Jamal

Chapter One

After ten years, Jamal, breathed his first breath of air as a free man. Freedom wasn’t only a joy, but a sense of relief for Jamal. The past year had seen a radical change in what he had grown accustomed to. The three men who had been his lovers, protectors, providers, and abusers where removed from his life one by one. The first to go was Shy Boi, who had finally made parole. The next, and saddest, was Wisdom who had for the better part of two years been battling dementia. It was only when Covid19 struck the prison, did the warden have the “compassion” to request that Wisdom be sent home to the care of his family. A month later, Jamal, and Shit talk received a letter from Wisdom’s daughter that he had passed away due to complications from Covid19. A month before Jamal’s parole was official, Shit Talk, was stabbed to death in the yard. Over 80 stabs in broad daylight and no one, not even a guard, saw what happened.

Mercifully, Jamal had been left alone to serve out the remainder of his time in peace.

“My Baby!” said his Mama rushing to hug him as soon as he stepped through the gate. “Me and Taryn have spent the past two days cooking all of your favorite foods.”

Jamal felt his body tense at the mentioning of Taryn’s name. She was pregnant with their son when he was caught with shit ton of drugs and money. At that point Taryn and Jamal had been together since they were 14 -years- old. He went to prison at 20, and now at the age of 29, damn close to 30, he was afraid that Taryn would want to pick up where they had left off. Ironic, because initially, his biggest fear going into prison was that Taryn would find another guy and move on without him.

“Taryn, how is she and JJ?”

“She is wonderful, and I cannot wait for you to finally meet your son. Oh, he is so much like you, Jamal.”

“Is she seeing anybody?” He asked hoping that the answer is “yes”

“I am not sure. She has had a couple of gentlemen friends while you were locked up, but you know that girl is crazy about you, Jamal.”

When they were several miles down the road, Jamal rolled down the passenger side window. The cool, crisp air kissed his nostrils and caressed his lungs. The big toe on Jamal’s right foot pressed against the folded piece of paper in his boot. Jamal had guarded that piece of paper for over three years. It had been given to him by Wisdom in one of his moments of clarity. If what Wisdom had told was true, Jamal would have a very comfortable life. So far, Jamal only saw two obstacles that could impede his life as a free man: Taryn realizing that he no longer desired her or any female sexually and the ever-looming threat of Shy Boi.

Chapter Two

The party was beautiful. Having his blood family around and doting on him, made Jamal feel like a man for the first time in ten years. He wasn’t anybody’s property, he was a son, a father, a big brother, a little brother, a nephew, and a cousin. He was a human being who was connected to other human beings who loved him without condition.

Seeing his son, who looked like a miniature version of himself, both broke Jamal’s heart and filled it with pride. He had missed ten years of his son’s life, but his son was a smart, well-adjusted young man, who Taryn had done her damnest to keep away from the lifestyle that had sent Jamal to prison.

As the party wound down, anxiety began to overtake Jamal when he saw Taryn whispering to his mother. Once all the guest were gone, Jamal’s mother announced that JJ would spend the night at her house, so that he and Taryn could be alone at Taryn’s place.

Taryn had the kind of apartment Jamal used to imagine the two of them would share; clean, with a big ass flat screen television, and a chocolate brown sectional in the living room.

“I have been wanting to get you alone all day.” Giggled Taryn. Damn near 30 and she still had that little girl voice and giggle. She stepped out of her fitted dress. Nineteen-year-old Jamal would have been rock hard at the sight of Taryn in a bra, thong and high heels. Twenty-Nine, damn near 30 -year- old Jamal only felt nervous and ashamed. This woman had raised his child , had made sure his Mama was alright, had sent him money when he was locked up, had worked hard to make herself a successful young woman who could have had any man that she wanted, and she wanted him, a broke ass , poorly educated , undercover faggot ass nigga out the joint.

“Damn girl, you’re still looking good.” He said, doing his best to make himself muster up the desire to be with this woman sexually.

“Oh really?” she sat astraddle his lap. Taryn helped Jamal take off his shirt. “Damn boy.” She traced his bicep with her fingertips. She placed his hand inside of her panties. “I haven’t fucked nobody in almost a year, I’m so tight, Jamal.” She took off her bra and rubbed her titties against his hard pecs.

Jamal’s dick began to grow hard, but not from the woman on his lap. He was going to fuck Taryn, but his mind was ten years in the past to the first time that he had been with another man:

Opportunity to ease their sexual tension did not present itself to Jamal and Eye Candy until Friday night. From the dim light the shined through the little window in their cell door, Eye Candy watched as Jamal stripped completely naked. His dick was so hard and shiny it looked like a stick of polished wood. Pre cum puddle around his piss split. Eye Candy's mouth watered. Jamal's precum looked sweet and enticing like the syrup the peaches they served in the cafeteria swam in; he wanted a taste so bad. He motioned for Jamal to come to him. Jamal let out a groan of pure pleasure as Eye Candy traced his ever -throbbing cock head with the tip of his tongue.

The smoking hot blow job that Eye Candy intended to deliver did not materialize. Jamal, full to capacity from six months of celibacy and not jerking off, erupted after the first time Eye Candy's tight, hot mouth moved down his shaft. The nut busting was so sudden and abundant, Eye Candy swallowed wrong and the contents came back up through his nose like milk.

“Damn baby, I'm sorry.” Said Jamal grabbing tissues to help him clean up the mess. “I told you I ain't fucked in a long time, but don't think I'm going out like that.”

Once Eye Candy had succeeded in cleaning himself up,, Jamal lifted him from the bottom bunk and place him mid -way the top bunk with his feet dangling. Jamal stood on the edge of the bottom bunk. He opened Eye Candy's legs and spread his ass cheeks apart and inserted a cherry Lifesaver.

Eye Candy's body temperature was so high, the candy began to melt within seconds making his asshole all sticky. Jamal licked Eye Candy's ass like it was a prime rib smothered in his grandmother's home- made BBQ sauce. The taste of cherry and asshole had his dick pounding rock hard and ready to wreck shop.

He pulled Eye Candy down from the top bunk and bended him across the bottom one. He slammed every inch of his dick up into Eye Candy's hot, wet, sticky hole. Eye Candy hopped up on the bed, lowering his stomach and spreading his legs with a perfect split, so Jamal could have full access to that ass which he threw at him like the nasty bitch in heat Jamal had made him.

