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Hot new excerpt from Dapper Carter's 5 Fatale`Flaws

Long Heel Red Bottom

Cez had to giddy-up back to the suburbs because Queen Elisabeth and Princess missed their daddy and Khalil had to get back to the set. Shit like that always happens to people with children and workaholics, so anticipating this I made alternate plans to meet Sissy Cavanaugh at Capital One, the hottest spot in Manhattan on a Tuesday night. She claimed that she came back early to see me and that she was already in the City kicking it with the girls, so it made things easier for her to lie to the D.A. when she ditched them to meet up with me.

I met my dream girl in front of the club looking every bit as fine and eccentric as I expected her to.

She was white hot tonight and looked like a celebrity herself sporting a Madonna-like red and black plaid Catholic school girl mini skirt with rippedwhite fishnet stockings, and a pair of Louboutin platforms. She sported a black tuxedo jacket and blew her hair out wild like Alicia keys on a speedboat. She was drunk and high, which was what she liked to do anytime she was able to get away from the officer of the court she was living with.

I greeted her with a “Hey sexy,” and a thirst quenching smooch on her lips.

“Hi, baby. You’re looking good yourself.”

“What? This old thing.” I said, as I pirouetted showing off my Seven jeans and Polo windbreaker.

“You’re silly. I love that about you.”

“I just love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Prove it.”

She Casablanca kissed me in front of several hundreds of people waiting to get in. A resounding “whooooooo-weeeee” rose from the crowd followed by applause. I was pleasantly surprised but I wasn’t really complaining.

The club overflowed into the streets of the Meat Packing District with a line stretched around the block looking like a bag of Skittles. Luckily, I have friends in high places and Ziggy Stardust was promoting at a posh new club, Ice Cream. I had carte blanche at any venue he worked. L.A.M.E. on Monday in SoHo, Capital One on Tuesday in Meat Packing, Ice Cream on Wednesday in Union Square, Milk on Thursday back in Meat Packing, Contingency in Alphabet City on Friday, Excelsior on Saturday  in Chelsea, and TAG on Sunday in SoHo.

The place was packed. Wall to wall gold diggers and wanna be ballers were strewn about like a bomb went off. Her and I fit in perfectly.

The pronounced smell of marijuana encircled the back of the club so that’s where my muse and I headed so that we may partake in the burning bush as well.

Shorty was the belle of the ball working the room like a pro with her seductive cat like strut. Jokers were losing their fucking minds over this sexy and demure Mountaineer. I had no problem letting other motherfuckers sweat the package. In fact, I was offended if you weren’t checking for my chick because I was secure when it came to that.

I had total confidence that no other man could take any chick from me. If he could, then he could have her since as far as I was concerned she wasn’t down with me from the beginning and he just did me a favor. I used to have run-ins almost on a nightly basis with weak, possessive, insecure mothafuckas. On more than one occasion a dude stepped to me because his girl was checking for me. Ass backwards. Why don’t you check your chick? Or better yet, let her do her thing. You knew the game. Your bitch chose me.

“What are you drinking?”

“Whatever you’re drinking.”

Fortunately tequila and vodka didn’t have the same sneak up ability that Long Island Ice Tea’s do so I was confident she could hold her liquor and make it back to my crib for late night festivities without any repercussions of how much she had been drinking.

We belly rubbed to Buju Banton and I took great delight in letting her know that my soldier was ready and able to go to battle. It was always exciting to me, that moment when your dancing with a girl and your becoming aroused and the decision has to be made whether or not to lay that salami up against her stomach if your belly rubbing or on her donkey if you riding it. Two things will happen, either she will pull away, letting you know that she don’t get down like that or she will nestle her ass even closer.

“I gotta pee,” she announced.

In New York it is an unwritten rule that when you’re at a club or bar and your lady goes to use the restroom, every mothafucka in the club is gonna try and kick it to her every step of the way going to the restroom and every step of the way coming back, so you had better be secure or you’re going to be getting into fights all the time.

So I went with her anyway…

“I gotta pee, too.”

