Category: Content

The fa’afinafe

“Sort of. I was in school, back in Apia. She wasn’t, she was older,” Poahi said. He paused as though there was more to the story that he wasn’t saying.

Poahi shook his head as he took a hit. Then, with his lungs still full, his voice deep yet nasal, he said, “I have never been dumped, not by a serious girlfriend or anything.”
“Really?”
“Nope. Only person who ever dumped me and made me cry was… well, I was young then.”
“High school sweetheart?” Lance took the bong and lit it. This time his hit was much more practiced and fluid, and he coughed, but wasn’t in a lot of pain. It didn’t look so amateurish.
“Sort of. I was in school, back in Apia. She wasn’t, she was older,” Poahi said. He paused as though there was more to the story that he wasn’t saying.
“Did you love her?”
“No,” he said as though the answer should have been obvious. “She was… A lot of the guys in my school rammed her.”
“Ah. So she was kind of a slut?”
He shrugged. “I guess so. It wasn’t like that. She was…” Poahi sighed. “She was a fa’afinafe.”
“… What?”
“It’s a Samoan thing. She was a, well… We call her a woman. But she was really a man,” he said as he exhaled. “She was…”
“A man who lived as a woman?”
“Yeah. We call them fa’afafine. Her name was Kekepovi, and I felt alofa for her,” Poahi said. “Do not tell no one, okay? Only Polys understand.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. Nobody knows how to make a cock feel better than someone who has one,” Lance said. He declined his next bong hit, as his head was already swimming. He smiled. He felt much better now, and the breakup felt like the distant past.
“Hell yeah.” Poahi took one more big hit to finish the weed off in the stem, then put the bong down. “Can I tell you a secret? Something not even other Polys understand?”
“Okay.”
Poahi exhaled a huge plume of bluish smoke. He sighed with satisfaction. “Uh… She jerked me off a lot. And I put it in her ass.”
“Okay… That’s kinda what I assumed happened.”
“But that is not all. She…” He blushed and averted his eyes.
“She plowed you too?”
He winced. “Don’t put it like that.”
“Oh, sorry. I mean… she made love to you too.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Bloody hell, don’t put it like that either.”
“Sorry.”
“But yeah,” he shifted his weight on his couch.
“I know.”
“But it wasn’t bad.”
“Poahi… Do you want to do it again?” Lance asked. He didn’t really think too much about the question, he just saw an opportunity and went for it. He assumed Poahi was going to say no, and Lance was all set to pretend he had just been kidding.
But then Poahi did not say no.

From The Apia Alpha

His mouth was full of cranberries

His thick Boston stawk made it sound like his mouth was full of cranberries. When he spoke, his Boston accent either aroused Desmond or made him laugh, it was hard to tell.

His thick Boston stawk made it sound like his mouth was full of cranberries. When he spoke, his Boston accent either aroused Desmond or made him laugh, it was hard to tell.

From The Boston Alpha

She was a high-yellow female with wide hips and tits you can believe in, a pussy that goes on and on and legs that connect her feet to a delicious ass.

She stood like a shapely traffic cone in the doorway to one the apartments on the second floor of Brentwood. It was a trash-high shithole, and she shimmied in her slinky dress like she was unaware of the trashy environs when she peeped her eyes upon his handsomeness Slim Jay.

He stopped at Brentwood Apartments. He gots a situation to deal with. One his bitches called his cell — not a text, she phoned. That’s how you know it’s serious. He told his bitches to call if they got troubles. Texts is for trifles.
The bitch was Bethlyn. She was a high-yellow female with wide hips and tits you can believe in, a pussy that goes on and on and legs that connect her feet to a delicious ass. Her body be thick but not fat, real nice. And she was only twenty-something, so she got years of tautness in her tang. She stood like a shapely traffic cone in the doorway to one the apartments on the second floor of Brentwood. It was a trash-high shithole, and she shimmied in her slinky dress like she was unaware of the trashy environs when she peeped her eyes upon his handsomeness Slim Jay.
“Hmmm, hi baby, love you,” she said when Slim Jay arrivated in the apartment. He gave her a nigga nod but strode in on the lookout for a jiving john.

From Slim Jay the Pimp

Delaware ladies got ugly faces but fantastic tits

Lotta ’em wears comfortable shoes, they do, and they plays them some softball. But the brothel, at least, got proper ones.