“Yea baby, give daddy that ass.” Moaned Jamal gripping Eye Candy's waist tighter and pounding Eye Candy's ass like it owed his dick some money. Eye Candy didn't scream the way Jamal wanted him to, but Jamal knew he was doing damage because Eye Candy was trembling and crying beneath him.

Jamal snatched out of Eye Candy and sprayed him from the nape of his neck to the small of his back.

“Goddamn.” He huffed as he crashed onto the bunk beside him.

“Can't nobody ever know about this.” Warned Eye Candy.

“Those mother fucker ain't gonna do shit to you, I'll________”

“Stop being stupid, Jamal, it's three of them and one of you, plus they got guards and other inmates in their pockets.” Jamal was silent. “I care too much about you Jamal to see you get hurt, please do not fuck with them.”

“If it means I can have some more of that good ass, fine then, it's a secret worth keeping.”

Eye Candy was taken by surprise when Jamal kissed him. As natural as breathing the two became entangled in each other's arms kissing passionately. Neither of them had ever experienced this type of intimacy with another man. Eye Candy was used to just sex with the Crooks, Jamal was used to just sex with females. Both enjoyed the new experience. By the time each had given the other a bath from the small metal sink in the cell, kissed and held each other some more until the lights came on at 6:00am, the two of them were in love.

He had gotten through it. The memory of his encounter with Xavier had had him so aroused he brought Taryn to orgasm twice before he came. It wasn’t until after it was over did it dawn on him that during foreplay, Taryn had put a condom on him. Jamal rationalized in his mind that it had been because she didn’t want to risk getting pregnant.

She thought that he was asleep. Jamal felt Taryn insert a finger into his anus. He wanted to pretend to wake up, startled and chastise her about doing what no normal straight man would ever be cool with, but confronting her would’ve meant having to explain to her the depth and scarring in his anus. Taryn let out a loud, disappointing sigh that made Jamal wish that his heart would stop beating right then and there. Taryn got up from the bed and trudged out of the bedroom. She did not return.

Chapter Three

Jamal could feel the tension that radiated just beyond the door of Taryn’s bedroom. It was well past nine in the morning and he had a little more than an hour to be at his Uncle’s shop to begin his first day of work. Jamal was afraid of being confronted with the truth and double afraid of seeing the look of hurt and disappointment on the face of the woman he had once upon a time planned to spend the rest of his life with.

She was seated at the kitchen table, she looked as if she had aged ten years. Gone was the girlish seductress from the night before.

“I understand, Jamal.” Said Taryn. She sounded completely drained. She barely had a voice. “Nineteen is still a child, sure you could beat these little niggas around here, but what chance did you stand against hardened criminals?”

“It’s not as simple as that Taryn.” He sighed. “Taryn, I am gay.”

“What the fuck, so you liked the shit that they did to you?”

“The rape, no, hell no, but I did experience intimacy with another man that wasn’t like that and it was so… I was always curious ___”

“Mother fucker don’t, please have enough respect for me not to tell me that for the whole while we were together and you were fucking me, you were thinking about getting your shithole shafted.”

“No, when I was with you, I was with you.”

“Can I trust you with our son?”

“What the fuck; Taryn, please tell me you didn’t just ask me that fucked up shit! I am gay. I like men. I ain’t trying to fuck with no kid, let alone my own. You’re sounding like a stupid ass bitch right now.”

“Okay, I’m a stupid bitch now, but you were a prison bitch for ten years and I am not supposed to worry that that shit may have warped your mind to the point where you might be subject to fuck a child?”

“Fuck You, bitch!”

“No, fuck You, faggot!”

“You know what Taryn.. nah, fuck it; I’m out.”

“I didn’t mean that Jamal!” she called after him, but it was too late.

Chapter Four

“Uncle Wallace, I promise you, I am not about to do anything stupid. I just need you to take me to renew my license, buy me a cheap cell phone, loan me one of your cars for a few days and a little money for gas, food, and a cheap hotel. I swear I will pay it back when I return.

“You just need a lot of shit.” Said his mother’s slightly greying younger brother. “Look, I respect that you want to put your life back together, but I have the strangest feeling that you are about to do some shit that’s going to put you right back in a prison cell and your Mama will never forgive me for helping you.”

“Uncle Wallace I swear to God, I am not going to do anything illegal, but I really need to get to Florida. I want to lay flowers on my friend Wisdom’s grave, and I have to hand deliver something to his children and grandchildren. I will be back in a week or so and I will work here in the garage for a whole month free to pay you back.”

Wallace’s forehead furrowed and he scratched his beard. He had never known his nephew to be a liar; however, he had been locked up with hardened criminals for ten years.

“I am going to do this for you, but if you fuck up and land yourself back in the slammer, lose my number.”

“Uncle Wallace I promise…”

“I will help you out, but you’re going to pay me back by dropping Quishawn off to his mother’s house in Atlanta.

“Quishawn?”

“My stepson, he was about eight when you went in. Me and his Mama split up about five years ago, but I’m the only Daddy the boy has ever known. He and my new old lady don’t get along and you could save me a plane ticket by dropping him off.”

“Sure, It’s only gonna take about six hours to get from North Carolina to Georgia, soon as I drop him off, I can shoot right to Florida. Yea, that can definitely be done.”

“I need to give you heads up. He’s a punk.”

“Punk?”

“A faggot.” Said Wallace lowering his voice. “He don’t bother nobody though, he’s a really good young man.”

“Unc, I don’t give a fuck what nobody do in their personal life.” Said Jamal. “Long as he doesn’t do any stupid shit to have the cops on my ass, all I gotta do is drop him off at his Mama’s house in Georgia.”

“Thanks for not judging him. Nephew. He’s still a son to me in spite of all.”

Jamal hoped that his Mother would say the same thing about him when he finally told her.

Chapter Five

By five o’clock that afternoon, Wallace had helped Jamal secure his driver’s license. purchased him a Samsung Galaxy phone, handed Jamal the keys to a fully gassed Dodge Charger and an envelope with 20 crisp one hundred- dollar bills inside of it.

Jamal was beyond grateful to his Uncle. That gratitude would soon turn to dread when he laid eyes on Quishawn. It was if Jamal had seen a ghost. Quishawn bore a striking resemblance to Xavier. The sight of him immediately brought tears to Jamal’s eyes.

“You alright, man?” asked Quishawn fastening his seatbelt

“Yeah, yeah.” Lied Jamal. “It’s just that this trip is very sentimental to me; I am just really grateful that Uncle Wallace made it possible.”

