EXCERPT ALERT - LuvMe - This Rhythm is Rated L

“Just come open the door. I’m outside your apartment.”

“I’ll be right there.”

The phone landed somewhere as I ran to the door faster than I did before. This time when I opened it, Sheree stood before me with a long red coat on and a pair of thigh high red boots. She breezed past me and dropped her coat to the floor. The floor mat to the game Twister was wrapped around her body. She unwrapped it and let it fall. No other covering was on her. There was nothing that could do her justice. I closed the door.

“Take off your clothes.”

Without questions my ragged jogging pants and tee shirt came off. We faced each other naked – like a stand off, with her boots giving her more leverage than me.

“I want you to do what I say and do it well. Do you understand?”

My head shook up and down, then again, up and down, then again. I was dizzy within her.

“Go and get the ice bucket.”

Sheree’s voice came to me like a dominatrix in training. She spoke like she had one more test to pass before she could hold the crown. Her voice was forceful, soothing, and pleading from within for love. I listened.When I returned to the room with the bucket as she requested she had spread the mat out, and was standing at one end of it.

“Lay the bucket in the center of the mat on the yellow circle.”

I obeyed.

“Stand in the middle of the mat with my p**** over the bucket.”

As I began to move I heard My, My, My from the CD. I wanted to cry out that I was in love. A figure eight, a coke bottle, her waist, her thighs, her breasts, I, I…I couldn’t believe she stood before me. Her legs were spread a bit and I noticed a small tattoo high on her inner left thigh. I wanted to suck it.

“Left hand blue.”

The blue circle was to my rear so I bent back and placed my hand on it.

“Right hand green.”

The green circle was also to my rear. My bending more to the rear made my middle come down low over the ice bucket. I held my head back and let it hang. My body was open wide to her. She had me. Finally, I was hers.

The touch of her tongue blazed me to my heart. It pumped with anticipation. Sheree was between my legs teaching me how to love us. The ice gliding around me gave me a sensation of hot, cold, cool, and flaming at the same time. My mind ran far and came back close as she gently crawled over my body. My position was the same, my back was inner arched and my legs were open wide. She kissed my chest, my breasts, my belly button, and came back up to my neck. A tear escaped me.

“Right foot red.”

I slid my foot forward not knowing where it was going to end. I didn’t care; I just wanted to please Sheree.

“Left foot yellow.”This time the motion left me laying flat on my back with my eyes facing my baby. We took each other in within a twisted rhythm of euphoric colors. Her tender breasts lay on mine and my tears continued.

“Don’t cry, lover.”

Our lips met. I wrapped my arms around her trying to press her into me. Her hips, her ass, and her back belonged to me. I squeezed them all. My, My, My, our love came in yellow, red, blue, and green. A game so simple, yet so complex. The bucket tipped and a sensation came. More sensations followed. A game that taught me to release my fears in love.

The game taught Sheree to love the one her release is with. That night we played more than a mere child’s game. We dealt our cards, we rolled our dice, and ultimately we hit the Lotto. We won them all and have never stopped pleasing each other. We decided that night that we would work on having a relationship. Sheree thought all a relationship consisted of was sex, freaky or not. I didn’t know sex was a major part of one. That was seven years ago. To this day, Sheree makes me proud to say that my rhythm is rated L.

***************

Alright, that's it! The excerpt above if from the erotic/romantic short story collection, LuvMe! Get LuvMe as a part of The SEXY Special! Buy Wait for Love: a Black Girl's Story - LuvMe is FREE! Awww, Lawd, the hot choco-latte is coming! Don't miss out!







Wanda D. Hudson
Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story
LuvMe - Because Everybody Needs A Little Luv
Coming Soon - A Sheltered Life
http://www.wandadhudson.com
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/wandasway
http://www.wandasway.blogspot.com
http://www.cafepress.com/wandasway
http://www.facebook.com/wandadhudson
http://www.twitter.com/@wandaluv
http://www.myspace.com/wandaluv
Contributing Author -
Succulent - Chocolate Flava 2
Purple Panties - An Eroticanoir.com Anthology

EXCERPT ALERT - Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story

Terrance started a fight with me that morning over my use of water. He said I should pay the water bill, along with the rent, because I was bigger than him and used more of it. It was early and I was cranky from not having much s...leep the night before. He had his friends over for an all night party on a Tuesday. None of them had jobs, so no one had anywhere to be but where they were. I didn’t feel like hearing what he had to say, so I replied with a smart quick tongue, hoping to silence him.

