart is not one of them. One of my joys in life is to people watch, which is a skill learned from my wife. And as my eyes gaze at those people, reminders flash of what this man used to be inside. Scared, lost, guilty, and afraid of what others felt for me, and lonely was a part of my everyday routine. Surprisingly, being depressed was not one of my attributes. My acquaintances were better in that department. It took me a long time to realize I was just talking and thinking 3.6.9 and for those of you that don’t know, it means Shit. Let us first examine the beginning, which for me had to do with women, and ended with women. We will also examine those opinions that formed my current thought pattern. Examining the past opens the door to the present and why opinions were formed. If you are a sensitive person, judgmental in every sense of the word, read further please, because your judgments empower people such as me.

In your life, you will live at least two lives, which is the basis of my life. The life you live in front of your family and the life you live outside of the family is the core. One could also say the life you live outside and the one you live behind closed doors. Family could be considered those you are friendly with if the unit is close, the church or the family themselves. Sometimes we forget the other life we live or led, the things we’ve done and judge others on things we have already done or are doing. I realized early that my life was split and who Rajah really was only came out in front of people who were similar to me. This would be more relevant as my life moved to the darker side of making money, and that was sexploitation. I exploited my body for sex to make money, which turned out to be more of an addiction. Easy money and women became a way of life. However, the struggle wasn’t with how immoral it was, but with how it could be covered up. People look at you different when they find out you have been a stripper or a male prostitute. Truthfully, the life I led molded my thoughts and helped me grow up. However, there was this continuous struggle between Tubby (my nickname) and Rajah, who I really was and wanted to be. Tubby was the front, while Rajah was the real person inside. Am I crazy for splitting my personalities and talking like they are two people? No, but it was the only comfort for me.

There are no excuses that will come from this mouth. My parents didn’t abuse me, nor did I come from a broken home. On the contrary, home was very supportive and lively with me and two brothers. We were disciplined the old fashioned way: with a belt. My parents didn’t buy us the most expensive things or buy us the things we wanted, but the home was still home. Life began shy and innocent, yet turned into a lesson of interesting experiences that would mold and control. How did I get to the point where my body was being sold to make a quick buck? What placed me on a path to selling my soul to the highest female bidder? Is there a simple answer? No, but there is something called curiosity, which killed the cat, in a matter of speaking. I was hooked on drugs, not in the sense you think though. Sex was my drug of choice and it defined me, as well as the women who helped me become a man and for that, respect is due.

At this moment, there is ground to gain on where I professionally want to be; however, this doesn’t make me unhappy. Isn’t happiness what we all seek in the end? Why do we need to seek it at the end; how about at the beginning? People say there are so many interesting stories to share about my life, but the important aspect is how my choices, mistakes, and successes helped. Finally I’ve accepted the truth as to why many of my decisions were made. The important aspect of this story isn’t that it’s so different to others in this position, yet the story accentuates living and how if you keep living, things do prosper. Let us begin with the life leading up to stripping and escorting, the money, and the freedom to be who or what life offers.

Chapter 2

Damn Puberty

As a child, we all have dreams of what we can or will become. The thrill of being Batman or G.I. Joe with the kung-fu grip were my dreams, and as it turns out, they would be dreams. When we are children, we don’t think about relationships, death, bills that must be paid, employment, futures, etc. This is a carefree time until the day comes that marks the end of your childhood. For some it may be puberty, for other children it may be something totally different, and for others that day may never come. Children today are forced to grow up faster, especially since the oldest has to take the responsibility of taking care of siblings. What makes this story different? The story is not really different, yet it is relative to many of us who look back and say I wish I had done this. Our parents or guardians try hard to shield us from the world when we are young. Human beings are inherently curious, so we tend to get ourselves into trouble when we are younger. Parents always seem to put a damper on our curiosities, but now that I am a father myself, my eyes see it was all about love and protection. Love has been a word I have misunderstood for so long. If someone asked me how to define love, the only way I could is in a name or in these words written by my mother……

There is a glow of heaven in my arms with a pug turned up little nose, full round lips that are precious as gold and a smile that reaches down to my soul. That is my beautiful black child. There is a glow of heaven in my arms with a face that shines honey brown; eyes as dark as coal, one of Earth’s most precious ore. That is my beautiful black child. There is a glow of heaven in my arms with cold black hair, soft curly spun out of wool; a child, a gift of love, like stars that shine above. The world is yours to seek. Remember, always land on your feet. That’s my beautiful black child. When you walk, hold your head up high. When you talk, look them in the eyes for there is a glow of heaven in my arms. When your back is against the wall, remember faith will conquer all. Mom and Dad will see thought in any endeavor you choose. That’s my beautiful black child.