He don’t wanna risk a chance to fuck one the Delaware ladies. They not that purdy cuz nuttin’ in Delaware was purdy, whole damn state look like a broke-down toilet and do smell like a clean urinal. T’was a long drive from Baltimore to Rehobeth, and Buck was glad to get away from the city fer awhile.
The brothel was a fancy-looking house that got too many people in it to be fancy. There was a bar on the outfront chock-fulla fellahs — mostly young people on break from college, it seemed — and the second and upper floors got tons of bedrooms with ladies in ’em. Dang doodle them’all was buxom ladies too. Delaware ladies got ugly faces but fantastic tits. Lotta ’em wears comfortable shoes, they do, and they plays them some softball. But the brothel, at least, got proper ones.
T’was when one lady, a purdy redhead with tits like campfires, came strutty-footing down the hall. “Hey, guys,” she said, her tits like maaaad jumping. She smelled like keeewees and strawberry, and you just know her hair smelled sweet! She do get a hillbilly’s heart a-racing! She batted them eyelids at Buck like you wouldn’t believe. “You two lookin’ for somethin’?”

From Buck on Bottom

He was a scowling soybean, ticktocky voice like snapping chopsticks

B’fore’n the tussle ‘tween ’em could erupt, a hubbub commotioned itself behind ’em, and they both turned to see someone walk in. They both squared up.
Ain’t nobody allowed in they dead-end.
But it was Mistah Chow, the wonton-shape sunnyskin sumbitch who do run this oil rig. He was a scowling soybean, ticktocky voice like snapping chopsticks, and he looked down his nose at Lem fer being black and Buck fer being a hillbilly and the both them fer being American, trashy, ugly, dumb, hairy and barbaric. He do curl his lip. “You two, you go see medic, you have med-ic-aw fowms to do — you have vassinayshun, yes? You have done vassinayshun?” He stopped short on a frown like somebody spilled his rice when he seed the porno magazine in Lem’s hand. He grabbed it. “You haff po-no?”
“Aw, Mistah Chow-“
“No po-no! Is iwegaw!” Mistah Chow backed outta the dead-end, porno magazine in hand. “Go to med-ic to-night!” He was shouting like a Chinaman do, like a siren with a stutter, as he left the dead-end, and his words faded to machine-gunning echoes on all down the corridor.
A cathedral of silence spread thru the dead-end, and Buck and Lem exchanged knowing glances.

From Buck on Bottom

Buck don’t get that, but he don’t question the ways of crazy old black men. It’s a personal rule, and it do serve him well.

“Sweaty whiteboys smell like a closet of ham.”

Lem been suggesting they ‘trade off’ — that meant they both slurp upon each other’s knobs. It sounded narsty to Buck. He’d rather jack his own self off. Buck done made it clear he don’t admire to do that. He don’t wanna taste Lem’s old-homeboy dick. Lem steady went on ’bout it, slapping his limpness ‘tween his ropy thighs.
Supposably, black boys be doing it in prison.
“T’ain’t no thang, Buckums! You just gotsta focus on yo’ own meat steada yo’ mouf! You eat pussy! Ain’t no d’rent dan eatin’ pussy!” Lem don’t eat pussy. He do say it demeans a nigga. Buck’ll lick a female, no problem. Buck got no compinktions ’bout a pussy.
If’n Lem gets drunk ’nuff, he will lick a bitch’s asshole. Buck don’t get that, but he don’t question the ways of crazy old black men. It’s a personal rule, and it do serve him well.
As Lem went on and on like some crackhead’s crackhead uncle, Buck began his workout. He did push-ups, counting hisself off, and his broad shoulders sweated out, wafting his manhood into they dead-end. Eventually he dropped off his jeans and continued his push-ups in his drawers. He weared tight-whites, his asshair peeking round the frayed edges. The fabric was soaked up by the small of his back and his taint, wet ’nuff to be transparent.
“You stink, hillbilly,” Lem said with a harsh-eyed glare when Buck done finisht his push-ups. Buck ain’t respond. He just rested upon his belly ’til he was ready, then he rolled o’er onto his back, his drawers’s poucha fat balls jiggling to a rest ‘tween his legs. Lem put out a frown. “Sweaty whiteboys smell like a closet of ham.”

From Buck on Bottom

Both was correct in they own fashion.

B’fore a’ry of ’em knewed it, they drawers was off, and Buck and Deon played with they dingdongs absent-minded-like as they debated the movie’s story. There was a blonde and a brunette. Deon suggested a nigga stay preferring the blonde cuzza her ass, which was like perky possums in a paira pouches, while Buck said the brunette, she got bigger tits, like tasty volleyballs they was. Both was correct in they own fashion.