“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve said to date. I guess you expect me to pay the cable, gas, light, and phone bill as well since your pathetic ass isn’t man enough to do it. Shut up, Terrance. It’s too early for your mouth.”

My response caught him off guard because his reply to me was that of silence. I started walking towards the bathroom to get dressed when I heard him running up behind me. My face was met with his head when I turned towards him. The fool head butted me. His exact target was my eye. I fell backwards on the floor and grabbed my face in pain. Gray stars and filthy vultures circled my face and moaned a song of gloom; it hurt so bad.

While I was on the floor crying and screaming how sick I thought Terrance was, he started kicking me in my back, sides, and face, while yelling in crazy man lingo.

“Don’t you ever talk back to me, you fat, sloppy bitch! Your stupid ass is going to pay every bill that comes into this house whether I have a job or not! Now get your sorry ass up and fix me some breakfast!”

He stopped kicking me and walked away muttering words under his breath that only a psychotic nut would understand. I managed to get up and went into the bathroom to look at my face. My left eye watched my right eye swell up, and my right eye noticed my left eye was red and puffy. My black eyes were on their way.

I took my nightgown off and looked at my stomach in the mirror. It was bruised and I imagined my back was, as well. There was no need to look because I’d felt this way before. I wanted to call into work, but I was already absent two days that week and couldn’t afford to miss anymore.

My right eyeball was no longer visible, and I’d have to wear a pair of light colored shades all day as I’d done before. I was at the point of not even bothering to put on makeup to try and cover it up, knowing what I was hiding, as did everyone else. I’m not sure who was who, but I came out of the bathroom to see Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde standing in my living room in the form of Terrance’s body.

“Hey, baby. I have some interviews to go on today, so I’ll drop you off at work. I put your purse and jacket in the car, and I want to stop and grab you some breakfast, so hurry your sweet self up.”

He walked out the door and I stood in the middle of the room waiting for an answer. Someone needed to tell me Terrance was sick and I wasn’t the person that had his cure. Sure, I had the answer; I just didn’t feel like talking to myself.

************************************************

Alright, yah'll! It's about to go down! Did you order your copy yet? The SEXY Special is still in effect! Buy Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story - LuvMe is FREE! Mmmm, I smell hot chocolate :-)







Wanda D. Hudson
Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story
LuvMe - Because Everybody Needs A Little Luv
Coming Soon - A Sheltered Life
http://www.wandadhudson.com
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/wandasway
http://www.wandasway.blogspot.com
http://www.cafepress.com/wandasway
http://www.facebook.com/wandadhudson
http://www.twitter.com/@wandaluv
http://www.myspace.com/wandaluv
Contributing Author -
Succulent - Chocolate Flava 2
Purple Panties - An Eroticanoir.com Anthology

You Down With NPP?

Different times call for different initials. Most of us remember the catchy hook; yea, you know me. Well, it can surely fit today. I’m down with NPP! The Noble Peace Prize was awarded to our President Barack Obama! Next phrase – are you ready for some football?

Is it sad to say that our President now has to stick diligently to a plan for every move he makes? Stick to the playbook, Sir, because if you sneeze during a speech at the United Nations, a statement will be released detailing the severity of it. Aww, Lawd, he got the swine! He’s trying to infect his views on the world! Impeach is ass! After all, a Nobel Peace Prize recipient does not have any flaws. Some say he received it to soon – he hasn’t done anything. I guess they weren’t on the nominating committee.