It took almost thirty years to realize exactly what love is meant to do. Love is meant to sustain, just as these words by my mother have done for thirty two years.

Childhood is such a precious time, and then it happens. You leave childhood suddenly to approach the teen years. Puberty is the basis for transfer from child to teenager in this society, in theory. The teen years are hard for many of us living in a dream. This is a point of self discovery. I don’t mean playing with your self, of course. It is where we try our hardest to answer those questions we want answered. Where do we belong in life? What will we become? Sometimes we are left to still ponder the answers to those questions. During these years, keeping to myself, never wanting to be a part of the in-crowd was my teen time. Privacy was always an important aspect in the teen years. It is hard at times to differentiate sometimes between wanting your privacy and being lonely. In your mind, you can think that being alone is what you want because there lacks a capacity within to seek out friends.

My memories recall the day when the phase of teenager would knock on my door. It was a Saturday morning when my eyes opened to a life that erupted into a new beginning. Something on my body did not feel right. It was a normal day, not physically different than any other day. My eyes popped opened, had that morning breath, and the crust in the corners of my eyelids. The sun was shining through the window with the glistening of fresh dew flickering off the blades of grass. You could hear the sounds of the birds communicating with one another and my parent’s old 25 inch television volume blasting to the limit. My dad worked in the shop [General Motors] and most of them could not hear, so all the televisions would be loud as hell. My first thought was of whether or not my younger brother had awakened yet. It was customary for me to kick the bottom of his bunk bed just to mess with him. I stretched my arms, only to think that something felt weird on my body. My hand moved down to my underwear, which was stuck to my body. What is the first thing that comes to mind? Pulling the underwear from my body to see the problem would be a challenge seeing that they were stuck to my body with this stench. It is such a hard smell to describe, and the only scent to put on it is that of wet boots. Panic set in as I screamed at the top of my lungs that it, it being the penis, was either broken or upset. Impulse said, jump out of the bed and run to momma because mom can fix everything. The hallway seemed longer than usual, as those legs of mine ran as if I was Michael Johnson to the room. At that point, whatever they were doing in that room was irrelevant. The sound of that door flying open and banging against the wall echoed through the house like a storm.

Mom, I yelled running into their room, What is this!

My finger pointed at my penis scared to death that it was broken. Apparently, my first wet dream occurred and hysteria took over my mind like a tidal wave. The appreciation for my mother grew because she is the type of woman that always explained things to us. She did not believe in shielding us from everything like many parents today. Basically, she always gave us information with graphics included. After I finished screaming, she simply laughed at me and told me to take my little nasty butt to the bathroom. Since she was laughing, the nervousness accompanied with this situation was not so bad. She told me that my father was going to come and talk with me about becoming a young man.

As I yanked the underwear from my body, the feeling of being mortified hovered over me like a cloud. Once setting in occurred, my dad came to the bathroom to tell me about my rough morning. My ears were awaiting this flood of information to come from his mouth. Ideas were going back and forth; awaiting this plethora of information dad was going to drop. Keep in mind though that my dad was not this great communicator. A nod, grunt or a few words were the most you would pull from my father on any given day. If you were looking for some serious discussion, he would not be the one to talk with. He knocked upon the door, opened it and uttered a statement I will never forget.

Yeah, that stuff in your underwear, its sperm, and walked away like he did something.

As you can see, my dad was not a great communicator when it came to the talks. As if there was not enough confusion, he went and made it worse. My head turned towards the mirror, thinking Is that it? There seemed to be more to this than it just being sperm. Hell, there was a pound of this goop in my underwear and it had to have a purpose. Obviously, it was not a pound, but a kid always over dramatizes everything. As my eyes glared in the mirror confused, there was a knock on the door. My mother wanted to know if my dad had come to talk with me. I told her what he told me and there was disapproval in her voice.