We waited in the bathroom line tongue fornicating and dry humping feverishly right there up against the wall in the hallway. After a few minutes of outward pda’s (public displays of affection), we conspicuously slipped  into the unisex bathroom. She assumed her spot on the commode. She giggled profusely since I needed to relieve myself as well of the four shots and four Coronas we each had consumed. So I did what any drunk, desperate man would do and drained the snake right there in the bathroom sink. She thought it was hilarious. In fact, it turned her on.

Sissy, Miss Cavanaugh if you’re nasty, rose from the bowl and leaned back on the sink, pulling up her naughty school girl skirt, exposing her white lace thigh highs. Not even her usual thong. Her cleanly shaven kitty smiled, winked at me, then  invited me in.   But I had to taste her first.   It was my signature.   Our eyes did all of the talking that was needed like a point guard’s knowing glance to a teammate cutting back door for an alley oop.

As I dropped to my knees on the dirty bathroom floor I couldn’t help but think to myself how many public bathrooms I had been laid in.  

 “You’re so nasty!” “She said, taking both of her  index fingers and spread her labia fully exposing her spindle of nerve endings. I leaned in to give her kitty a “Hello Kitty” kiss.

The sprite tasted like a mountain dew.   Not the soda, but that chilly, early morning fresh, dewy fog that lingers at the bottom of South Mountain. Massengill’s vinegar and water. 

 I didn’t like fruity, perfumed smelling chochas.   I just want it to be clean and I didn’t mind if snapper smelled like snapper.   If they bottled it everyone would be wearing it. 

 I started out by sucking on that throbbing piece of cartilage between her legs which was already the size of a pinky but was now engorged to diameter of a thumb. I made sloppy, slurping sounds the same way she did when she performed fellatio on me.   It turned me on so I figured it would do the same for her.   I was right.   As I performed the A-B-C’s on her begging clit she erupted with a volcanic flow of fluid all over my face.   I had only gotten to the letter G.   Then the she-devil wrapped her legs around the back of my head, inviting my face deeper into her canal.

 ““Get it for me, Dapper,” she purred, while driving her heels into the gaudy, red velour wallpaper.

I peeped up with a greasy face and replied, “My pleasure.”

 I dropped my Seven’s and Calvin’s, then pushed my lovin’ in her slowly. Her pelvis waxed and waned accommodating her new daddy easily. I liked a woman who could open her spigot on command at any time or any place.

“I love fucking you…” she said.

“I fucking love you…” I said.

“I love you, too…” she said.

“And I love fucking you, too.” I said. That was our last utterance before I erupted inside of her.

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Contemporary fiction or Romance?

Now that a few reviews have trickled in since the release of my second novel one of my artistic insecurities have has come to the surface once more. I'm having a hard time deciding whether I’m a contemporary fiction writer or a romance writer. One usually doesn't want to pigeonhole oneself, but having come from a screenwriting background the only way I learned to write fiction novels was to read other authors. My cousin, Monique Gilmore-Scott, had several romance novels out so I used her books as my blueprint.

It seems like there is little room for overlap in the African American lit category so the two genres are usually clearly defined by Terry McMillan, Walter Mosley, and Eric Jerome Dickey on the contempo side and Zane and Brenda Jackson on the romance side. Although Black male authors are apparent in the urban fiction category few dared to enter the realm of romance. Clearly, a void exists in romance genre in regards to male authors, so an opportunity to distinguish myself in a wide open niche seemed optimistic. So I constantly find myself in a state of flux between “telling like it is” and lavishly and lasciviously” telling it like it is”.

The reason I’m such a fan of Iceberg Slim’s writing is because of his ability to tell the story clearly, succinctly, and honestly, while still buttering it up with the flowery street vernacular of a pimp. Hopefully readers will be able to tell the difference between gratuitous sex and the gratuitous sex Dapper participates in as a reflection of his personal demons. In others words, its deeper than what appears on the surface. So what would you consider me, contemporary fiction or romance? 

