“Which one you lookin’ at?” Lem turned the magazine around, so now Steel was looking at the female Lem was looking at a second ago and vice versa. Lem sucked on his teeth. “This bitch got a played-out pussy. You can tell.”
“Which one you lookin’ at?” Lem turned the magazine around, so now Steel was looking at the female Lem was looking at a second ago and vice versa. Lem sucked on his teeth. “This bitch got a played-out pussy. You can tell.” “Can’t even see her pussy, Lem-“ “A nigga can tell!” Lem snapped. He glared at Steel. “I’d still fuck her. But I’d hafta work at it to make her cum. I wouldn’t lick her pussy neither. Nuh-uh. Not a bitch like that.”
“I’ll lick any white bitch pussy,” Steel said. Lem looked at him like he was crazy. “What the fuck is wrong wit’choo? You prolly got white-ho-pussy brain, cuz you ate out so many bitches you got a pussy in yo’ skull in place of the brain. You lick a ho pussy? You eat a nigga nut up!”
Lentils was just flat beans, and Buck do spoon beans up.
Then Buck got up again to get some of the Porchagees soups and a fish thang that had rice, and being a good boy his grandmamas raised right, Buck got all the veg’ables too. There was eggplant in sauce and onions in a different sauce, plus these roasted like turnips or sump’in, Buck do eat them up fer sh’ore, and two veg’able curries. One was lentils, one was other. Buck liked the other. Lentils was good too though. Lentils was just flat beans, and Buck do spoon beans up.
Buck got a big bowl and wolfed ’em down, ‘long with a scoop of curry and a bowl of miscellaneous Muslim food — that’s how they do, Muslims put buncha diff’rent stuff in a bowl steada having diff’rent dishes, whereasever Indians put buncha diff’rent stuff together and make one dish, then put it in a bowl. Only Americans did it right, with a main dish and some sides, on a plate, not a bowl. But Buck do eat the Muslim food and the Indian food, he got no quarrels with they bowls.
A wife constituates half the puzzle men is commanded to complete.
Brother Reno agreed to take a cold shower next time he lusted up in his heart. Malcolm weren’t sure if he believed Brother Reno was gonna follow through on that plan, but he believed Brother Reno believed in it. He was on the road to satisfaction.
He need a wife, Malcolm thought. A man without a wife gonna end up in sin, nine times outta ten. A wife constituates half the puzzle men is commanded to complete.
The Littlest Dandy is a flamboyant circus impresario, while Pavel is the muscle-bound strongman who travels alongside him. When Pavel suffers spiritually, Dandy is eager to help, even if that means getting a piece of Pavel’s powerful backside!
Can Pavel bend over and take what Dandy has to offer?
Fletcher is secure in prison cuz he’s a Blood in good standing… or is he?! His new cellmate is a massive brute, the legendary pro football linebacker Tanktop Jones. Is Fletcher still secure in the Bloods?
Or does Tanktop have the right to do what he wants to Fletcher’s tender booty?!
The lights were all on. Johnny Redcob had never seen Lipsweet with all the lights on. The ubiquitous dinge was dusty and saggy, every surface cracked into fractions like an old turtle shell. Chairs were held together with duct tape. The floor was stained a melange of off-kilter colors reminiscent of faded vomit and blood. A few customers sat awkwardly nursing drinks at tables here and there, wincing at the bright light, but nobody danced. Nobody much spoke either. FromJohnny Redcob the Bouncer
He went to Lipsweet, a trashy bar near the Indian reservation. It was a strip club — tops only — with a reputation for loose women. Perhaps prostitutes, or so the men of Amarillo said.
Sasha Lavendeur is a man-about-town, a stylish dandy who pursues his interest in the male form, no matter what. In Texas, a man like him tends to get what he wants… or who he wants! He manages to nab a moonshinin’ hillbilly, a cook at the barbecue joint, a minor league baseball player, a strip club janitor, an incarcerated biker and a macho Mexican, all of whom end up taking what Sasha is doling out.
