BOMAW 1-3 (41 page)

That's when his life started taking a wrong turn. What he wanted to do with his college money, his parents wouldn't agree to. It was for college and college only. The discussion escalated to the point that Shawn, in his young foolishness, shouted at his parents for the first time.
"Keep the money, then! I don't want it! Don't need it!"
he informed them, knocking his chair backward with the thrust of his body as he stood from the table, college wasn't the only reason he lost it that one time with them.

"Have you lost every bit of sense the good lord gave you?"
His father stood next. It was obvious to Shawn, he was in danger of being knocked out. His father could do it, too, the man was as strong as a bull and could be just as mean. Shawn stood back a bit, not willing to go up against his dad.
"I'm leaving,"
he finally said.
"Keep your money. I have what I need to make it,"
he said in a quieter voice.

"Son...don't do this. All your dad and I want you to do is go the slow, careful way. Haven't we indulged you in your talents? We know you want to draw, paint…be a photographer, but the right way to do it is to go to school. Get all the other skills, learn things that will support you while you grow as an artist. Purchase for yourself a degree, then pursue this,"
his mother tried to reason with him.

"What are they gonna teach me that I don't already know? Why should I have to pay for something that I already have!"
he'd argued, haughty, resentful once more, bold with them for the things he held against them in his mind, his heart.

"But that's all you have, boy! You need to fill your head! This world is changing! You need that schooling! That's all your mom and I have talked about, the blessing we have to be able to send our kids off to good universities. Don't waste it, Shawn! Don't take this direction...I swear, boy, 'cause if you do, you gone regret it one day! I don't know when, I don't know how, but if you keep going as you do…you're going to look back one day and hate what you've done, and how you've wasted the opportunity to be something better than us. I'm telling you, son."
His father had pleaded with him, showing some regret himself over things he felt his son must hold against him.

Shawn's head lay back on the wall, hearing those words come back at him now, and it wasn't the first time they came at him.

Young and foolish, he'd gotten up in the middle of the night and took off. Leaving his family with a note that said,
"I'll show you. I know what I'm doing. This is my life, and I'll make it big, and I won't use your money to do it. Don't want anything from either of you."
He withdrew all of his savings that his mother forced them all to have as they grew up from allowances. $5,000…it had seemed like so much money. With his camera and photography equipment, as well his art supplies, he boarded a bus, one among several with the connections needed to bring him to Los Angeles, California.

Nothing had turned out as he'd planned it. He'd gotten an apartment, which was eating through his money faster than he figured, and couldn't find a job. At eighteen years old, no one would give him the time of day as far as photography was concerned. Forced to survive, his first real job was painting houses and cleaning windows. Ends weren't meeting, so he started waiting tables in a really swanky restaurant. Depending on the tables he waited on, and the charm and smiles, made the difference in the tips he received. Older women were big tippers, huge tippers. That's when he remembered the one tool he hadn't used yet...his looks, his stature. Women loved him, the more he flirted, the more things started working for him in terms of a good day at work or a bad one.

It was then when one of the black cooks said to him when they were in their break room,
"Man...white boy like you, wit' them looks, if you had a big dick...you could make some money...some serious cash!"

"What's the size of my dick have to do with anything?"

"Man, com'on! Mothafucka, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout! Layin' pipe fo'cash, boy! It's big bidness in pumpin' the dog, man! Way you got som'o these women lookin' at you? How's it hangin', man...or does it hang? Or you a thumb buddy...lil' twinkly-dink!"
Jesse laughed as he wiggled his thumb. Shawn shocked him by unzipping his pants and pulling himself free.
"How much will that get me paid?"
he asked, not realizing what he was getting himself into - trying to be smug, smart and shocking. Jesse jumped up, laughing and holding his hand high to slap Shawn's for a high five.
"Whoa, man! Hell naaaw, where you get that big dick from?"

"M'daddy."
Shawn grinned
.

"Yo'country ass! Let's go, dude, we gone have to thank papa lata'! I got an idea, 'Chocolate and Vanilla swirl, gone take you on a trip around the worl', lay a little bit here, an' a little bit there, 'nough for every woman or girl'! Hell yeah, we gone do this! We gone be one fuckin' team!"

And they were, Jesse was right.

They were getting paid and getting laid, in every way imaginable. They became close friends, guarding each other's back. Jesse thought they'd do better pooling their incomes, and so moved in together. Shawn remembered his old friend with a smile. Jesse was five years older than he was. Always laughing, making fun, and keeping him in stitches. He taught Shawn how to walk and carry himself.
"Look'heh, boy, I'mo teach you something! You got to polish yo' shit, man! Don't be walkin' like that! Relax, check me out! See that, tha's how you walk. Hold yo' bidness, man, shooot, I'm tellin' you. Women love this shit!"

"I'ah look stupid walking around like that!"
Shawn had protested.

"Yeah, shit...you right. 'Cause either you got it, or you don't! Hey, but that's okay, I'mo have to help you wit' what you got."
And so he had, with the next thing.
"Boy, you need to work yo' ass out! Look at'you, man!"

"What's wrong with me?"
Shawn had protested.

"You need definition. Abs, boy! Pop them muscles, rock-hard that butt! Look at my fine ass! Maaan, I take my shirt off, five women be on the flo', three wit' they legs spread! Shiiit...I'mo get you straight! And, man…keep yo' willy protected! Don't fuck nobody wit'out yo' shit on! I'on care what nobody say! Shield yo' shit! Maaan, there's some stuff out there that will shrivel that son'vabitch to nothin'! I ain't playin', boy, better take me serious!"
Shawn did.