We all live history; some of it is printed in text books, most of it isn’t. This particular day, Friday October 9th, 2009, is a part of my minds legacy. See, on this day I volunteered at a fund raiser for Northeast Public Radio – NPR. I was a part of the valiant personnel who answered telephones, and recorded pledges from people who desired to keep NPR going strong. Giving up money in a recession? Some folks need to mind their own recession business and stop inflecting negative views on others – just my opinion. Broke isn’t always Poor. Poor isn’t always Po’. Yah’ll know what I’m saying…

The enthusiasm that filled the room was amazing. Not just for seeing the station reach its goal, but also for our President winning the Nobel Peace Prize. I received calls from people pledging amounts that ranged from twenty-five dollars to one thousand dollars. Amazing. The part of the pledgers and my conversation that made me feel validated was not the fact that they so effortlessly divulged personal information, but that they wanted to leave a comment to be read over the air – name included. They wanted people to know that they enjoyed the station AND that they were so proud of OUR President for being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

I noticed that I was the only black volunteer during the time that I was there, which was between the hours of 8am and 3pm. There were maybe 25-40 people in room at various times. Did they notice, too? I’m sure they did, but I got the vibe that on that day it didn’t matter. The more things stay the same, the more they change. I know, I said it “backwards” but I meant it moving forward. Many times I have been the only black person in the room and it mattered, and it was noticed. I filled the quota. Somebody’s job had been done.

Twenty years later I wasn’t a quota – I was a welcomed addition to a cause. A cause to keep an informative station on the air, and a valuable asset to show that we as a people desire the same things. Validation. Shoot, I want a cup of coffee and a donut for breakfast sometimes just like everyone else. I want to provide for my family and have job security just like everyone else. I want to commend our President on his achievement just like everyone else.

I do believe that certain things will always be present between races. There are differences that, well, make us different. It’s okay. Racism, hmm, well, it exists. To finally physically see people of a different race applaud and rally behind a man that my race let the world borrow because he is ours, is incredible. WE (and WE encompasses yah’ll, too) voted for him. WE support him through all adversity. WE all are united and can sing the jingle proudly – You Down With NPP? Yea, you know me!






Wanda D. Hudson
Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story
LuvMe - Because Everybody Needs A Little Luv
Coming Soon - A Sheltered Life
http://www.wandadhudson.com
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/wandasway
http://www.wandasway.blogspot.com
http://www.cafepress.com/wandasway
http://www.facebook.com/wandadhudson
http://www.twitter.com/@wandaluv
http://www.myspace.com/wandaluv
Contributing Author -
Succulent - Chocolate Flava 2
Purple Panties - An Eroticanoir.com Anthology

Uhm, What Are You Selling?

A child’s favorite pastime during summer months is the infamous ice cream truck. To hear the delightful bell, horn, or looped melody approaching causes a thunderous amount of unexplainable joy. The feeling is one that never leaves your senses. As an adult, even after the onset of lactose intolerance, one still feels a slight urgency to purchase one or two scoops.

Having a small child means you must have money each time the top ten melody goes into rotation. Recently my family changed zip codes, but in all of my sexy years on this earth, I have only known Mr. Softee. A blue and white truck with a cool looking cone dressed up to every child’s fancy. Mr. Softee definitely isn’t prejudiced, he serves everybody. You don’t need a number, just get in line and watch your toes – eager children could care less about your twenty-five dollar pedicure.

The truck is equipped for the hearing impaired – the loud top ten hit that can be heard from miles away, and the blind. – the looped music that continuously plays over and over, so don’t worry if you make a few wrong turns - keep tapping that walking stick until you find it.

My new zip code doesn’t include Mr. Softee but the new and improved text message aged Mr. Ding-a-Ling! WHAT? Yes, Mr. Ding-a-Ling! Is it just me or when you read this did your mind go kiddie playground porn-tastic?

The first time I saw the truck thankfully I was alone. The laughter that exploded from me! My goodness, a person laughing alone could be categorized as a bad drug mix. “Oh, she must have taken some of the good stuff’” is the statement that I looked like.

Am I a horny woman looking for a quick orgasm at each corner? Hmmm, I don’t think so. The thought that ran through my mind after my laughter subsided was, “And we wonder why our kids feel that oral sex isn't sex! We hear the dayum bell and they run to the truck with our money to get their licks on!”

Yesterday Mr. Ding-a-Ling stopped on the street that we live on. My daughter and I ran down the stairs, but unfortunately he pulled off before we made it. My child cried an anguished, “No!” and continued to cry as we made it back up the stairs. It took me at least ten minutes to console her. My untold thought, “Shit, I didn’t want you licking none of his stuff anyway.”

