by N'Tyse
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About The Author
N’Tyse, is the pseudonym for Dallas, Texas native Shawanda Williams. While N’Tyse, pronounced entice, spells out exotic seduction, the true and defined significance behind her name takes on an entire new meaning. Never Tell Your Secrets is the hidden message N’Tyse envelops within her taboo tales.
N’Tyse’s writing career began at a very young age where she found poetry, music, and story-telling as an outlet of escape. Now 28, N’Tyse’s obsession with the pen is better described as the “intimate release” for her imagination. In 2007, N’Tyse ambitiously penned her freshmen novel, ‘My Secrets Your Lies’. Upon the release of her first book, she discovered that her hobby-writing was no longer just a niche to satisfy that writing crave, but a true gift where her underlying passion awaited.
N’Tyse’s latest works include her sophomore novel ‘Stud Princess (Notorious Vendettas)’ and collaboration novel (Cougar Suites). Her featured shorts are Caramel Latte (Purple Panties II Missionary No More) and Illicit Fantasy (Bedtime Stories).
Go beyond the pages and satisfy your curiosity. www.ntyse.com
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Excerpt from My Secrets Your Lies
Sand
Even at the innocent age of eight I had an attraction to females. I couldn’t help checking them out from across the blacktop as they hoolahooped and shook their butts to made-up cheers and dance routines. It was then that I discovered the pleasure and rewards of gym time. My immature hormones would only allow me to like what I saw and wonder about the rest, as I watched tennis skirts rock from side to side, up and down. It wasn’t until I reached high school that the strong desires and cravings that I always had for women announced themselves. I was no longer able to control the internal emotions that tormented my soul and clouded my mind.
I wasn’t your ordinary kind of guy. I had a few assets that turned women on and a few that turned them off. I kept a clean fade, smooth face, and my lips were full and admiring. My complexion was soft brown, sort of like sand. My eyebrows were thick and naturally shaped, and my eyes were hazel. When I smiled, you saw nothing but straight white teeth and I always dressed to impress. My nails were kept short, except for my two pinky fingers, and my voice was low but understanding.
I had suaveness about me that people could not relatively understand. I was slick, charming, but most of all irresistible. I was your spokesperson, your salesman, and your get-rich-quick scheme. I studied the game like a crossword puzzle and inherited the mentality of a hustler, genuinely from the streets. The worst thing anyone could do was try to cross me. I hated to be fucked with and I despised being tested. Being a young nigga like me, I had no other choice but to prove myself—prove that I could roll with the big dawgs and take an ass whoopin’ at any given time without punkin’ out like a bitch. I passed all the tests.
My moms and pops kicked me out of the house when I was only sixteen years old, barely a sophomore in high school. They forced me into the accepting streets of downtown Dallas, living homeless and responsible to fend for myself. They made me leave with the clothes on my back, the shoes on my feet, and the dirty mind I shamed them of.
I felt like a muthafuckin’ nomad, traveling from place to place. I had to beg my friends and friends of theirs if I could stay the night in order to have a safe place to stay and be able to catch school the next morning. My partners had to sneak me in at night when everyone was asleep. I had to either sleep in a dark closet with clothes piled high on top of me or under a bed with crawling roaches and dead spiders so I wouldn’t be seen or heard whileI slept. While I hated being all cooped up and hiding out like a fugitive, I was truly thankful, so I didn’t complain.
Normally someone living under those circumstances would have just said fuck it, and dropped out. But me, nah, I wasn’t hearing it. I had to graduate. I didn’t spend the majority of my damn life in school just to quit in the tenth grade. Hell nah, I was going to walk that stage. Fuck everything and everybody else who kept telling me to drop out and get my GED. Sand wasn’t having it. To me, GED stood for a Got damn Eager Dropout. In my opinion, that was someone who had already given up on life. Some of my friends had to juggle going to work and school so they could take care of a baby or a loved one. I had to do both so I could take care of my damn self. I was under eighteen living on the streets with no place to call home, and no home-cooked meals to eat. There were times when I did not have a dime. I didn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. I would just take my ass behind a building and do my thang there.
Years went by before I ever saw my parents again. They disowned me and everything that had to do with me. It was like I no longer existed and was never born. So if that’s the way they wanted it, then that’s the way it was gon’ have to be. They talked bad about me to my other family members, dragging my name through the dirt like I was a total disgrace and their only mistake was conceiving me. My white father said I took after his brother and cursed his name every time he would look at me. I remember my dad staring down at me one morning in church, placing his hands on my forehead ready to pray for my ever-so-lost soul. He thought he could pray “the devilish ways” out of me.
That was then but now it’s just me, lil’ old nineteen-year-old Sand, on the grind trying to survive in today’s grimy streets and backstabbing world.
AVAILABLE JULY 2010