Yo Daddy! Hurry up and come out of that bathroom so we can talk. I swear your daddy can be so tired sometimes.

My mind was spinning out of control, wondering what she would say. What did all this mean for me? Rushing out of the bathroom, my legs hurried me to the dining room to hear what she had to say. The table sat by this bay window that looked like we were in a diner. I call it a bay window but it was actually a small window. Hey, you have to have some imagination when you living in a small 3 bedroom, mouse infested trap of a house. The sun shined through the shutters over the window, onto the faded tablecloth. Mom approached slowly as if the end was near. Once in the seat, her lips began to move and the information fell from her mouth like bricks. "You are now a young man. What you just had was called a wet dream.

(For those who can’t deal with graphics, you might want to skip to the next page)

Sometimes while you are sleeping, your mind is stimulated causing the ejaculation from your penis. You may dream about sex or just be really relaxed in your sleep."

I’m hearing this and realizing that words such as sex, ejaculation and penis are being said. The whole conversation threw me for a loop.

You will begin to have desires, sexual desires for young women. Women will begin to excite you, meaning your penis will become erect with the thought of girls and having sex.

Cartoons were still an active part of my life at the age of twelve. Hell, I still liked playing with my G.I. Joe’s with the kung–fu grip. All of this was a bit too much, yet I wanted her to continue. The next thing she began to elaborate on was sex itself. The topic had always been a mystery to me, partly because I was not having it. Our minds formulate ideas about things that we don’t do because we aren’t doing them. My older brother and I used to sneak and watch the Playboy channel when we were younger, but I never got into it. My brother knew better than me what we were watching on the screen. There was always a lot of heavy breathing and the man moving back and forth. The woman seemed to really enjoy him moving. Never was there a realization that he actually was moving something in and out of her. My mind to this day did not understand the excitement behind watching other people have sex.

My mother explained to me the woman and the anatomy of the woman. She broke down the vagina as if it were an engine. We discussed infections, the cycle, and the big one then: Pregnancy. No part of me was nervous or scared, but interested even more. After the discussion, there were tons of things floating around through my head, but most of it can be attributed to curiosity. It is funny to think about how pregnancy was such a big thing. Fast forwarding to the now, pregnancy is the last thing many worry about because there are diseases that make your limbs fall off, make you go blind. Some you carry around for the rest of your life. Damn! But there was Mom, breaking it down like a champ and me realizing what all this equipment on the body was for.

As the days went by, there were subtle changes in my body and mind. There was a little growth over my body, but I was really impressed with the fact that I had a moustache now. It wasn’t that thick; however, you could see it enough. Being a boy, I was one who was not that interested in bathing on a regular basis. Playing outside all day and then climbing in the bed at night was not uncommon for me. To sum it up, I was a dirty little bastard. My mother used to do cruel things to us to get us to wash regularly. For example, once I had a friend over, so she decided to pull out my underwear while they were there and talk about me.

You need to learn how to wipe yo ass. Look at these stains in the back. I get tired of seeing these in your underwear.

Let’s just say that her brand of motivation worked. Towards the end of my 12th year of life, my habits began to change anyway. Showers, haircuts, and ironed clothes were an everyday thing. I took at least three showers per day, ironed everything, including socks and underwear or what we called drawers or drawals. In my earlier years, girls had always shown a genuine interest in me, yet my mind never gave them a second thought. Insecurity and low self esteem plagued me at a young age and would follow closely through the years.

At the age of ten, a young girl tried to seduce me by unzipping her pants slowly to expose her vagina. Truthfully, I did not know what to do or say, so ignoring her advances seemed like the perfect action at the time. Girls used to walk past our house just to get a glimpse of me. My mom swears to this day that I have this mojo or juju that attracts women. Honestly, at this time, my self esteem was really low. My mind told me that I was okay, but females told me I was cute or fine.

Things were different for me at this time. When those girls flirted, my body responded. My mouth salivated at the chance of having sex with a girl. Wet dreams began to be a common thing, which I hated more than anything. That shit is so embarrassing when you have to get up in the middle of the night and wash your ass. Don’t get caught washing yourself in the bathroom. It seems that your family does everything they can to embarrass the shit out of you. My mother would fuss at me and tell me to at least soak the stained underwear in front of my grandmother and aunts. Don’t have your cousin sleep over and have one. How do you explain that? Puberty created this brand new form of insecurity, and no matter how much it would try to be ignored, the feeling multiplied. There was this feeling that would not shake me. My friends called it horniness; maybe, but all I know is I wanted to do it. Why? The only reason one can come up with is it is natural. Like any young boy, my dreams would take me to one day having sexual intercourse. As the days moved forward, my desire to bang some girl increased heavily.