“I’m sorry he put me off on you.” Said Quishawn

“No, it’s no bother. I have to pass through Georgia anyway. Plus, I can use the company.”

“Well it’s good to hear that somebody wants me around.” Sighed Quishawn.

“Unc’s old lady don’t like you?”

“That homophobic bitch doesn’t like queer people, period. She had the nerve to say that she didn’t feel comfortable with me in the house around her small children.”

“That’s so fucken ignorant.” Groaned Jamal, recalling his argument with Taryn.

“That’s why I cussed her the fuck out and threatened to put the paws on her.”

“Nah, bruh, that’s where you fucked up. Don’t ever threaten to hit a female and don’t ever actually hit one unless you have to defend yourself.”

“With the way this world is, a bitch saying shit like that about me is a threat to my personal well- being as well as my reputation, so I felt I had every right to beat that bitch down. Then my Mama was coming to lay her ass down, but Pop- Wallace wired Mama some money to keep her occupied at the Casino long enough for him to arrange to get me back to Georgia. Lucky him, you came a long, so he doesn’t have to lose a day of business at the shop.”

“Young blood, always stand up and defend who you are, just be wise about it. Jail nor prison is any place you need to be.”

“Oh, you think because I am gay, I cannot handle myself in prison?”

“It ain’t got shit to do with gay or straight. You’re 18, one year younger that I was when I got arrested, I was 20 when I went in. Trust me, you are not built for prison. Shit happens in there that… look, in prison you lose either your humanity, your dignity, your sanity, or your life. I saw mother fuckers lose all of those things in less than a week. Don’t be stupid kid, keep your ass out of trouble.”

“Damn, I ain’t never heard a nigga that’s been released from prison tell somebody not to go. Where I am from, they act like doing time in prison is a rite of passage.”

“It’s not, and stupid ass niggers who act like it is are a fucken problem.”

“You are the first person I’ve met who sounds as if he regrets going to prison.”

“Damn right I regret that shit. I didn’t get to see my son be born and I missed out on ten years of his life. I spent my twenties locked up. I missed out on shit like college, or all these opportunities to make money on social media. I mean all that is still possible, but I wouldn’t be damn near 30 and just starting out. Also, if I hadn’t been in that prison on that block, Xavier might still be alive.”

“Who is Xavier?”

“The first man I ever loved, the only man I ever made love to.”

“Holy Shit; you’re gay?!”

“Yeah, I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable.” Jamal laughed and winked at Quishawn who was still trying to process the information. Jamal felt a slight throbbing in his cock. Quishawn was indeed sexually enticing, but Jamal had huge fish to fry and didn’t need to get himself involved with an emotional and potentially volatile 18-year- old who bore a scary resemblance to his dead lover.

“Damn, why does he have to look just like him?” Thought Jamal to himself

“So, what was Xavier like?” asked Quishawn

“I don’t remember too much.” Lied Jamal. “I only knew for a couple of months before he was killed.”

“What happened, why was he killed?”

“He was killed because he loved me.”

“Goddamn, they murdered him on some homophobic shit?”

“No, they murdered him because they owned him, and he disrespected them by fucking me.”

“But why didn’t they kill you?”

“Because I was his replacement. I was younger, more masculine and it only gained them more fear and respect from other inmates that they could turn a 20- year – old thug nigga into their new bitch.”

“And those niggas are still there at that prison?”

“No, two are dead and one made parole over a year ago.”

“I don’t know how you’re not hunting that nigga down.”

“You really need to watch the shit you let come out of your mouth.” Said Jamal, annoyed.

“Sorry, it’s just. Look, I know this is different than what happened to you, but when I was 14, my Mama’s new boyfriend made me suck his dick one day when she wasn’t home. The mother fucker came in my mouth and made me swallow it. That shit just made me feel lower than shit. I couldn’t tell anybody because my Mama and Pop- Wallace would have killed him and ended up in prison and everybody else I knew held such fucked views about gay people, my sweet, punk ass wasn’t about to get any sympathy.”

“You still should have called the police or something.” Said Jamal, surprised at hearing himself chastising a person for having not called law enforcement.

“Nah, I got his ass myself. The mother fucker stayed drunk and fucked up on crack. He also stayed in our garage trying to fix that raggedy as Expedition of his. One day when he was under it, I crept into the garage, kicked the jack out from under the Expedition and watched it flatten his ass. I then went inside the house and played video games for hours until Mama came home and discovered him.”

“I hope like hell you are bullshitting.”

“Sike, of course I am” Grinned Quishawn. “Picture me killing a nigga.”

The sad part was Jamal actually could picture Quishawn doing just that. Ten years in the joint made Jamal very intuitive. He had sensed early on that in spite of how attractive Quishawn was, something very dark and disturbing lied beneath the surface.

There was still well over five and a half hours before they would make it to Atlanta, Georgia. Jamal prayed that they would fly by, he wanted to be away from Quishawn as quickly as possible, for both of their sakes.

Chapter Six

By the time he reached South Carolina, Jamal, had to concede to the fact that it was too dark, and he was too tired to drive any further. Reluctantly, he stopped and checked into a Motel6. He had wrestled with the thought of purchasing separate rooms but didn’t want to offend Quishawn. He knew this was a matter of self-control. He was older and physically stronger than Quishawn, so the only thing he was in danger of losing a fight to was his own will power.

After the tumultuous morning and hours of driving, the hot shower was a like a gift to Jamal. It was his first shower as a grown ass free men. He wasn’t on time restriction and didn’t have the indignity of being watched by other men.

He toweled himself dry then cursed when he realized that he had forgot to bring a pair of briefs and his basketball shorts into the bathroom. They were still in his bag on his bed. Jamal wrapped the towel around his waist and prayed that Quishawn would be fast asleep.

No such luck! Not only was Quishawn wide awake, he was butt naked sprawled across his bed on his back with his legs spread wide, aggressively fingering himself. His semi -erect cock bounced up and down against his stomach the deeper his fingers probed.

“Yo!” Screamed Jamal. “Damn, if I knew you wanted to do that, I would have got you a room to yourself.”

“Then you would have had to walk over and knock on the door, why waste all that time when I can be right here, and you can fuck me.”

Jamal’s dick overrode any protest his mouth wanted to make, especially when Quishawn spread his cheeks and made his reddening hole throb.

It was on!

“Goddamn, your dick is thick, Nigga.” Moaned Quishawn when Jamal’s pulsating head broke through the tightness of Quishawn’s asshole.