Jesse had him working out, told him he didn't need to smoke, and he didn't need to drink. Saying that he needed,
"To keep that hard-on reliable! That's yo' ticket, man! Pump that iron, but leave them steroids to the dummies, tha's another thing shrink yo' shit!"

On and on he would go, and they grew closer. While Shawn began feeling protective of Jesse, Jesse felt protective of Shawn. So close, they were beginning to feel like brothers. They came as a team, or they didn't work at all. Shawn had surprises of his own, he cooked dinner and made Jesse some catfish and greens.
"Hang on! You cook this shit?"
Jesse asked, shocked in between a forkful of greens, pinching off the corn bread and then diving into the catfish.
"Sure did,"
Shawn bragged.
"My mom made me cook sometimes, when she and dad went off to take care of business that had them in town all day. She would lay it out, tell me how and leave me to it."

"Boy! Aww, man...this what I'm talkin' bout!"
Jesse complimented as he cleaned his plate.
"You damn near good as me! That's sayin' something!"

They went on for more than a couple of years that way, getting to know each other, sharing their past lives. Jesse telling him about his father.
"My ole man was a trip. Mean mothafucka! He didn't know us by name, it was always...Lil' mo'fo, nappy head mo'fo, black ass mo'fo or ugly mo'fo! We all knew our names! Man, I got tired o'that...hell, I just up and left. I ain't gone be like that with my kids when I get married."

"You wanna get married?"
Shawn had asked.

"Hell yeah, I do! You'on think I'mo be a worthless piece o'shit all my life, do you? I'm gone be a father one day, but I'm gone be a good one. I ain't gone be doing all that cussin'! Yellin' and carryin' on. And my woman...that's where you gotta be careful! Yo' woman got to be right! Like these lil' silly bitches that be all over us cause of our clothes, what we drive, and the money...and the dick! Man, no way! Em-um...hell naaaw! I want me a uppity-ass, stuck up, could give a shit if I'm coming or going, clean and got her shit together, fine-ass black woman! She got to be moral, straight, and lovin' herself! That's what I want. Man...if you can find a good woman like that? Yo' ass got somethin'! One that you got to work yo' ass off to get. But she got to be straight! Black woman like that…priceless! That's what I want. That's what you should hold out for."

"I see, a black, uppity-ass woman, but she straight!"
Shawn teased.

"Mothafucka, don't play wit'me! You know what my ass mean! A white one for you, of course! Yo' young ass!"
Jesse grinned.

More than two years in, one day, they showed up on the set and things went wrong.

"No! Do you hear me,
no
! We ain't doin' that shit, man! I ain't that low...and neither is he!"
Jesse protested, realizing what was happening before Shawn.
"What's wrong, Jesse?"
Shawn had innocently asked.
"Look over there, that's what they want us to do! Hell goddamn no! I don't do little girls! They can't be older than twelve, maybe thirteen - if that…no sir...no way!"
Jesse was adamant. Shawn was horrified. It was bad enough that his conscience wrecked him at night over the way he made money. He would never live down the shame if his family knew, his mom and dad, brothers and sisters. But this…he stood staring with his heart pounding. They were obviously runaways. Both sat holding the other's hand, eyes wide and frightened.

"You two signed a contract! You don't tell me who you'll screw, I tell you!"
Dabney Harris started arguing with them. Jesse stood up front, shaking his head.
"Man, you can kiss our ass! Bring me a woman, bring me an old wrinkled ass, pruny looking mo'fo...but no...I don't do babies! I draw the line at that shit! You sick mothafucka! How dare you! Let's go man!"
Jesse had turned to him, grabbing Shawn by the arm to steer him out.

"You can go, we can get a nigger with a big dick anywhere! But he stays!"

"Nigger! Who you callin' a nigger? See, tha's yo' problem. I ain't that kinda nigga! You is though, you nasty little white-ass worm!"

"Get the hell outta here 'fore I have your ass kicked!"
Dabney shouted.
"You…you stay! He can go!"

"I'm not staying here! I'm not doing that, you sick prick! We're out of here! And turn them loose, too, or else we're calling the police!"
Shawn demanded.

Jesse groaned then, it was the wrong thing to threaten when they hadn't gotten out of the door yet. All of a sudden, three men were on them, they had to fight for their lives trying to get out. The little girls were screaming and then Jesse pulled out a gun. Shawn hadn't known he had it on him. He shot Dabney and one of the men on Shawn, yelling,
"Run…get yo' ass out, now! Get the police!"

Shawn had gotten out, hearing gunshots behind him, thinking that Jesse was following him. When he looked back, one of the men was shooting at him. He ducked and made it around the corner, just as a bullet struck the corner of the building he disappeared past. Running with his heart pounding, he searched for the police, but there was none in sight. Their car had been parked down the alley of the building they went in to work at, so he couldn't go back for it, and Jesse had the keys.

By the time he got to a phone booth, called the police and returned to the scene, there were bodies being removed…Jesse included, as well as one of the little girls. Shawn had spent two years on probation, after charges were brought against him. Agonizing over the death of the best friend he'd ever had, he returned to the restaurant where they'd met. A female customer recognizing him from work he did for Dabney, asked him if he wanted to make a quick $1500. At first he turned it down, but considering his losses, he need that money and
now
. He agreed, and found himself leaning back, having a mold made of his erection. With a few females assisting him, stroking him, he was able to keep himself rigid long enough for the mold to set. Thus, now in various parts of the United States, there sat waiting to be purchased, hanging from a product hook, a dildo called
Oscar Delight,
and in fine print the package promises,
"Nine inches of
thick
pleasure! No more unful
filling
nights!"