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SAMPLE CHAPTER FROM DAPPER CARTER'S 5 FATALE`FLAWS

‘Hiiii. This is Rain. Leave a message at the tone. Thanks.’
“Hey baby its me again. As I'm sure you know. Just sitting here thinking about you. I can’t wait to see you. I love you.”
After all of that I never hooked up with Shy. I was feeling guilty and I had done nothing wrong. Guilt was this new emotion that I was experiencing for the first time. The Grinch was just as confused when he accepted Christmas into his heart. Needless to say, I didn’t like young girls in the first place opting for a model with a little mileage on it and had already been broken in.
There were advantages to dating young girls, none of which had anything to do with intellectual pursuits or common interests. They were too young to have anything in common with except for sex. But as I got older I needed a little bit more than sex. Not much more, but nevertheless, more. I liked being able to discuss politics or cinema over dinner then take you home and blow your doors off.
Most of the women I was meeting had been born the 80’s and I was already halfway into my hell-raising career by then. I needed more conversation, more connection, and more life experience. All reasons why I didn’t want to lose Rain.
Even though I was disgusted with her and had my suspicions about her friendship with Teddy, I was whipped and couldn’t fathom being with any other woman besides her. I was intent on not doing the same things I had always done so I wouldn’t get what I always got. Rain was good for me, and made me a better person and more responsible. This was the steadiest employment I had ever sustained in my life and I actually managed to pay a bill or two.
I waited patiently for the love of my life to return from her two-week excursion to the Bay Area. I worked even harder than usual at Fitness Depot to keep my mind busy, finishing in the top three company wide in sales for the month and earning a trip to Las Vegas. I was busting my ass because I had my eye on a two and a half carat princess cut engagement ring worth $6,000 that I could get for $4,500, which would put the one carat to shame that I bought Kennedy with her money. Not to mention, Sin City would be the perfect place to pop the question and pledge my undying devotion.
She finally returned and I was as happy as Whoopi Goldberg when Sug Avery came rolling over the hill in The Color Purple. I was spontaneous to a fault, deciding to leave work early and hustled to JFK Airport to surprise her. In spite of that, I got there a few minutes late because of a signal fire on the A line. I called her maniacally as soon as I got above ground to tell her to wait for me, but it was not to avail.
‘Hiiii. This is Rain. Leave a message at the tone. Thanks.’
No answer. I was beginning to think that she was not answer-ing the phone on purpose.
She was probably on the train already I rationalized. Sweat dripped from my forehead onto my iPhone and my deodorant was not living up to its billing either, causing sweat spots to appear under my armpits.
So I turned around and went to Plan B, which was to surprise her at her brownstone. I had one of those queasy feeling in my stomach that tells you something is wrong, but we always ignore. I dialed her phone repeatedly from the moment I stepped from the train all the way up the subway steps and down six long blocks.
Her light was on. I sprinted up the red clay steps and pounded on her door psychotically. She finally answered after I kicked the door with my size twelve’s.
“What’s the fucking problem?”
“I went to the airport to surprise you.”
“I took a cab.”
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“Because my phone was in the bag and I didn’t hear it.”
“That’s a convenient excuse. You knew that I would be calling you the second that you got off of the plane.” I screamed at her.
“I needed some space. Can’t I have five minutes to myself? I speak to you every day when I’m here and twice as much when I’m gone.”
I still didn’t believe her so I put the screws to her.
“Were you with Teddy?”
“DAPPER, I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! YOU’RE SMOTHERING ME!” she screamed and tried to slam the door in my face. That wasn’t going to happen as I defiantly barged in, not allowing her to simply dismiss me.
“What da bloodclot? You fuck put yankee haaands on me bumble clod,” she said in a thick Jamaican patois. Things had gotten deathly serious all of a sudden.
Her Jamaican heritage erupted like Mount Vesuvius and I was poor Pompeii. Normally when she got excited and went all Jamaican on me I would laugh. But this tirade was different than it was way too serious for me to take lightly.
She stepped back and slapped the shit out of me, halting my advance on the spot.
We both stood motionless, shocked, knowing the boundaries of our relationship had been breached in so many ways in the last few moments. You haven’t ever been in love until you’ve had a restraining order taken out against you was my theory and I was sticking to it. I was huffing hard, infuriated.
“Just tell me you’re seeing someone else and I’ll leave.”
“Fine. I’m seeing someone else, now leave.”