After all the waiting, the dreaming, the planning, and the hoping, the day would come when the flood gates opened and someone would let this monkey out the bag. Fast forwarding ahead, women would become an addiction and a hobby. They were not conquests, but customers, friends, lovers, esteem builders, teachers, but that is another story. No part of me could disrespect a woman, nor dishonor their virtue, until my virtue was destroyed. As a perfectionist, it was my responsibility to learn what women wanted. Initially, the drive was to satisfy, not thinking of the rewards one could ascertain from women. Gifts refer to wherever you can place your mind. The road would lead me to other avenues that surround sex. Sit back and follow the road map of development for this man. Some stories are more descriptive; however, they all play a major role. The women I have had the fortune of meeting were lovers and some were just friends, but they all taught me something.

Chapter 3

First Time

Mica

In middle school, we experience the pressures of what being a teenager is really about. Sex, dating, and relationships really become introduced. Middle school was bigger than elementary in my mind and the mind of others. Bryant Middle School was the name and this would be the preying grounds for my first dabble in dating. Bryant was a nice two story brick school, surrounded by windows, complete with a courtyard in the middle to plant flowers. For the students that went there, this was big time. The one class that stands out in my mind is Mr. Gore, a German teacher who never realized he was in the States and that the war was over. That man would talk about the craziest things. I would tell you, but that is the problem, I’m clueless. Why is it that you always remember the teachers who don’t teach you shit? That man made us copy notes out of a book to use on a test that did not have any of the information from the book. His belly hung over his belt like a spare home and his breath smelled like that red shit Borsch he used to drink all the time. There was one thing that was taken from that class though. In that class was where my eyes memorized the face of the first girl who would ignite that sense of lust.

My mind stores the memory of the first female that crushed me. Mica had this pretty little brown skin with long beautiful legs that seemed like they could go on for days. They stopped at this big behind or big booty that excited me terribly. Her waist was petite and she had small breasts; however, the handful is what I wanted. Little did I know that Mica would be the model for which I shaped most of my females in the future. My mind lusted for her always and it could think of nothing but having sex with her. She didn’t know I liked her; no one knew. Mica did not seem as though she would be bothered with someone like me. There were days in that class where my eyes would be locked on her, dreaming of feeling on her body in some way, like you saw on the television soft porn. Those movies with the Lions chasing the Lioness to get some booty made sense to me now. The hunger inside this body; tore through me, inciting me to rip my clothes off. I know, it is getting melodramatic, but I wanted some of what she had. The only way to explain it is walking outside when it is raining and those drops continue to pop you in the head. That is the irritation faced when you are horny.

In class, two of my friends were talking about the girls they liked, and which ones had the biggest asses. It was important for me to contribute of course, so I opened my big mouth and told them. ‘Man, Mica is fine than a mug. I want that. Before the sentence dropped, my friend Alex yells, What! Man you better go talk to her then. Naw you scared, you scared, he exclaimed. No I’m not. She got a boyfriend. You know you had to say that to play off the fact that you were scared. You should say something, Marquis said. She ain’t gonna know if you don’t tell her. It was impossible because fear was beating down my door. They were right, but you can’t let your friends know that you are scared. They will think you’re a punk." There it is, the word punk. Impressing your friends is common and while you are impressing, they are impressing in return. My mind was made up to drop it and let it be because she wouldn’t be interested in me. At least it was planned to drop the whole thing but you know friends can’t hold shit in their minds.

The next class period, one of my friends for whom I told that there was an attraction to Mica, decided to pass a note to one of her friends. Unaware of the note, my day continued as any other day would. The long English class, physical education, home economics, math, history and the best part, lunch. After school at my locker, someone patted me on the shoulder and as my body turned, guess who appeared. Mica asked if it was true that I wrote the letter.

Rajah, as she tapped me on the shoulder, Did you write this letter?