You’ll never believe what kinda shenanigans he gets into!
Buck is out of prison again, and he’s up to his old tricks! He’s got a plan to stay out, but will it work? Buck is a muscle-bound ex-con redneck who doesn’t want to go back to prison and doesn’t want a reputation as a jailhouse booty bandit… but even more than that, he wants to stick his rod in anything that moves! So he’s got to satisfy his needs on the DL, even if that means holding down some hobos, addicts and losers, while doing the dirty in the dirt!
Williston was a flat-chest prairie town in a specially nowhere part of North Dakota. Nary the buildings rose more than weasel-high, Cody Lankford reckoned when he got off the buckety bus with his barrel-chested buddy Buck Sampson.
With the motel room rented, they ambled down the Williston drag toward Lipsweet. That was the only cantina in town. The joint was jumping like junebugs on parade, so Buck and Cody hustled they bustle up. That turned out to be a good call, cuz there was only one table open by the time they strolled in. The bar was rough-and-rumble, and it teemed with more men than Buck and Cody done seed since getting off the bus. More fellers was in here piss-down drunk than there was rooms in the motel. Some bluesy rock was blaring outta one speaker and crackling outta another half-broke one, but the sound was shouted over by the scores of men guzzling down drinks. These places stayed fulla fights, so Cody was hesitatious. Nearly all the tables got uneven legs, and the chairs was duct-taped into shape. Buncha stains done been got bleached outta the pale-spotted floor. Lipsweet was choked with ‘baccy smoke and backsweat. Men with colorless tattoos was caboosing up and down the bar and on all the tables but one — and even that one weren’t wholly abandoned. Dirty dishes and cups was scattered over it, but Buck and Cody plopped down and ain’t nobody complain. As Buck’s Grandma Barb woulda said, left behind is rightful mine. There was some kinda buzznut bubbling by the bar — a push-up contest, maybe, but both the fellers pushing up was drunk as empty cups, so both wobbled, tottered and counted off wrong. Lipsweet got ten workers visible — seven waitresses, who was purty in pink and constituated most the town’s female element, two bartenders beleaguered as buttholes and one dour ruddy-brown bouncer with a chip-shaped chin and long black hair. He was the bouncer, Johnny Redcob, and he somehow monitored a hundred roughnecks pitching purple in a bar that’d be crowded with thirty. He ain’t move from the door till one little dust-up got big for its britches, then like a flicker of flames, he drug both them sparring sumbitches to the street. “Shit, them waitresses look nice!” Cody said. He gotta scream so Buck could hear. Cody peeped down the women like he ain’t realize how short he was and thought maybe they’d see him as a big’un like the roughnecks whose sandpapery meat filled Lipsweet. Cody got nice-boy dimples and a charming grin, but he was dirty as dumptrucks and shabby-dressed. The waitresses paid him no heed. Buck’s broad chest rumbled. “Hell yeah…” he said and licked his lips. He ain’t gotta boost his tongue to be heared, cuz he got a big man’s big voice, so big it boomed big-like and blendy over the brunts of the burly butts in the bar. One them waitresses wiggled to the table, and she took they order — buncha beers for both — and then they got to drinking. Cody tipsied up quick on account of his size, but by the time Buck was buzzed, the waitresses done scatter. The bar was still open. Both the bartenders was there. Johnny Redcob the bouncer still watched like a displeaseable vulture. But the tenor done dwindle with each waitress’s disappearance. That’s cuz they was not only the town’s waitstaff, they was also hooking it, and plenty these roughnecks carried cash to spare. The ladies waited tables until a man made an offer that outweighed the likely tips the rest the night. Then, one by one, the waitresses skedaddled. Without no waitresses, a feller gotta place his order at the bar and bring it back to the table. The volume diminuted cuz a dozen dead-drunk dudes was drug into the alley out back by the silent storm bouncer, plus there weren’t no females to clamor for no more. Silence bloomed like an obsolete garden.
