“What is going on with you? Wake your dead ass up.”
“The boys practiced as if they know they’re going to lose.”
“Oh yeah, right, as if that’s what’s going on with you. Look, we have the toughest schedule in the nation, but the schedule will pay off at conference time. You said so yourself before the pre-season started. You got another bug up your butt. What is it?”
Sterlin, tall and wide at the shoulders with a big baby face, was not looking at Ayman as he spoke. He was flirting with every woman in the club that he could engage with glances and grins. His physical stature and good looks received plenty of submissive expressions. Changing colored lights reflected the whiteness from Sterlin’s smile.
Ayman leaned forward so he could be heard. “I’m all right, man. It’s just that sister standing over there reminds me of Vanessa. I was just thinking—”
Sterlin cut Ayman off, “Don’t even go there again! You’ve been divorced for two years. You should be over it, man.”
Ayman jerked his head back.
“You need to move on. What’s it going to take? Everywhere we go, you got honeys checking your ass out, but you act blind. You may be known for ‘preaching defense,’ but damn!” Sterlin smiled at his mocking statement, and Ayman chuckled a bit as his friend continued to talk. “Nigga, you need to go on the offense in the women’s department.”
Ayman’s stare became hard; he was upset. He leaned forward so the flickering candles highlighted the tightness of the lines on his forehead. “First of all, Negro, you need to quit saying ‘nigga’ before you let it slip at the wrong time. These kids all ready think it’s okay. I had to correct a white kid from saying ‘wigger’ and ‘poor white trash,’ even though their mommas and daddies got MO-money, MO-money.”
“You’re right. It’s an old habit.”
“Well, it’s an old habit that sometimes I think of Vanessa.”
“Cool, but don’t bite my head off. I’m not the one you were married to. How about you freezing all that past misery. You need to be over there talking to that fine female; she’s dancing to get your attention. That’s what you need—a woman. If I was you, I’d be all over her.”
Ayman laughed. “Excuse me, but unless my eyes are going bad, that is a Black woman over there, and you don’t do sisters…right?” Ayman knew Sterlin’s lifestyle when it came to the type of women he pursued.
“Man, hold up! It’s not that I don’t do sisters. I like all women, and I mean all women, of every color and nationality.” Sterlin’s voice was full of ego. He looked around the club, his eyes stopped, and he nodded at a not-so-thin, blonde woman. Ayman rolled his eyes in non-amazement.
A comedian had taken the stage and cracked a joke that had everyone laughing, but Ayman and Sterlin didn’t pay attention.
Ayman leaned forward and said, “Just like I said, you don’t do sisters. All the women I see you with seem to have blonde, brunette, or red hair. I find that a little strange, but whatever right now, watch your ass, man. We are down South.”
“Please! I ain’t worried about nobody’s South. Don’t they call it the New South?” Sterlin smiled.
“Okay, Mr. New South, I’m sure the club is a safe zone, but I bet you still can’t walk the back streets with a big booty Blonde Peach.”
“Yeah, well, toast to the booty, my man! At least, I pick the ones with a sista booty. You ever watch a blondie with a big booty dance? That’s some sweet funky stuff. Ahhhh, I like that shit.”
“You freak! Is it all about the tail end?”
“I like me some thighs and booty.”
“Okay, Dr. Booty Freak, you’re a trip!”
Sterlin’s next comment stopped Ayman dead in his tracks from laughing. “It’s all about the booty, so I don’t end up like you—sad, blue, and alone!” Sterlin tilted his head to the side and lifted his eyebrows up.
Credit: Courtesy of Alvin L.A. Horn
Alvin L.A. Horn is also a poet, a spoken word artist and musician. His talent has shined through. Alvin was an award winner at the 2012 Spoken Word Billboard Awards.
He states:
I credit my mother for sending me to the library when she placed me on restriction, often for daydreaming in school. Pages of autobiographies and biographies of other people’s lives became daydreams and made my imagination run wild. Upon hearing and reading the work of Nikki Giovanni, I knew I wanted to be a writer of love poems and stories. “Some of my erotic writing imagination came from my dad leaving men’s magazines in a not-so-secret place. My friends peeked at the pictures, but I read the stories, most of the time…” I laugh.
Born in 1957 and growing up in the “Liberal on the surface” Seattle lifestyle, the Northwest flavors flow through my writing as I have lived on a houseboat with perfect views for writing inspiration for most of my current writing life.
I’m inspired to write and recite the heartfelt honest emotions that I have felt or someone may have shared with me at some time in my life. I try to speak for those who would write or say how they feel. I want to remind people of lost thoughts, hidden feelings and create new contemplations and desires whether it be about love, money, social issues, family issues, passions and sex. I want people to feel worthy, beautiful, sexy, and informed. I want to write and speak in ways, as Miles Davis said, “It’s not how many notes you play; it’s when you play them.” I feel I bring a different perspective to my writing in that I have lived and traveled the world for over a half a century and seen fads, fashions, music and politics change and how we communicate.
Contact the author:
www.alvinhorn.com
www.facebook.com/alvinhorn
Twitter @alvinlahorn
www.goodreads.com/author/show/5778091.Alvin_L_A_Horn
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/User:Alvinlahorn
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ALSO BY ALVIN L.A. HORN
Perfect Circle
Strebor Books
P.O. Box 6505
Largo, MD 20792
www.streborbooks.com
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2014 by Alvin L.A. Horn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.
ISBN 978-1-59309-550-5
ISBN 978-1-4767-5170-2 (ebook)
LCCN 2013950690
First Strebor Books trade paperback edition April 2014
Cover design: www.mariondesigns.com
Cover photograph: © Keith Saunders/Marion Designs
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