The whole world stopped as it came down to this one question. If I say yes, what will she do? If the answer is no, will I lose my opportunity with her? With all the courage in my heart and soul, I said yes. Trying to play it cool seemed like the right thing to do at this moment. There was this unexpected reaction from Mica. She began to smile brightly and asked Why didn’t you say anything?

‘Hadn’t got around to it,’ I replied.

‘Well, here is my number. Call me tonight so we can talk.’

She was real cool about it and that really helped put my heart at ease. There was still a level of privacy that was needed. In my mind, no one should know about this, including my family. In the past, there were girlfriends; however, that was just acting. It was basically dating someone because it seemed like it was what you were supposed to do. This time it was strictly due to a desire to have sex.

Once arriving home, the anticipation of calling her seemed unbearable. What would I say to her? Being young, you really don’t know what girls want to hear. You don’t want to say the wrong thing and be rejected because we all are scared of rejection to a certain degree. My thoughts were collected, but my heart was pounding as my index finger dialed the digits. Of course, we had a rotary phone, so it took a little longer to actually dial all seven digits.

Once I finally made the call, it was clear to me that Mica was a very sweet and nice girl. She was probably the nicest female I would ever meet because she was still young. She had not quite developed into what my eyes see in front of me today as far as women are concerned. Hurt, damaged, religious beings that hide behind a wall of fantasy are the summation for some women today. They hide behind religion to protect them from men or hide behind words they speak to make them seem stronger than they are inside.

She was young and it made the difference. It was pretty apparent the two of us were young, curious and innocent. We talked for a long period of time, mostly through the night. Mica did not really want anyone to know that we were talking and neither did I. Friends tend to get too involved in your relationship at that age. Being in your friends business is all a part of the school experience.

After a while, people assumed we went together; however, we never really got the chance. Mica and I became really good friends who talked and shared many different things. She was like my sister and I was like her brother, but truthfully, I still wanted to have sex with her. On the weekends, we would often hang out, usually to watch videos. Our relationship was like this for about three months, and that is a long time in teen time. However, that never changed the fact that sex was in my mind.

Often times, her mom was never at home, so we spent quite a bit of time together alone after school. An hour here and an hour there was the most time because if my butt was not at home, Dad would find me. One afternoon, the two of us began to speak on a subject in which neither one of us was too experienced.

Rajah, have you ever seen those movies with those people doing it she replied.

Stunned was only half of the feeling.

Not really. My brother and I watch them sometimes, but it is confusing. It bothers me to watch people doing that when I can be doing it myself.

Mica began to laugh hysterically. What was said that was funny was a mystery to me.

Have you ever done it with anybody? I know I haven’t. How does it feel when you do it? She was assuming that sex was something I had already experienced. Maybe there was a look about me that said he knows how to do it. Telling her that virginity was still very prevalent in my life was embarrassing, but she did not take it like that.

Mica, I have never done it either. You probably know more than me. My momma told me what you are supposed to do, but I’ve never actually used it on a girl.

Her face could have been interpreted to say many different things, but her mouth literally let the monkey out the bag.

Would you try it with me, I mean if you don’t want to she replied in a soft and insecure voice. With the speed of light, my mouth cut her off.

NO, I WOULD LOVE TO TRY IT WITH YOU!

The two of us arose from the couch in the living room, where we were watching television, and headed to her room. Her room was located in the back of the house, so it would not be easy to know if someone came in the house, but that was not something that worried me. Initially, the comfort of the situation was not present. There was no taking her by the hand or carrying her to the room. My body was not designed for that mess yet. Damn the romance, I just wanted some love. Mica tapped me softly in the face and ran to the back for her room. With my eyes closed, I sat on the couch for a few seconds to gather myself as my nerves kicked into high gear. The word finally ran through my mind, bearing down like a hammer. What do I do? What if she hates it? The questions slowed me and stopped me from growing excited. The house was dim, as the light ran from the walls to prepare for the afternoon. Every detail of the home was recorded in my head, from the leaning plant all the way to the big broken wooden spoon on the wall. Closing all those things out of my mind, it was time to go to her room and enter so to speak. My penis hurt because the swelling and hardness was at full blast, making me feel as if a cast iron skillet could be hung from the tip.