It had been months since Jamal had been the top in a male on male sexual encounter, but his mind never forgot the euphoria of being inside of Xavier. Wrong as it was, Jamal used Quishawn’s body to have that just one more time he’d longed for ten years to have with Xavier. He positioned Quishawn onto his stomach, pulled him to the edge of the bed and stood fucking him from behind the way the Xavier preferred it.

Quishawn’s asshole had a grip so similar to that of Xavier’s, combined with the physical resemblance, it was far too easy for Jamal to lose himself in the fantasy of being with his long-gone lover.

Quishawn twice tried to raise up onto his knees into the doggy style position. Frustrated, Jamal, shoved him back flat onto his stomach and gripped his waist to hold him in the position that Jamal wanted.

“Stay like this, baby!” said Jamal firmly.

As good as he was being fucked flat on his stomach, Quishawn’s rebellious spirit drove him to once again rise up on his knees. Jamal, remembering the one-time Shit Talk had to break him from trying to control the sexual encounter between them, rammed his stiff dick forcefully into Quishawn, causing him to shriek and immediately fall flat onto his stomach. Jamal laid on top of the whimpering boy. He intertwined his legs with Quishawn’s to hold him in place.

“Why you make me do that baby?” Jamal planted gentle kisses on the back of Quishawn’s neck. “You know I don’t want to hurt you Xavier. I love you. Just let me have you the way that I want to.”

Jamal’s thrusting turned to slow circular grinding. Quishawn moved in own ass in rhythm with Jamal. As alarming as it was for him to know that that Jamal was thinking about a dead men while fucking him, Quishawn couldn’t deny the pleasure that Jamal was giving him. Being with a fine muscle bound, big dick, fresh out of prison masculine nigga like Jamal, Quishawn would have preferred to have been fucked in multiple positions to rival the freakiest shit on OnlyFans, but he was satisfied with what he was being given. Quishawn’s load skeeted forth, saturating the sheet beneath him.

“Aha,” said Jamal in response to Quishawn’s moaning, “I told you I was gonna make you feel good, Xavier.” Jamal’s moan chorused the moans of Xavier as he flooded Quishawn’s asshole with pearlescent splooge. “I love you Xavier, I’m gonna always love you.”

Quishawn didn’t respond. The sex was great, awkward, but great. After a few more pumps, Jamal withdrew himself from Quishawn and went to his own bed.

“Get some sleep, Quishawn, I want to get up and on the road early tomorrow.”

Quishawn silently positioned himself in bed and slid under the covers, pulling them over his head. He was in his feelings. He would not have minded having empty sex with Jamal, that was what he had pretty much expected. What he hadn’t expected was to be used in the place of a long dead lover that Jamal still pined for.

“At least the dick was good.” Quishawn rationalized with himself. It was that thought that gave his mind the peace it needed to allow him to fall asleep.

Chapter Seven

They checked out of the hotel around 9:00 A.M. Jamal figured that they would make to Atlanta within a couple of hours once they’d stopped and had breakfast.

Breakfast at the Waffle House was uncomfortably quiet. Jamal knew that he needed to apologize to Quishawn about the night before but knew that he was too unpredictable to discuss such a sensitive matter in a place witnesses and weapons were in abundance.

Once they were on the road again, Jamal nervously asked, “You good; you want to talk about last night?”

“What’s there to talk about?” asked Quishawn not bothering to look up from the video he was watching on his Ipad. “I was horny, you fucked me, my asshole is a little sore, but I am good.”

Jamal decided it was better to leave the matter alone, just get the boy to Atlanta, and focus on the business that lay ahead for himself in Florida. Jamal was startled to hear his cellphone ring for the first time since his Uncle Wallace had purchased it for him

“Morning Nephew,” came his Uncle’s voice from the other end. “I called Quishawn’s Mama, she told me he didn’t get there last night, is everything okay?”

“Everything is good Unc.” Said Jamal. “I decided to get a hotel and get some sleep when we reached South Carolina. I was tired and it was pretty late, and I didn’t want to chance anything.”

“Well I appreciate you for being responsible. Can I please speak to Quishawn.”

“Yea.” Jamal handed the phone over to Quishawn, “It’s Unc.”

“Hey son.” Said Wallace

“Oh, I am son now? That homophobic, garbage fat bitch must not be around, or she allowed you to have your balls back this morning.”

“Son, please do not do that this morning. I did not choose her over you. You are my son; she is my wife. She is older than I am and unfortunately was raised with some ignorant views that she is going to have to evolve on. I still can’t have you threatening her.”

“Okay, I’ma let you talk back to Jamal.”

“Quishawn, don’t be that way. I have always accepted you and loved you for who you are. I am not homophobic!”

“That should be very comforting to Jamal because he is hella gay. He told me so, and he even fucked me last night!”

“Yo!” screamed Jamal as he snatched the phone from Quishawn causing it to hang up on Wallace who had just gotten the W in the word what out of his mouth. The car skidded across the line. Jamal got the vehicle back in line then veered over onto the side of the road and parked. Jamal unfasted his seat belt, got out of the car and stomped over to the passenger’s side and ripped the door open. “Get out of the car.” He said. The restraint in Jamal’s voice did not convey the fury that was boiling inside of him. “I am about to kick your ass.”

“Nigga, I ain’t scared of your brollic ass.” Said Quishawn stepping out of the vehicle. “The bigger they are the harder they fall mother fucker!”

Quishawn swung wildly, reminding Jamal of the fight Jamal had had with Shit Talk. Jamal’s blind rage had caused him to abandon everything he knew about fighting and self-defense and just swing at his opponent with zero consideration to precision. Shit Talk beat his ass that day.

Jamal connected with right to Quishawn’s chin and immediately felt remorse.

“Hey look, I am sorry. Let’s just stop this and get you home.” He reasoned moving in close to check on the boy who had tears welling up in his eyes.

That was a mistake

Quishawn headbutted Jamal so hard he saw stars, then connected with a perfect left to Jamal’s jaw. Jamal almost lost his footing. He admired the little nigga’s heart but understood, he could not withstand too many more hard hits like that from Quishawn before he was knocked out, and Jamal was not about to give that arrogant little twink ass nigga any bragging rights off of his name. Jamal swung and caught Quishawn in the side with a punch. Quishawn was still swinging, some of his hits were landing and they were hard.