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Dapper Carter's 5 Fatale`Flaws now available!

It's official...my second child is finally available for purchase on Amazon.com for paperbacks and kindle and Barnes and Noble.com for nook books. All reviews are encouraged and definitely appreciated. That's how i move up the list on Amazon and become that best selling author that all of you want me to be.  Thank you in advance and enjoy the read. Its twice as long as the first and twice as funny. Trust me.

In Dapper Carter’s 8 Rules of Dating, we met Dapper Carter, the philandering fool, on his fall from grace following his abrupt divorce from Kennedy Craig. Dapper develops eight authentic rules that help him navigate through the rigors of the dating world and eventually lead him to the girl of his dreams, Rain Van Ness.

In the first book, he was trying to find love.  In the risqué Dapper Carter’s 5 Fatale` Flaws, he’s just looking for a good time, but ends up finding himself. Dapper’s alchemistic odyssey intertwines with a revolving door of femmes fatales`. Through a multitude of meaningless encounters, Dapper realizes that he is the only person holding himself back and is urged to take an introspective look to identify five reasons why he can’t seem to get out of his own way. Witness the rise and fall…and rise and fall… and rise of Dapper as he learns the five things every man should know about himself.

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No Net

For the first time in a long time I am experiencing feelings that usually were relegated to the relationships that I have been in and the newness thereof. The upset stomach, anxiety, can't sleep, can't stay focused very long, I have become good at coming up with challenges for myself once upon a time those frivolous anxieties that were borderline obsessive towards my relationships have transferred into my writing. The difference between Dapper Carter’s 5 Fatale` Flaws and 8 Rules of Dating is that the latter was an eight year process. I had rewritten, polished, cut, and accepted various opinions from several friends, family, and people in the entertainment industry that I trusted, so I knew I had a viable entity. But with the new one I didn't let anyone read it. I call it my "I can't hear anything but my music like Prince in Purple Rain" phase and part of me just wanted to let it hang out free and expose the nerve endings on the words and the feelings that I had written for all to see and scrutinize freely.

Call it vanity, calling it looking for a new challenge, call me arrogant or even stupid but I realize that the more people read my work then the more self-doubt will be creep into my already fragile artistic psyche. But I have an ego, which is a huge issue in the new book. I deal with ego, self-doubt, insecurity, and ways that we sabotage ourselves, holding ourselves back subconsciously as well as consciously at times, continuously allowing for mediocrity and to come up just short, not reaching our full potential.  But then I also thought, “what if they like it?”

Then one night I watch this guy walked across the Grand Canyon with no net and his mortality on the line and I thought to myself how silly it was for me to be worried about what people think about me and whether people accept my humble point of view in a fictitious story or not. But it wasn’t just fictitious. It was rooted in reality. The reality of the view I held of the world. I needed to let it go and be free to have its own legs and to stand alone realizing that it served its purpose simply by being created.

By letting it go I did accomplish one thing. I cured myself of the fear of the failure consciously and the fear of success subconsciously.

No net.No brakes. Full throttle.

I had come to the conclusion that hopefully people like it, and if they don’t, hopefully they really hate it. (not true)

Release date July 11,2013

The Year that Changed Hip Hop: 1987

 I was watching the movie Brown Sugar with Sanaa Lathan and Taye Diggs when the question was asked, “When did you first fall in love with hip hop?” It got me thinking about when hip hop became a part of my life.  Up until that point I was like every other Black kid in the late 70’s listening to whatever my parents were listening to.  Mostly Al Green, Marvin Gaye, or something by the Isley’s.  But then around 1979 a new music form began to take shape and I spent many weekends in my cousin Joey’s house listening to him practicing deejaying on his new Technic turntables and mixer.  I must have listened to him remix Queen’s “Another One bites the Dust” over 100 times in a row that day.  But Joey also introduced me to the Sugarhill Gang, Afrika Bambaataa, and Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five.  I remember when the movie Wild Style came out and my buddy Lee and I would have sleepovers watching it and staying awake to tape Mr. Magic or Chuck Chillout’s master mix on the radio at midnight.  Also, Video Music Box with Ralph McDaniel’s was the edgy upstart program that showcased these gifted orators and entrepreneurs allowing us to match the rapper’s face with the voice for the first time.

