The Naughty Sins Of A Saint

BOOK: The Naughty Sins Of A Saint
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The Naughty Sins of a Saint

 

By Tiana Laveen

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2011 by Tiana Laveen

 

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotes embodied in critical articles and reviews.

 

Cover design by Shelley and Jerry Drury

 

April 2012

First Edition

 

 

 

 

 

 

Acknowledgment

 

This book is dedicated to women who have found their Superman – that man who’s there for you. He’s sexy not just because of the way he looks, but how he treats you. That alpha male who takes care of business and makes sure you don’t have a care in the world, he’s your confidant, your lover, your friend. You can lean on him and know that he’s your crutch, and he won’t let you fall. He doesn’t need you to walk behind him; he wants you right by his side. His ego doesn’t need to be stroked from the attention of other women; he just wants you, and you alone. This book is also dedicated to all the Black women in the world who don’t realize their own physical beauty because they focus on the beauty of others. Though this book features characters that are figments of my imagination, rest assured there are men like Saint Aknaten who absolutely adore your full lips, round hips, kinky hair, and way you glide past, turning their hearts into quiet storms. Black women, you’re the original; everything after you is a knockoff. Remember that, Diamonds. No one can shine like you!

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1

 

The booming bass of Dj Quik’s song, “Sweet Black Pussy,” died down and the crowd of testosterone-filled, hot-blooded men sat hurriedly in their seats after their thunderous applause ceased. Several stern-faced white men sat behind him on the panel, watching intently as he walked along the extended, red-light-flooded stage. The red curtains opened behind him, exposing a large image of glossy, crimson lips belonging to a beautiful, dark complected woman.

Dr. Saint Aknaten looked out into the audience and surveyed his followers. He stood 6’3” with light-bronze-colored skin that seemed to glow; jet-black hair; a strong jaw line; and bright, piercing, hazel eyes. The sea of faces was comprised of an array of ideologies, ethnicities, and even countries. They all had one thing in common, however – their love for Black ‘goddesses.’

“Thank you, Gentlemen, for attending this weekend workshop and attending the L.A. Rainbeau Valentine Conference. Welcome. I understand that some of you have been anxiously anticipating this particular lecture for quite some time. Finally, the stars have aligned and I am blessed with the opportunity to speak to you in person,” Saint said humbly. He stopped and took a sip of water from a glass on the podium. “If you’re less familiar with my work, my books, and my practice, then I may come across as crude and shocking. If you’re here out of curiosity or from the media, you’ll find yourself doing a lot of editing in your minds before you can regurgitate what I’m about to present for the mainstream public. To some people, I’m an enemy and serious danger. I come here to thank these men who sit behind me for their support because I seem to bring concern wherever I go. My colleagues understand the danger involved and give me their full support as we work collectively, like an army, to take care of the issues at hand. With that said, if you’re uncomfortable with frank discussions regarding sex, sexuality, and sensuality, I suggest you leave. This isn’t the place for you. I don’t change myself for anyone. If cursing and explicit sexual description bother you, please find the door because I have a filthy mouth and believe it’s one of my finest assets.”

The crowd clapped and whistled.

“Let me tell you, some people who interview me or see me at these conferences are initially confused. They don’t understand how this cat from New York with the foul mouth and raw disposition can be so educated. I speak this way because I want to be understood. I don’t need to talk to you like I’m reading a textbook. I can speak that way too, but that’s not me. I’m talking to you like I talk to my best friend because after we’re done here tonight, we’ll be friends. But first I’m gonna inform you, slap you around a bit, and shock the fuck out of you.”

Laughter erupted from the crowd.

“If it offends you to hear you’re to blame for some of your problems, then exit right now, because there’s nothing I do…,” he said, now walking slowly across the stage, “nothing I say that will let you off the hook for failing to handle your business properly. Know in advance, you’ve been fucking up, and I’m gonna call you on it. But I don’t give spankings without explaining the ‘how,’ ‘what,’ ‘when,’ and ‘why,’ and also providing solutions. This discussion tonight won’t be G-rated, unless ‘G’ refers to ‘G-spot,’ nor PG, unless ‘PG’ stands for ‘pussy grip,’ nor R, unless ‘R’ stands for ‘rodgering.’”

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let me give you a bit of background about myself. I was conceived from a Korean mother – North Korean specifically – and an Egyptian father. A very rare combination, indeed, that produced a very unusual individual, though I like to refer to myself as unique. From my understanding, and that of the worldwide census reports, there are less than two hundred people in the world with my ethnic composition. Essentially, that makes me an endangered species, an anomaly, and at times, misunderstood. I’m American. I was born here – this is all that I know – and so were my parents. I grew up in New York. I was born in the Bronx, lived some years in Brooklyn, went back to the Bronx for a short while as an adult, and moved to Queens. My father is Muslim, and my mother was Buddhist. I’ve created my own religious beliefs which combine aspects of both of theirs, as well as my own personal dogmas. Thus, I have my own unique views about how the world came to be and what we’re to do to keep it, and ourselves, safe. Those beliefs are what I’ve used to create, examine, and share my theories with you all tonight. I believe that different races weren’t created for separation, but for congregation. Everyone has to work for the fruits of victory. Nothing worth having comes easily, which means exchanges with people of other cultures is enriching and necessary for one to grow and simply to be. Pain must be endured for anything worth having. You may have to shed blood, and perhaps die. Anything new – any new life, whether the life of a relationship or a newly conceived baby – requires suffering. This is a biological fact. Women have to shed blood before they can get pregnant. They shed blood again giving birth to that baby. Men, our hearts stop when we cum. We actually skip a couple of beats. What do surgeons call it when a patient’s heart stops – ‘death’ – no ifs, ands, or buts – ‘death,’ even for just a moment. That’s what happens when you cum, so every time we make a baby, we die for that baby, and that woman sheds blood for that baby – that’s new life, and that’s how all blessings for us are obtained. No one appreciates shit they didn’t struggle for. Think about it – the possessions and people in your life that have the most impact are the ones you endured some shit to acquire or waited a long time for. You must put in the work to get the reward.