“Hell yeah, you can tell she puts out too!” Deon said. He stood up outta his camp chair, but that don’t even really make him much taller. Even standing, he was shorter’an the seated Buck. Deon jabbed a finger at the screen. “Whoop that! Fuckin’ white bitches, man, they let you know when they wanna fuck! That bitch wanna fuck!”

B’fore a’ry of ’em knewed it, they drawers was off, and Buck and Deon played with they dingdongs absent-minded-like as they debated the movie’s story. There was a blonde and a brunette. Deon suggested a nigga stay preferring the blonde cuzza her ass, which was like perky possums in a paira pouches, while Buck said the brunette, she got bigger tits, like tasty volleyballs they was. Both was correct in they own fashion.

From Buck on Bottom

the soma and the pneuma

“Hmmm,” Mistah Yancey said with a vague but comfortable cluck of his tongue, a sound that gestured at and acknowledged the futility of combatting the creep of caducity, that communicated and demonstrated his compassion at a socioculturally appropriate level and that constituted and signified his acceptance of the inevitable entropy of the soma and the pneuma. He sipped deep from his wine. “You look well. You worked out in prison?”

“How is your grammaw, Buck?” Mistah Yancey axed. He sat back down with his wine.
“Grammaw Daisy, she doin’ fine, reckon, I ain’t seed her in a spell. She ain’t do no vis’tation in prison, on accounta she don’t drive. But she did call me, and she sent me pitchers. In the mail. She gots a liver thang. Doctuh say she need pills, but you know how she is, she discotton to takin’ pills.”
“Hmmm,” Mistah Yancey said with a vague but comfortable cluck of his tongue, a sound that gestured at and acknowledged the futility of combatting the creep of caducity, that communicated and demonstrated his compassion at a socioculturally appropriate level and that constituted and signified his acceptance of the inevitable entropy of the soma and the pneuma. He sipped deep from his wine. “You look well. You worked out in prison?”

From Buck on Bottom

It was like godzilla losing to Dallas and Fort Worth at the same time!

Steel closed his eyes and pictured that Gemima, she weren’t in Lipsweet tonight but she was a couple weeks ago and Steel went back to her place and he fucked her up the pussy til she said she couldn’t take it no more. He nutted four times that night. Four! Last one was just some titty-fucking, cuz she said she was done by then, but still, she got huge titties, so that was fine. It was like godzilla losing to Dallas and Fort Worth at the same time!

Steel closed his eyes and pictured that Gemima, she weren’t in Lipsweet tonight but she was a couple weeks ago and Steel went back to her place and he fucked her up the pussy til she said she couldn’t take it no more. He nutted four times that night. Four! Last one was just some titty-fucking, cuz she said she was done by then, but still, she got huge titties, so that was fine. It was like godzilla losing to Dallas and Fort Worth at the same time!

From Winston Steel & the White Man

every week the shit’s higher, hows gettin’ whyer

He was keeping it real, keeping it tight, let sleeping tits lie, his feeling hits rye, the bottle’s a liar, steeples inspire, God’s turtles is dire, this nigga’s feet spits fire, and every week the shit’s higher, hows gettin’ whyer, buyers flipping whiter hips for hire. Steel do now sit in the wisdom of God’s pyre.

Goober let Steel into the police station proper and then led him into the backa it. That was where the jailhouse sat. A couple flickersome lights cast long shadows, it seemed like every light was aimed at Steel’s eyes. Brightness drilling like a roughneck. Nigga need a beer. His head hurt. He wasn’t hungover, this was just the way he was now, this is what it is to be sober. The drunk tank was up front, it was the big cell that smelled like vomit and got like thirty guys in it passed out. Steel wished he was one of ’em. Then there was a couple one-off cells, prolly empty but it was hard to see in the dark wanna drink wanna drink wanna drink good god Steel maintained though, he was keeping it real, keeping it tight, let sleeping tits lie, his feeling hits rye, the bottle’s a liar, steeples inspire, God’s turtles is dire, this nigga’s feet spits fire, and every week the shit’s higher, hows gettin’ whyer, buyers flipping whiter hips for hire. Steel do now sit in the wisdom of God’s pyre.
Not really cuz Steel apparently don’t know what pyre means, that was gonna sound wise as fuck, it don’t make sense now that he googled it. Don’t google it. But you know, you can figure it out. It’s in the bible, all the wisdoms in the universe is in the bible.

From Winston Steel & the White Man