Walking through the door, she extended her hand to mine as she slowly led me to the bed. Tense is not a word used for this situation, more like scared. As I walked in, Mica closed the door behind me, turning to me slowly, seemingly nervous. Since neither one of us knew what to do, it was important for her to be comfortable. My mind began to capture images of those television porno films. Every part of my body was excited over this moment. What was about to happen to me is every young heterosexual guy’s fantasy. As we turned to one another, the appropriate thing to do was kiss. Since I had never kissed a female, it was important to try and get it right. It was instantaneous the way the kiss just happened. The mind runs a thousand miles as you focus on what to do. Make sure you don’t bite her lip, slob down her chin or kiss too forcefully were the things rupturing my mind. The nervousness seemed to subside a bit because the kiss opened the door to desire. Since we both did not really know what we were doing, we decided to play it by ear.

Being that my self esteem was low, I was a little hesitant about removing my clothes, especially the underwear. There was not much hair around my penis area, and it seemed you needed hair to be considered a man. Now looking at it, I wish there was still minimal hair.

Mica was just as hesitant, but looking at her, it was hard to understand why. She was so beautiful. Once we removed our clothes, we peered at one another’s bodies. Never in my life had these eyes seen a girl naked in person. Although we were young, she was a woman to me. We approached one another and our bodies touched, feeling each others skin touch. Her body pressed against mine was a feeling that I would never forget or feel again for a long time. The softness of her breasts and abdomen locked in my brain. Her hands ran down my back as my hands rested on her ass to squeeze it like it was Charmin. It was so firm, yet soft that I grew more excited. We stepped back with my eyes concentrated on her vagina, and her eyes on my penis. My insides were shaking because my mind thought she thinks my penis is too small. The thought of size is implanted in all young men’s minds. How? Who knows, but it is a very important thing to a male. Where young men get the idea of your penis needing to be down to the floor was beyond me, but that was not a problem for me. I was glad that my stuff was not a little dill pickle or something along that size.

Mica did not seem to dislike the size because she approached me and placed her hand gently on my penis, touching me out of curiosity. Besides, what would she have to compare it to? The feeling was too much as my legs began to shake. My hands ran down her small, yet beautiful breasts, satisfying my curiosity. Realizing that her mom would be returning home, we kicked it into high gear. Mica and I separated, walked around the bed and we both pulled the covers back to get in the bed.

It would be great to tell you that my performance was a high caliber performance, but that didn’t happen. Leodora Smart told me that a woman had to be lubricated, but that was not clear to me until this day. It was still a little unclear to me where the penis actually was supposed to enter. After about five minutes of speculation, she was finally lubricated enough for me to enter. You can imagine this destroying the mood to a degree. The situation did not grow better seeing that it was only about six minutes worth of sex, foreplay included. As those last few humps came, so did this feeling over my body. A drug seemingly took over my body sending pleasure throughout. I had no clue what was happening to me and then it happened. The big bang erupted and my body released this pleasure that could easily become addictive. Afterwards, there was nothing that could be done. My body was done with this act and completely drained. What about Mica? It is clear that she was not as satisfied, but we both learned something that day. We learned that we did not know what the hell we were doing, but I personally learned that there was more to learn. My pleasure was filled; however, I did not like the feeling of her not being satisfied. Here it was, we both had sex, but I understand more of what happened and she understands less. Why? The male has less to do to hit that level of eroticism whereas the woman needs more and Mica did not find that out with me of course. That would be the first and last time the two of us would do that, never to speak on it again.

While getting dressed, we laughed a little bit, but things were not the same. For the first time, we experienced what sex can do to a friendship if taken to that level. Matter of fact, that day, I walked my self out and never came back to her home. We talked a few times afterwards and after a while, the words faded into the distance. Maybe the sex was really that bad or it was just those feeling of inadequacy for something that we had done in which we were not ready for. Imagine that, lessons from our younger years teaching us something for the future. Of course that lesson was ignored.

Chapter 4

The Friend

Sharon

Sharon made life fun for a young boy that was forced to stay at home all the time. The idea of having a female friend was cool; however, I also did not want to come off being gay. As I was growing up you would always hear guys call other guys gay for hanging with women. When you are young, that word carries so much negativity, like punk or sissy. After a while, the words mean nothing if you don’t allow them to mean something. Sharon was so important that those words fell by the wayside. She would be my introduction into a world of enjoyment, which was scarce in my life.