“This little nigga ain’t finna kick my ass!” said Jamal aloud in frustration. Not wanting to stoop to dirty tactics but seeing no choice in the situation, Jamal, thumbed Quishawn in the eye. The boy immediately favored his injury, giving Jamal enough time to slip behind him and catch him in a cravat style head lock. Quishawn began to buck and flail his arms in a futile attempt to free himself and continue the fight. “Calm the fuck down!” ordered Jamal. “I’m going to let you go and you’re gonna get your punk ass back in the car and I ain’t having no more shit out of you. Do you hear me?”

“Okay, mother fucker!”

“I’ma let you go, you swing on me or do anything other than get the fuck in the car and I’ma really choke your ass out, you hear me?”

“Yes.” Groaned Quishawn.

Jamal loosened his grip. Quishawn spun around to face him. Hatred burned in his eyes as he tried to get himself to breathe normally. After a couple of minutes of staring each other down each scared the other was going to initiate another physical altercation, Quishawn was the first to drop his head and submissively return to the car as he had been ordered. Jamal took a few extra minutes to calm himself down before returning to the car.

“Are you alright?” He asked

“Yeah,” Sulked Quishawn “You want me to suck your dick?”

“No. I don’t want you to suck my dick.”

“You won the fight. I am supposed to suck your dick. That’s how it went down in prison; right?”

The smug look on Quishawn’s face immediately dissolved any sympathy that Jamal felt for him.

“See, you love to fuck with people, and I don’t know how you made to 18 without somebody severely snapping your shit up. Plus, what you said to Unc was fucked up; it wasn’t your place to out me. And where the fuck is your respect for your father or yourself; how could you tell your father that another man fucked you? Whether he accepts you being gay or not, I doubt any father wants to hear his son say some shit like that.”

“You can’t say shit about what a father would and would not want. You never had a father and you’ve never been a father; when did your son meet you, yesterday?”

“Fuck it. You’re one of those hard -headed ass young niggas that has to learn shit the hard way. I could really be a mentor to you if you would just …”

“Mentor?” Quishawn guffawed “How the fuck can you mentor me or anybody? Nigga, you aren’t even 48 hours out the joint, you are broke as shit, poorly educated, you are an absent father, a failed drug dealer, and a ten-year prison bitch who is past his prime.”

Tears of frustration welled up in Jamal’s eyes. He wanted to pull the car over again, drag Quishawn out of it, stomp the mother fuck out of him, and leave him lying on the side of the road. Instead he fired the one verbal shot that he knew would cut Quishawn to the core.

“Yeah, I am all of that shit, and I was still able to fuck you. But wait; was it you?”

Quishawn’s mouth stood agape. The string of insults and obscenities he wanted to hurl at Jamal were stuck in his throat and wouldn’t come out. It was Jamal’s turn to sport a smug look.

“Aha, nigga, now do me a favor and stay shut the fuck up until I get your bitch ass to Atlanta.”

Chapter Eight

After two hours of silence and occasional glances between the two of them that ranged from burning hatred to deep remorse, Jamal pulled into the parking lot of the brick house his Uncle Wallace once shared with Quishawn’s mother, Brenda. Jamal remembered that Brenda was at least twenty years younger than his uncle and was the epitome of a hood rat. Beautiful, but a hood rat none the less. From the age of fifteen until he was arrested at nineteen, Brenda made it very clear that she was down with the idea of fucking Jamal. She had even sent him explicit letters and pictures while he was in prison. How ironic that Jamal would wind up fucking Brenda’s only son.

“Alright Quishawn,” sighed Jamal, “It’s been what it’s been, but you’re home now.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Said Quishawn gathering his bags from the backseat. “I don’t resent you for what happened between us last night. I resent you because , had you not gone to prison, you would still be selling drugs, acting like you’re straight and teaching your son to hate and mock people like me and abusing the fuck out of him to keep him from being like me, all the while you’d be sneaking around fucking people like me.”

“So, you resent me over what you assume. How is that any less prejudice than someone hating you on sight because you’re gay?”

“I guess it isn’t.” Smirked Quishawn. “But how many of my assumptions about you are wrong?” Quishawn didn’t wait for the answer, he turned and walked up the driveway to the house.

As much as he hated to admit it, Jamal had to concede that much of what Quishawn had said was true, especially the part about how he would have raised his son. Growing up nearly every black father he knew was adamant that his son, especially if he only had one, was not going to be a faggot. He had witnessed grown men punching little boys in their chests to toughen them, taking boys as young as twelve to hookers for blow jobs, encouraging male relatives to physically assault a boy anytime he displayed any feminine behavior. Mothers weren’t allowed to be overprotective or affectionate. The goal was to raise men. The result was often hyper masculine, hypersexual adult males who resented women, and hated any form of authority. Those raised under such conditions who were not able to escape the plight of homosexuality fell into two categories: the defiant, flamboyant openly queer or the self -hating closeted, both sexually reckless. Jamal, through indirect experience of such rearing could have easily been the latter. Hell, to some degree, he was.

Jamal was both thrilled and saddened when he crossed the Florida state line. He still had several hours of driving ahead of him before he reached Sarasota. He was going to say his final goodbyes to Wisdom. In spite of the way that he had been brought into the fold, Jamal had grown to love and respect Wisdom. It had been Jamal who first noticed around 2018 that something was not right with Wisdom. Wisdom who was an avid journalists had begun to become frustrated and unable to formulate sentences on paper. By 2019, his once brilliant mind was completely destroyed by dementia.

The year prior, when he was in the early stages, Wisdom tore a sheet of paper out of one of older journals and handed it to Jamal.

“Hide this.” He said. “You are going to be out of here in a couple of years. What’s written on that piece of paper is going to make you a very wealthy young man, just give half to my daughter and grandson.”

For the next three years Jamal guarded the piece of paper with his life. It had been in his boot when he walked out of prison. His toe affectionally grazed it when he undressed to fuck Taryn. It wasn’t until after he had dropped Quishawn off, was the piece of paper, along with his Id and some of the money his Uncle had given him placed in a Gucci wallet that he purchased from a pop-up shop before he left Atlanta. At the moment, the piece of paper was the most valuable thing in his possession.

It was dark by the time he reached Sarasota. Jamal found a hotel, deciding that he would visit Wisdom’s grave and go by and see his daughter the next day. Outside of the hotel were some of the finest men Jamal had ever seen. They were for sale and weren’t the least bit ashamed of it.

“Damn, I might have to sample at least one of them before I go.” Thought Jamal, but for the moment he desired a shower and sleep more than sex.

When he got inside his hotel room, he foraged through his bag for one of many numbers he had scribbled down throughout his stay in prison.