Let’s get some of these racist notions out of the way, as well. I don’t believe that any race will ever be extinct as a result of racial mixing. The truth is this myth is perpetuated by supremacists who are fearful of a new world order for peace, tolerance, and understanding, an order that would crush theirs to bits. Most of you’ve heard my opponents say that I promote self-hatred or that I’ll be responsible for the annihilation of the Black family or I’m promoting sexual slavery of Black women by making them even more desirable due to my incessant ramblings, encouraging non-Black men to seek them, date them, marry them, and most importantly, procreate with them.

Some of these same opponents are reckless with talk about their own women. I mention this not to vilify Black men, but to show all of you that we’re not only desired – there’s a need for us. No ‘queen’ should be devalued by her ‘king’ or treated lesser-than. No other man on the planet tears down his female counterpart mentally, emotionally, verbally the way Black men do. You don’t hear white men, Asian men, or Latin men repeatedly dogging out their women, at least not in public. But Black men, even after their destructive behavior, turn around and tell their women they must not seek other options though they make them feel unwanted. You can go on any interracial website, blog, dating forum and see countless videos and information attempting to tear away the very fabric of our culture. All of us in this room were born of a Black woman. Let me clarify for those of you who haven’t read my books. I’m speaking the truth when I tell you that every…single…man in this room was born of a Black woman. Why? She was the first woman on the planet. We spend the rest of our lives trying to get back to her. We do it through white supremacy – hating that which we actually love – due to shame of our own attractions. We do it through the women we choose. Some of us have chosen white women as partners to hide our natural attraction, and some try to get a woman whose features most resemble a Black woman’s – her dark, curly hair, a more substantial ass, fuller lips, more muscular legs. Now the Black woman is showing more interest in us than she has in recent years. Some of us are so frustrated with our attraction to them that now, when we’re finally at liberty to explore our desire, some of us behave like punk-asses and need permission to be fucking hunters.”

Laughter erupted.

“I’m serious. Does an antelope need to give permission to be chased by a lion? Does the lion wait for the prey to say, ‘Oh, hi there, Mister Lion. You can chase me now.’”

More laughter came, this time with applause.

“It doesn’t matter if the Black women are resistant. You go after her! You want her, go get her! You don’t wait to get fed. You don’t starve because you weren’t given permission to eat! You need her, so go get her. Women of all ethnic backgrounds appreciate assertive men, not punk-ass scaredy cats. Some of us aren’t the hunters we were designed to be. Instead, we wait for the woman to make the first move. That’s bullshit. You’re a man. You were made to seek heat. We’re cold, they’re hot. You’re the snake, they’re the prey. Some people call women foxes and bunnies – cute and furry, right?” Saint smiled. “What does a snake do to a bunny? He eats it. First though, he goes after it. He can smell the heat coming off from the prey. Penises are like snakes. Snakes unwrap themselves from a coiled position – similar to the swell of a cock, from flaccid to hard. You all are snakes. Your rabbit is the woman of your desire. Once you get her, you don’t choke the life out of her, but you do devour her.”

The crowd clapped loudly.

“Now, let’s get deeper into the physics of what I’m talking about. Again, let’s look at the animal kingdom. If we let the animal kingdom show us how to date, mate, and procreate, then we’d be better off. Truly, we’re overcomplicating things. Some of the racial supremacists use this same argument, saying, ‘You don’t see cats and dogs fucking. You don’t see bears and tigers having babies.’ They’re correct. You don’t see that, and the reason is they aren’t the same species. If you peeled their skin back, it’d still be clear as day that they’re very different animals. If you peel my skin, and a Black man’s skin, there is no way you’d know we weren’t the same race. The only way is to study our skin cells and analyze our hair follicles and skull structures. The shit that counts – the stuff that makes us able to walk, run, breathe, fuck, eat, and sleep – is under the skin. Every mothafucka here today is present because of a goddamn obsession with a woman he believes he can never have. This woman right here,” he said as he turned around and pointed to the screen behind him. “You think she could never want you because of slavery – another trumped-up, dumb-ass excuse. Black militants have taken this tactic to stop Black women from seeing us as potential husbands and opening up their bodies and hearts for us to love. You’ve been told that you’re square, that the Black woman’s attitude is fucked up, that she only wants you for your money, that all she does is wear weaves, get her fake nails done, that she’s ghetto, uneducated, and disloyal. Really? Well, then, why in the fuck are these same mothafuckas still running behind Black women making video after video, announcement after announcement, and declaration after declaration about some goddamn bullshit they don’t give a fuck about?”

BOOK: The Naughty Sins Of A Saint
5.98Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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