The two of us never went to the mall or anything related to the mall as friends. Strangely enough, we met one another at the mall. This was during the time that there was still an Imperial Sports shoe store there. She was in the store with a group of her friends. Back then, hanging in the mall was the thing to do with your friends. I was there with this guy named Andre and the two of us noticed her and her crew staring at us. Honestly, I thought she was staring at him. Upon first looking, she was a small young woman, shaped and flawless as crystal. Looking into her eyes was like staring into space to seek out the stars. They were that deep and mesmerizing. The sounds of Pre-New Jack Swing music echoed through the speakers in the store as she moved closer and closer. As she approached, I can recall how the track lighting in the store beamed off her jet black hair, as the strands fell to her neck relaxed and flawless. She seemed to be egged on by her friends, which was the case most of the time when you are hanging. Andre was jabbing me with his elbow, alluding to the fact that she was approaching me to talk. My mind wondered what should be said to her or should I just be quiet and allow her to do the talking. Before my words could formulate and roll off my tongue, she asked my name with a crack in her voice, showing me that she was just as nervous.

‘What’s your name?’ she uttered in this shaking tone.

‘My name is Rajah.’

‘WHAT!’ she exclaimed.

‘R-a-j-a-h.’

‘You don’t have to say it like I’m stupid.’

‘I wasn’t saying it like anything; just saying it slow. That’s all.’

‘Sounds like you were trying to be smart.’

It was funny that the two of us began to have an argument over the correct pronunciation of my name. It was necessary to ask her name before we go too far.

‘And your name is what?’

‘Sharon, but you can call me Sharon.’

‘Cute.’

‘I know. Can I have your number because they don’t think I can get it?’

They referred to her friends, so I was assuming that they bet her she could not get the number. Just for kicks, the number was slid to her on the condition that she would give me her number. We exchanged numbers and that was the beginning of a friendship that would dictate many of the friendships for the future. As she walked away, my eyes watched her move in her tight acid wash jeans and a shirt manufactured by the same company. My mind memorized the small rip in the knee of the jeans as well as the fineness of the hair which was laced across her arms. She walked with her friends, but turned her neck slightly to look at me again. Something told me that she was more interested than she appeared to be in the store.

In the beginning of our friendship, Sharon and I would argue about trifle things. Who was the better basketball player at the time? Who is the best singer? Who was the best group? We stayed on the phone hours at a time. Some of that time was breathing back and forth with the occasional question: what are you doing? The majority of our time was spent on the phone talking or watching the video channel at her home. By this time, my age was sixteen and very sheltered. While my brothers were allowed to hang, duties such as cutting the grass, washing dishes, cooking, dusting, and doing laundry filled my days. For a while, it felt like the only reason for my birth was to serve and assist my parents. During rare free time, Sharon would be my escape from the hustle and bustle. The bus was a good friend, as it shuttled me to and from her neck of the woods. The time spent within her home would be a mind cleansing experience.

Sharon’s home was a two story brick, vinyl siding home with a huge yard. We lived in Flint, on the north side, so their home was a mansion in my eyes. As you enter the front door the foyer floor was covered in a marvelous granite tile. The granite shined and reflected the enormous staircase flowing from the second story. Both of her parents worked for General Motors or Generous Motors, so they could afford the luxuries in the house. The den belonged to her father, covered in manly types of items. The knotty pine reached across the walls while the floor highlighted wood. The lazy boy sat close to the 32-inch television in which Sharon’s father spent much of his time. The living room was all white from the couches, tables, and carpet. No one was allowed to enter those areas.

From the beginning, her parents were always nice and trusting of me. Going up to her bedroom and hanging out was a natural thing to do because neither of us had sex on our minds. Our relationship would change from a dating to a more friendly relationship. She was the closest thing to a sister these eyes would ever see. She needed a friend and I needed an escape from hard labor. The one weird aspect of our relationship was the fact that she would shower and dress in front of me. Rarely was I excited by this, which made me realize we were really close. I’m sorry, that is complete bullshit. That is what my mind was trying to tell me, but that other part wanted some. For the most part, there were not constant thoughts about having sex with her. Although, the first time I saw her body drenched with water, my body reacted. The water and beads of sweat ran down the center of her chest as if it was the clear water from