Not to mention, I went to the movies six times to see Beat Street and wore out many pairs of Puma’s and cardboard boxes moon walking and back spinning.  At the time Run DMC was hot and a new incredible rapper named LL Cool J had just burst on the scene.  For me, James Todd was the catalyst of what was to come.  Up until that point most of the rappers were older than I and it was hard to identify with them.  Run DMC was already out of college, Kurtis Blow was being hailed as the father of hip hop, and Kool Moe D looked like my uncle.  The beats were recognizable sampled seventies tracks from groups like Cymande and the Jimmy Castor Bunch or disco samples from Chic.  

In 1987 all of that changed.  Specifically the summer of ’87 for me.  I had just graduated from Union Catholic high school and was on my way to play basketball for Fairmont State College in West Virginia.  That summer I worked stripping and waxing floors at my former high school to earn extra money.  I had a boom box set up in the classroom so I could whistle while I worked but I wasn’t doing much whistling because I was falling in love with the melodic flow of KRS-One and Boogie Down Productions debut album Criminal Minded.  Specifically, “the Bridge is Over”, which was the answer to Mc Shan’s “the Bridge”, lit my fire.  The battle between Mc Shan and Krs-One is when artist started rapping and repping where they come from rather than the individual accolades they had achieved.  Over and over I would play the tape eating up my eight hour shift as best as it could and eventually wearing out the paltry magnetized audio tape. 

The classic year of 1987 released Criminal Minded, Eric B. and Rakim’s Paid in Full, Public Enemy’s Yo! Bum Rush the Show, and  LL Cool J’s Bigger and Deffer.  All game changers for rap music and igniting the explosion that was to come in 1988 featuring PE It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold us Back, NWA Straight Outta Compton, The Adventures of Slick Rick, BDP By Any Means Necessary, Epmd Strictly Business, Lyte as a Rock, He’s the DJ I’m the Rapper DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, Long Live the Kane.

Biz Markie, Stetsasonic, Just Ice, the Jungle Brothers and the 2 Live Crew all released debut albums in ’88.  I was in love and neither my life nor the music culture would ever be the same.  Hip hop had gotten exponentially younger and took on a more educational based, conscious rap, with Krs, Chuck D, Parish from Epmd, and Young MC all having attended college and earned degrees.

The influence of hip hop is easy to see in Dapper Carter's 8 Rules of Dating.  Rap music affects my writing by helping think out of the box with colorful metaphors and similes.  It challenges me to say what i have to say and get my point across as crisply and concisely as possible.  Typically I'm listening to Lil Wayne, Kanye West, or Jay Z because of their abstract and metaphorically creative styles respectively.  

My hip hop roots are classic but I'm not as stubborn as some of my contemporaries who refuse to accept the newer artists and dismiss their lyrics as crap.  Hip hop is a movement, just like Jazz; and the only reason hip lasts the test of time, which it was predicted wouldn’t happen, is because of its constant evolution and adaptation like multi celled organism.  Even bad rap music has its place because it allows the genre to continually develop.  Hip hop music cycles through gangsta rap, braggadocios rap, party rap, conscious rap, and every thing in between.

I have a personal stake in the longevity and global marketing of the product since my own son,DaKidKam, has made rapping his occupation.  He’s just completed his second mixtape, Time In Between.  I’m asked all the time how I feel about having a son in the rap industry?  I think it’s great.  I’m a fan and a failed ex actor myself so I will do anything I can do to support him and help him realize his dreams. 

But he still has to go to college...

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Women HATE cheaters!