Mr. Ding-a-Ling had his way. He returned three hours later. I heard him, grabbed my wallet, yelled out to Doobah, “Come’on!” and dayum near broke my neck getting down the stairs. Doobah yelled, “Don’t leave me!’ but I was already down the stairs on the sidewalk. Mr. Ding-a-Ling would not leave us this time.

Maybe I am a horny woman. Although Mr. Softee is the keeper of some of my life’s most fond memories, I really don’t want to meet a man that proudly says, “Hi, my name is Mr. Softee.” Mr. Ding-a-Ling is straight to the point. That name on an ice cream truck though, for me, keeps me asking, Uhm, What Are You Selling?


Wanda D. Hudson
http://www.wandadhudson.com

Okay, WHY is the ice cream truck called Mr. Ding-a-Ling? And we wonder why our kids feel that oral sex isn't sex! We hear the dayum bell and they run to the truck with our money to get their licks on...LuvPing is SEXY!

LuvTweet, LuvPress, LuvSpace, LuvBlog and now LuvPing! Dayum...It's all SEXY!

Inspected by God

Long time no see, where have you been? These are a few of the questions that I have been asked lately. I usually answer that I have been here, but there is no set definition of my here. The middle of last year crashed for me. Many of you know that I lost my father on June 4th, 2008. Within weeks shortly thereafter my life began to collapse. There were no battery cables to hook up to for a reviving jump.

There is a paragraph in my first novel, Wait for Love: A Black Girl’s Story that details the characters feelings on grief. I had never experienced grief, and wrote it believing that her reactions were how someone would feel. The words were on point. Your mind wanders; your heart aches, and you continue to break down while hateful blood churns through your veins. Bluntly put, that shit hurts.

My 2008-2009 has been difficult. I lost my drive to write or to do anything productive for my personal gain. The post below mentions my daily routine. That particular routine came to an end in late June. That was it – I had enough. I will always miss my daddy, but grief can kiss my ass. I’m so sick of it handling me like I’m a foolish punk. It told me what to say, when to say it, and when to shut my mouth. It allowed me to tolerate behavior that is absolutely unacceptable in my professional, and personal life.

Why do people do you dirty? Why do people set out to do you dirty? Why do people think that you don’t know they did you dirty? Some of the things I put up with – please… This post is not written to belittle anyone or bring negativity to light. A few months ago I let it go. My life was tired of waiting on me. The inner turmoil that I caused myself was enough stress for three strokes. I thought my child would find me dead and there would be no one here for her.

We all suffer through something. As long as we have the ability to get THROUGH it, we can continue to prosper. Some of us don’t. Wallowing in misery and blaming everyone else was simply not it for me. My father died. I said it. I knew he was sick, I knew he was going to die, but I didn’t want him to. My father died. I said it again and I’m okay. I can still function on this earth. I can still be here and not feel guilty because he isn’t. I still love him.

Coming to grips with the fact that life will roll on whether you can hang or not was rough. I have struggled financially, mentally and physically. Making the wrong decisions, whew, that gets old. The past ten years have been a serious lesson. I was scored on a curve and barely passed. I’ll never say I may be black, I may be ugly – we love you Celie, but I’m still here. I’m SEXY, I’m talented, and I’m still here.

Sometimes when we make a purchase there is a small piece of paper inside of the item with an inspectors number on it. If there is a problem with the item you can exchange it or get your money back, but you may never meet the inspector. I was Inspected by God; you can’t exchange me and I‘m priceless. My inspector is available whenever I need Him.
I’ve been stretched to the limit and have returned better than before. I’m not refurbished, damaged or rebuilt. Just upgraded. The original version gets the job done; this version – keep breathing and you may understand. When you step out on faith, He takes all of your doubts, fears and mistakes. He will forgive you.

The SEXY One has been Inspected by God; are you ready?