“Hey Pluto, it’s me Jamal.” Pluto and Jamal had formed a unique bond during Jamal’s stint in prison. Pluto was the Crook’s inside man and handled most of their dirty business in return he got a righteous cut of the drug money and access to Jamal, AKA, Bitch Boi. Unbeknownst to the Crooks, Jamal thoroughly enjoyed those encounters with Pluto. For all of his hyper -masculine bulldog persona, Pluto was quite the bottom and able to take every inch of Jamal like a pro.

“I already know about Shy.” He said

“What about Shy?”

“Wait, you don’t know; It’s been all over the news.”

“Man, I’ve been on the road since yesterday evening. I’m in Florida trying to tie up some loose ends.”

“He’s dead, Jamal. The police shot him dead.”

“Why?” Tears began to well up in Jamal’s eyes.

“He was strung the fuck out, tried to rob a white couple at an Air BnB, they called the cops, the police tried to arrest him, he kept resisting and they got tired and emptied a fee clips into him.”

“Goddamn.”

“All of your comrades are gone now. It’s sad.”

“Yeah, it is. Look Pluto, I just wanted to check on ya. I’ll be back in Carolina in a couple of days, text me when you’re off, I will head up to Charlotte and maybe we can get a room.”

“Hell yeah. My ass is pining for that cock.”

“I’ma hook you up, I swear.”

“Take care of yourself, Jamal.”

“You take care, Pluto. We will definitely be hooking up soon.”

Damn, Shy Boi was dead! In the end, Jamal was the last man standing.

Chapter Nine

A beautiful, glossy, grey headstone adorned the grave of Micha Wise, AKA, Wisdom. Jamal sat on the ground Indian style at the foot of Wisdom’s grave. Jamal finally released the tears of grief he had been holding in for close to a year. He was now grieving all four of them: Xavier, Wisdom, Shit Talk, and Shy Boi.

“Rest well my Friend.” Jamal poured a little Crown Royal, the liquor Wisdom always lamented over not being able to indulge in, on Wisdom’s grave. “And thank you. I love you, Wisdom.”

As he returned to the car, Jamal dialed a number that he had become familiar with over the years.

“Hello” came a female voice from the other end

“Hello, Epiphany, I am not sure if you remember me. My name is Jamal, I was a friend of your father’s.”

“Oh, Jamal, Hi. How are you, Darling?”

“I’m good. I just got out of prison a couple of days ago. I’ve made it to Florida. I’m just leaving your Father’s grave and I was wondering if it was possible for me to see you before I returned to North Carolina.”

“Of course, Darling. I have been waiting for you. The last words my Father spoke before he passed away were, “Jamal is coming to see you.”

Epiphany was more beautiful than the pictures her father had of her. She had a regal tone in her voice that reminded Jamal of Maya Angeleau and Toni Morrison.

“As you know, we couldn’t even be in the room with him because of Covid19. Only the doctor and nurse were with him. When the doctor informed me that Daddy had said, “Epiphany, Jamal is coming to see you”, I figured it had been a result of his dementia. As time began to pass; however, I started to realize that that sentence was quite coherent, and the fact that it was his last one before dying, there had to have been some significance to it.”

Jamal handed her the piece of paper that he had guarded like the Holy Grail for nearly three years.

“Do any of these numbers mean anything to you?”

Epiphany studied the paper.

“783 is the number to the storage Unit I’ve been paying for these past 21 years. I only did it because some of the stuff was my deceased Mother’s. 1981 is a number taped on this big crate that Daddy kept in the garage and was super protective over. We were not allowed to touch it. It has a huge padlock on it. Even Mama never knew what was inside of it. She told me Daddy was in New York the whole time that she was pregnant with me. Three days after I was born he returned to Florida with the crate and a wedding ring.”

“Wow. And Naked Brother; do you have any idea what that is?”

“I do not.” She shook her head.

“Epiphany, will you please go with me to the storage unit. Wisdom said I am supposed to split whatever is connected to those numbers with you and your son.”

“Please assure me that this isn’t anything illegal.”

“To the best of my knowledge it is not. I don’t think he would involve you if it was.”

“Fair warning, it’s a long ride,” She said gathering her purse and sunglasses. “Which is perhaps a good thing. There is a lot we need to talk about.

Chapter Ten

“My Mother died of ovarian cancer in 1999, my freshman year of college. I was too focused on getting my education to take time to be a supportive daughter to a grieving father. Plus, I was trying to navigate through my own pain of being a young woman, who would never have her Mother in her life again.”

It was sunny out but there was a nice enough breeze in the air that Jamal could drive with the windows down. The houses and beach were so beautiful, Jamal vowed that if everything panned out he would purchase a vacation house in Sarasota for him and his family. He had already begun to look forward to playing football with his son on the beach.

“By the year 2,000, Dad had started hanging around Shyland, his former student, only he was calling himself Shy Boi.”

Jamal’s ears perked up.

“Wait, Shy Boi new Wisdom before they were in prison; I never knew that.”

“My father taught Senior English in High School. Every couple of years there would be this one male student who Dad invested way too much time in, especially after school. Mama never said anything, but by the time I had reached high school, I had come to realize that my father wasn’t mentoring these young men. They were his lovers. Shyland was a year older than me. He had always been an overrated pretty boy with aspirations of being a gangster. Everybody knew that he sold drugs and for some reason that was appealing to my Father. So, in the summer of 2000, when I was pregnant with my son and still grieving the loss of my mother, my father at the age of 45, thought that it was a good idea to travel to North Carolina with his 21-year old lover to smuggle drugs. They were caught and I lost my father and my son never got to meet his grandfather.”

“How is your son, is he in college?”

“No, no, Darling, he is not. My son’s life ended at 16.”

“But Wisdom talked about him as if her were alive, that was before the dementia set in.”

“That’s because I never told him. When Dad called, I would pretend Jonathan was away at camp, away at practice, hanging out with friends, all of the things he should have been doing. When Dad would ask for pictures of him, I covered by saying that Jonathan was going through a phase where he did not like to have his picture taken. I didn’t have the heart to tell my father that his only grandson drove his car into the ocean and drowned himself.”

“Dear God; Why?”

“Because he was a 16- year old black gay boy in Sarasota Florida that didn’t look like you or most of the guys who casually walk along the beach. He was scrawny and couldn’t put on muscle despite his best effort. He was a handsome boy , he looked like his father and my father ,a perfect blend their features , but he looked at his face that had my father’s high cheek bones and his father’s strong Afrocentric nose combined with the coiled coif of hair that he got from me and all could see was someone ugly, someone who would never be loved, someone who didn’t want to live.” A single tear rolled down her cheek

“Epiphany, I am so sorry.”