      It's humorous to me how women in particularly have responded to my book Dapper Carter’s 8 Rules of Dating.  I have read comments such as: "the way Dapper treats women was totally offensive to me even if this was a work of fiction," or "in fact while reading the first few chapters I wanted to put it away just because I couldn't stand the insults towards ALL women."    What's interesting to me is that of the fifty or so reviews I've had over thirty have been 5 star reviews and another twelve have been 4 stars.  Two 3 star ratings and one 2 star.  The only low ratings I received were from non-African American readers.  I find it interesting to see the disparagement between African-American reviews and non African-American reviewers. 

     During the 8 months that my book has been out i have found that Black women totally love my book and its honesty whether they know me personally or not.  White women who know me personally like my book.  And white women who don't know me at all hate my book!  lol

     My guess is that it has to be the language.  I don't think non Blacks are use to hearing the words nigga and bitch thrown around as freely as Black women are.  And they seem to be genuinely offended.  I'm not saying that either of these words is acceptable but unfortunately my people have learned to use both as terms of endearment at times and tools of hatred as well.

     I also catch an earful when it comes to the opening of the book and Dapper's dogged ways.  I always say if you get past the first three chapters then you will love my book.  Unbeknownst to the reader Dapper Carter's 8 Rules of Dating was conceived as a film idea and movie script first.  The first rule of screenwriting is that the opening ten minutes has to hook the viewer.  Novels normally don't start out with such a bang opting to build character and story more slowly.  However, I had to present Dapper as sooo unlikeable for the reader to be able to sympathize, empathize, and eventually root for our protagonist to find Love.

     I've found that all women HATE cheaters!  And its a delicate tightrope to walk when the lead character of your story is a cheating male and you're trying to gain female approval.  I guess I will have to continue to do what has worked for me thus far and write relentlessly honest and from the heart.  Hopefully my characters will be recognized as flawed and imperfect individuals just as we are and acknowledged for their attempt to achieve personal growth in each story.  No one is all good nor is anyone all bad.  We're just the good, the bad, and the ugly.

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Can others sense your desperation when you're playing the dating game?

Just like its easier to get a job when you already have a job it’s easier to get a date when you already have a date.  When you’re not in the dating flow it seems that people can pick up on the energy that you are out of the loop looking in. 

One of the themes of Dapper Carter’s 8 Rules of Dating is how people can sense your desperation when you are trying to date again.  It’s like they have a sixth sense that you’re not getting any play.  Dapper had to incorporate strict rules into his dating experience in order not to be took advantage of.  His rules were (1) not to talk too much, (2) go somewhere cheap on a first date because you may not see this person again, (3)f we’re friends we can split the check but if we’re having sex then I'm paying, if you’re at my house after midnight then we’re having sex (its like feeding a gremlin), treat the hos like queens and treat the queens like hos (that goes for both men and women), never have threesomes with people you care about, the only thing better than cookies are new cookies, and whatever it is you’re looking for from a relationship that’s what you have to give in a relationship.  My personal favorite is rule number three.  I had found myself in the position far more often than I liked where I would hear “Alan I like you as a friend” but yet and still I was always the one reaching in my pocket.  If we’re friends no problem, then we should be able to go Dutch once in a while, right?  But if we are actually sleeping together than I had no qualms springing for the meal.  It was the least I could do.

I don’t think people take advantage of other people with any malicious intent but if you put yourself in that position then its buyer beware.  Are you the only one paying for meals?  Do you only get booty called late at night?  It’s up to you to put a spending cap on dinners, time limit on late night visits, and address the boundaries of your friendship with the other person.  Sometimes you're the pigeon and sometimes you're the statue.

A lot of us have done the “taking advantage of” thing whether it be accepting a free dinner or drinks with no intentions of furthering the relationship or blowing a person off because they are too interested and too available.  Not to mention many of us have gotten the short end of the stick and been on the bottom of the dating totem pole committing dating faux paux’s of over eagerness, lack of confidence, volunteering too much personal info too soon, and lack of common sense.

If anyone has funny dating experiences (I'm sure it wasn’t funny at the time) in which you feel like you played the sucker and was taken advantage of let us know.

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Book trailer for Dapper Carter's 8 Rules of Dating

Book Trailer for Dapper Carter's 8 Rules of Dating