Wanda D. Hudson
Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story
LuvMe - Because Everybody Needs A Little Luv
Coming Soon - A Sheltered Life
http://www.wandadhudson.com
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/wandasway
http://www.wandasway.blogspot.com
http://www.cafepress.com/wandasway
http://www.facebook.com/wandadhudson
http://www.twitter.com/@wandaluv
http://www.myspace.com/wandaluv
Contributing Author -
Succulent - Chocolate Flava 2
Purple Panties - An Eroticanoir.com Anthology

Working Depression, Please Fire Me

My daddy died today. Well, actually he died June 4th, 2008, but each day is the same for me. Now I lay me down to sleep doesn’t work. When I close my eyes I see my daddy lying in his coffin. I know he is not going to get up, so the vision never changes. My mornings are identical; I wake up tired and want to stay in the bed until. If I didn’t have to “live” I wouldn’t. Routine – open my eyes and listen to my mind complain, get Dasia ready, take her to school, and go to work and “function.” Thank God for Dasia. Monday through Friday I remain under my sheets until I’m late enough for work - not enough for my boss to complain, but enough for me to fuss as to why I continue to fall into the late schedule. People lose their jobs everyday, but my working depression won’t fire me.

I’ll settle for a layoff if it’s long term and the position won’t call me back. I can’t shake this. One minute anger is my best friend, the next hate, and I try to reason with it all. Tolerating things that I paid no attention to previously burns holes into my soul. My mouth, oh, the words that can come from my mouth. My dreams tremble me. One night I had one about a basement full of rats. The setting was on a street that my family resided on when I was a child, but in a neighbor’s apartment. The rats crawled into the cement wall, the wall closed and all their tales fell off. The next one I can remember contained dogs, spit, singing and skin. Working depression, please fire me.

I don’t write anymore. I figured getting this out might help. Lying on a couch talking about my feelings would be a waste of time and money. I’d make myself late or not show up. The someone that I need to talk to is dead. The woman that raised my father said it would get better; she died less a month after my daddy did. What am I looking forward to?

Patience is invisible in my world, although I’m not as mean as I was a few months ago. That’s my opinion. I still like to blast certain people who say dumb things with no meaning. You can’t have an opinion about someone else’s opinion, but I don’t care. I’m talking shut them down and get out my face blast. Rude for Miss WandaLuv, but effective.

See, I had this multimillion-dollar empire planned for my family. The dream that my daddy chased all his life ran to me. Miss Luv’s Books was formed, NYC was the place where my astronomical comedy career would blossom - my father would lavish in it. He pushed me, he told me that I was still young and it took work. My daddy told me to keep at it. “Babygirl people work their whole lives to make it; you got plenty of time.” I wish I had enough time for him.

My prior life of hustling for it is somewhere. I don’t make any effort to develop the uniqueness that is I. In all honesty – I’m all fucked up. Just tired, angry and aggravated. Am I going to commit suicide? Hell naw, fool! My daddy would kill me! This is my attempt at getting back to the swing of things. Misery could care less about who it chooses for company.

On March 2nd I’ll be forty-three. Before June 4th I loved my birthday. I’d buy myself a present, go out or celebrate with friends. When I turned thirty I threw my own birthday party. What a vain heffa I was. This year I will think about how my daddy felt the day that I was born. He had something that was for him and still is his. I’ll get it together one day.

When will these weird dreams stop? Why do I wake up tired when I don’t dream? Why do I keep seeing him lying in that coffin? By the way, he was laid out in a gold-ish tan colored suit that matched the coffin. He was always a suit wearing well-dressed man. My father’s love of clothes, his laugh that I can still hear, and his voice. These are some of the things that I never want to forget. Do you forget?

I want to sell books and perform on stage. Book clubs need me to make their meetings exciting. Comedy shows need a little luv. My Blog Talk Radio Show – Wanda’s Way - was HOT. Wait for Love: A Black Girl’s Story, LuvMe, the book and the fragrance, and A Sheltered Life need me to make it. I need a stimulus plan custom designed for me.

How do you live with depression? It’s easy. Take a shower, go to work, go back home, take a shit, and go to bed. Plenty of us do it everyday. Many of us have been doing it for years. When distress happens in your life most of us call our mother. My mother doesn’t care to talk about my daddy. They were divorced after twenty-seven years of marriage. They both remarried, but she still brings up things that happened in 1970. The husband-wife relationship is totally different than the father-daughter one. The first person I called when I found about my daddy was her. She told me to be strong. She didn’t realize that she was talking to a baby and babies aren’t supposed to be strong. I don’t give a damn about her past and I guess she doesn’t care about my present. All fucked up.