“Darling, please don’t miss this next turn,” She said shifting the conversation, “We should be at the unit in a few short minutes.”

“I don’t know why I held on to all of this stuff.” She said with a dismissive sweep of her hand. “I sold my parent’s home years ago and I never liked their taste in décor. Darling if you see anything that you can use, please take it.”

“I think I will stick the crate.” He said looking at the hideously antiquated early eighties style furniture and art.

“Darling, I do not blame you.” Smiled Epiphany. “Oh, there it is.” She said pointing to a corner in the left.

“Damn”, said Jamal noticing the padlock. “You wouldn’t happen to know where wisdom kept the key?”

“I do not.”

“Well,” said Jamal lifting the crate that was surprisingly light. Obviously, there wasn’t gold, jewels, of millions of dollars inside. Jamal had begun to wonder if Wisdom had been further advanced in his dementia and this trip to Florida had been all for nothing. “I can find a Walmart or some hardware store and get some bolt cutters.” He toted the crate out to the car.

“Take me home, Darling.” Said Epiphany

“Don’t you want to find out what’s inside the crate?”

“No, I do not. If there is something of value in there, keep it for yourself. I am fine financially. I have always been smart with money. I have a comfortable job. I have a good life, tragedies notwithstanding. If Johnathan were alive, it would be different, but I have everything, so I need nothing more.”

“Are you sure?” asked Jamal

“Quite, you sexy bastard.” She said stroking his cheek seductively. Epiphany laughed at Jamal’s discomfort. “You have to forgive me, Darling, I know that you prefer men, but I am my Daddy’s daughter; esthetically appeasing young, black men are my weakness. I see why father loved you and Shyland, and then there was this very pretty young light skinned thing, they called him Candy or something of the sort.”

“Xavier.”

“That’s it. I remember when Dad sent me a picture of the four of them I couldn’t get over two things; how young and beautiful Xavier was and how ass ugly and out of place Jerome the one they called Shit Talk was among them.”

Jamal nearly skidded off the road laughing. It had always been said amongst the inmates that Shit Talk had to have been the muscle of the Crooks because he damn sure didn’t add any beauty.

“Wait, you have a picture of Xavier?”

“Well it’s the four of them.”

“Can I please have it. I don’t have a picture of him, or even Wisdom for that matter. Please, can I have it?”

“Certainly, Darling.” She said patting his hand.

If the contents of the crate turned out to be a big nothing burger, the trip to Florida was worth it after all because Jamal would have a picture of Xavier and that he would treasure for life.

A worn-out Jamal dragged the crate, though it wasn’t heavy, into his hotel room. The bolt cutters that he has purchased from Walmart were tucked under his right arm. On top of the crate were the half dozen pictures of himself and the Crooks that Wisdom had sent to his daughter. The two he treasured the most were the group picture of himself and the Crooks and the One with Xavier and the Crooks. Regardless of how things went down and how he came to be a part of them, those men were his family for ten years. Now all of them were gone.

After making sure the pictures were in a secure place where they would not be damaged, Jamal cut the lock from the crate and lifted the lid. A big square something was wrapped in a velvet cloth. Jamal carefully removed the velvet. On a gallery wrapped 36 X36 canvas was a painting of a very young and very naked Wisdom. Every detail from his piercing amber colored eyes to his crooked cock was expertly captured. Scrawled at the bottom of the canvas was the name Chauncey and the year 1980.

Jamal sat on the bed staring at the painting that was propped on the chair across the room and tried to make sense of it all. This was a beautiful painting, but certainly Wisdom’s mind had to have been in an advanced state of deterioration to think that this was going to make anybody rich.

Naked Brother. Those words shot through Jamal’s brain. Those words were written on the paper along with the numbers for the crate and the storage unit; they had to have been relevant.

Jamal googled Naked Brother and instantly his phone was flooded with links to gay black porn sites. Frustrated, he cleared the search and typed in The Naked Brother. A picture of Wisdom’s painting along with a slew of articles mentioning The Naked Brother filled his screen. One title in particular from a year earlier caught Jamal’s attention, he clicked on it:

Harlem Artist, Chauncey Bleau, Dies of Covid19 at 101; His Provocative Piece “The Naked Brother” Remains Missing

Chauncey Bleau was a figure in the New York Art Scene for Eight Decades. He has had pieces featured in galleries throughout New York City and the World, but perhaps his most famous piece is one few people ever got to see in person. “The Naked Brother” was painted in 1980 by then sixtyone -year old Chauncey. Chauncey very boldly told the world that the painting was of his 25-year old lover. The explicit painting of a fully erect, well- endowed young black man created much controversy and the piece was removed from the Studio Museum in Harlem after two days. A year later when it was scheduled to be displayed at the famed Musse des Beaux-Arts in Paris, France, it was discovered that the painting was missing from the warehouse that housed Chauncey’s artwork… The elusive painting if it’s still exits has been valued at well over 16 million dollars. In spite the high value, which is likely to double with Chauncey’s passing, it is believed to be unlikely that “The Naked Brother” will ever be found.

Jamal screamed to the top of his longs with joy.

“Goddamn, I love you, Wisdom!” He carefully rewrapped the painting in its velvet cloth and returned it to the crate.

That night Jamal had a beautiful dream of himself, Xavier, Shy Boi, Wisdom, and even Shit talk’s ugly ass romantically entangled on a white bear skinned rug. “The Naked Brother” hung above the fireplace and intensified their arousals as they licked, sucked, penetrated one another to a searing climax.

Jamal woke the next morning with his underwear saturated in semen.

“Damn,” He smiled to himself, “It seemed so real”

“No, No absolutely not, Darling. I said I wanted nothing, and I meant it. Use that money to secure your child’s future. Get him into a private school, these public schools aren’t for shit. Buy yourself a nice home. Purchase real estate, it will make you money. Take care of yourself, Darling and thank you so much for loving my Father.” Epiphany hung up leaving Jamal feeling both admiration and bewilderment.

After making one last trip out to Wisdom’s grave to thank him, Jamal got in his vehicle and began to put Sarasota Florida in his rear view.