A good job is challenging to find and to quit a job is idiotic, but one day I have to resign from this one. No unemployment for quitters, which would mean no Cheetos for Dasia…back to my first request. Working Depression, Please Fire Me.

I love you, Daddy.

Wanda D. Hudson
http://www.wandadhudson.com

A Procession of One

The word bitch should be used solely in conjunction with the word grief. I promise you, if I ever hear another man call a woman a bitch, I don't care who he is, I'm going to hurt him. If I ever hear another woman call a man a bitch, I'll release a few choice words that will touch her core, but she'll be able to continue. Neither a man nor a woman can make you feel as sickening as grief can. I don't care what they do to you - cheat, lie, steal or slam you to the ground and run. Grief is the only bitch I know.

Grief intruded into my life June 4th 2008 at 4:20pm. That's when I received a call from my father's wife informing me that my daddy, Bobby James Hudson, was gone. She said it as calmly as she could. "Niecy, we lost Bobby today." That's when my procession of one began.

I proceeded to cry. I proceeded to yield to the shit feeling that was ravaging my body, because I couldn't fight back. I proceeded to collapse and let myself be gutted by grief. Grief cuts your insides and churns them at the same time, runs them over, burns them, and leaves them there expecting you to function as if oh well should be the next words you say.

The first steps of my procession were to see my daddy lying in his coffin. Simply visiting my daddy became viewing his body. I was at a wake that would never allow for sleep. This wake wanted tears and I obliged...boy did I oblige.

My procession kept going strong with then next day being more forceful than the first. The funeral told me to say goodbye. I only did so after God told me to hold onto His hand. He said that I will see my daddy later.

Next, the cemetery. Grief began to slither around my throat. It's hold grew tighter and tighter but I still saw the coffin which held my daddy - even with my shades on and my eyes closed.

I know we all go through this but it doesn't diminish the fact that my daddy broke my heart. I know he didn't mean to. I know he loved his babygirl. When I was younger my father told me that he wouldn't always be here. His words - "Babygirl, ya daddy ain't always gone be here." My words - "Well, where are you going to be?" Together we'd laugh. Lawd, I miss my daddy.

A father's love for his daughter is priceless. Fellas, you all can step up your game and you still won't measure up. My daddy made me feel SO special. His encouraging words to keep on babygirl, stick with it, success doesn't come overnight. Man, this hurts.

I wanted my father to see me make it. To him, I already did. He saw something different in me. He saw that I stepped out on faith and did what my passion told me to. I know that he was proud of me.

Bobby James Hudson was the first black man to work in an office position at the TAM Plant in Niagara Falls NY. 1968 didn't have a civil rights march for him - he was just being a provider for his family. Tuskegee Institute taught my daddy a few things. He took that knowledge and eventually opened his own store, Hudson Tile and Carpet in Ocala Florida. But that was after he showed others how it should be done at the Color Tile store in Niagara Falls NY.

My daddy and his ideas! I smile just thinking about them. Shaklee, Amway, Omaha Steaks and BARD (Bobby, Alice, Ronny, Denise) Security. His favorite food - fried chicken. Once my daddy told me that he could eat fried chicken every day! Why? "'Cause I was raised on it babygirl." Oh... I miss my daddy.

He taught my brother to keep a handkerchief in his pocket. My brother now has taught that to his sons. Something so simple. but something to be proud of still. He taught me to be me, and ain't nuthin' wrong with that :-)

Golf, golf, golf. Why did I say that golf was a dumb game...that all you do is walk around hitting a ball. Lawd, did I get a LECTURE on golf! I was a teenager. I'm 42 now and I have NEVER said a bad word about the game of golf since!

I'll hurt, I'll cry and still talk too much about my daddy. My procession will continue with me working it out and being the woman that Bobby James Hudson knew I could be.

I love you daddy.








Wanda D. Hudson
Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story
LuvMe
http://www.wandadhudson.com