Chapter Eleven

“I am going to need the car for a few more days to make a trip up to New York, Uncle Wallace, and another loan for gas food and lodging if you can spare it. I swear its nothing illegal and I will pay you back for_______

“Goddamn!” Scowled Wallace slamming the wrench in his hand down onto the hood of the car he had been working on. “I guess prison taught you to have no shame or remorse for your actions. I don’t care what your sexual preference is, and I don’t care that you and Quishawn aren’t blood related, he is still my son and your cousin! I have always treated you as if you were my own child and you fucked my son.” Tears poured out of Wallace’s eyes “And if he hadn’t told me you would be in my face asking for a favor like nothing happened, but you know that I know and Goddamn if you ain’t right here asking; have you no shame?”

“Unc, I am sorry. I am really, really sorry.” Cried Jamal. “I didn’t mean… It was never my intention to have sex with Quishawn. Things just happened. It was wrong of me and I am sorry. I never, the last thing I would ever do is hurt you.”

“Yet you did.”

Jamal dropped his head.

“Let me get my stuff out and I will leave you the keys.”

“I ain’t said nothing about giving me the car back. The car is yours. I just wanted to see if you felt any remorse cause Quishawn damn sure feels none. He’s reveling in it.”

“Unc, no disrespect, but something is wrong with Quishawn.”

“Tell me about it.” Sighed Wallace. “Look give me a couple of days to come up with the money to fund you little trip to New York besides, you need to spend some time with your family, especially your son.”

“Thanks, Unc.” He hugged Wallace. “Why don’t you come with me to New York. I want you Mama, Taryn and JJ all with me in New York. Please.”

“I’m sure I can close up for a couple of days.” said Wallace

“Great, you call Mama and tell her about the trip, I’m about to go by and see Taryn and JJ.”

“Alright then, but I am still mad at you!” Wallace called after Jamal

“Taryn just listen.” Said Jamal trying to reason with the woman who stood before him with her arms folded.

“You come into his life and disappear for three days; you don’t even call to check on him. I am not even going to let this dysfunction become the norm.”

“I am sorry. You are right, I should have called. I went to Florida to secure our future.”

“Secure our future; is your stupid ass selling drugs again or did you go down there and sell yourself to some rich white man?”

“Look, you are going to stop disrespecting me. Get this through your head, I love you, I just don’t want to fuck you. I want to make sure that you and our son are okay, and I have done that. I want you and JJ to come with me to New York. Mama and Uncle Wallace are going too. After this trip, you, me, my son, my whole family is never going to want for anything. I am trying to make shit right Taryn.”

“He thinks that you’ve rejected him.” Said Taryn unfolding her arms

“Rejected him; why would he think that?”

“Your son’s room is down the hall on the left.” Said Taryn stepping aside and allowing Jamal to enter her home.

“Hey Yo, Son, it’s Daddy.” Said Jamal knocking while entering. The startled boy immediately tossed the object he was holding behind him on the bed to hide it from his father. “Hey, what were you playing with?” JJ covered his face with a pillow and began to cry.

“Son, no.” Said Jamal sitting on the bed next to him. “It’s alright.” He pried the pillow from him, noticing for the first time the case was covered with rainbow colored butterflies. A quick eye scan around the room and Jamal saw a room that his younger sister would had dyed for at age ten. Dolls and bright and sparkly things were everywhere. Various hues of nail polish lined one of the shelves and there was a white sewing machine in the room. Jamal reached behind his son and retrieved the object that he had been playing with. The beautiful black fashion doll was dressed in a short, blue sequins dress. JJ had been attempting to style her hair. “Who, who is your friend?” asked Jamal carefully measuring his words.

“Am I going to have to throw her away?” Asked JJ

“Throw her away as pretty as she is; why?”

“Because you don’t want a son that plays with dolls, you don’t want a son like me.”

Hearing his son cry at the thought of not being wanted by him ripped Jamal in half. He clung to his son as if he were a piece of art worth tens of millions of dollars. He didn’t care how long it took; his son was going to know that he had a father who loved him unconditionally.

“I have a son like you, I want a son like you. I love you because you are my son and I am so sorry I missed out on ten years, but I swear to God, I am not going anywhere.”

“So, you are going to marry Mommy and move in here.”

“Uh, no. Daddy and Mommy cannot get married and that has nothing to do with you. We are just not compatible. You know, your mom and me would be like you putting a leopard print belt on this blue dress.”

“With a blazer and the right shoes, that actually would look right.” Said JJ.

“Okay, me and your Mama are like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a slice of pizza. Both are really good; they just don’t belong together.”

“That makes sense.”

“So, you are into fashion?”

“I want to be a famous designer.”

“That’s awesome.” Said Jamal, saddened that at ten he himself did not have any aspiration beyond wanting to be a thug. “Did you make this dress?” he asked referring to the one on the doll.

“Uh huh. And I am going to make her a leopard print belt and blazer to show you how good it’s going to look.”

“That would be awesome.” Said Jamal

“I am not gay.” Said JJ. “I know that’s what you are thinking I know that’s wat everybody thinks. I like girls, but I love to make and be around pretty things.”

“Son, look at me.” Said Jamal “I would not care if you liked girls or boys or both. Gay, straight, bisexual, trans_”

“Gender nonbinary.” Added JJ.

“I don’t know what the fuck that is, but I would still love you even if you were that because you are my son.”

JJ tightly hugged Jamal

“I love you Daddy.”

“I love you too, Son, now how soon can you sew matching shirts for you and me, I would like for us to wear on our trip to New York City.”

“New York City is the Fashion Capitol of the world!” screamed an excited JJ who jumped up and down on his bed before jumping into his father’s arms. “What color do you want?”

“Gold.”

“Eww that’s going to clash with our skin tones, we’re not quite dark enough to wear gold, Daddy. Hmm, we don’t want to wear blue, red, or any color that might make us look gang affiliated, Oh wait,” JJ sprang from the bed and rifled through his fabric bolts. “I have been meaning to use this peach micro silk material for some time.”

“Peach?” asked Jamal trying not to sound judgement.

“Yes, it’s a perfect spring color and would pair well with a pair of Kaki colored shorts or joggers. Your skin and those prison muscles are going to pop in this color.”

“Okay, Okay. You are the expert.” smiled Jamal.

Jamal was thrilled at his son’s excitement and how wonderful their lives were going to be going forward. And if in next three to five years JJ were to announce, to the surprise of no one , that he was indeed attracted to boys, Jamal was going to hug him tightly crushing him with his prison muscles and say, “You are still a son to me; you are still my son, in spite of all.”

The End