Marc from the hood my nigga! We hood
niggas be rockin that shit!!
TO: Marc Isles
SUBJECT: My book
So, I've made my dream a reality! Remember when I told you
that I'm turning my diary into a bestseller? Well, I'm almost finished. I figured I didn’t need a big-time editor. I don’t
need someone telling me that I should drop the chapter about Vivian and me
finding two Chanel bags (in pristine condition!) for $40 apiece (do you remember
that?!). I don’t need an editor telling me that I should expand the chapter
about you and I having sex inside your Challenger because sex sells (do you
remember that night outside of In-n-Out Burger?).
Speaking of sex, we have a good sex life, don’t we?
You know, I hate to say this, but it seems like guys from bad
neighborhoods always eat pussy exceptionally well. I know, I know, it's
unladylike for me to say that but, I'm just saying…
In my book, I call guys like you (guys who perform sexually
acts the way God intended) Hustle Dicks.
So, when you read my book, and you
notice that term in there, don't be alarmed.
You know what I particularly like about sex with you? You
screw like you mean it. From the very beginning, it’s like you have a single
goal and that goal is to be the best. I want you to know that I appreciate
that. So, for your viewing pleasure, I’ve cut and pasted the Hustle Dick
Remember that I am Simone, Jax is you, and Vivian is Vanessa.
Enjoy. (FYI, the following snippet if copyrighted.)
19 Hustle Dick
Vanessa said tonight while we were at another
barbecue. “Why are you obsessed with this guy?” I stole a look at Jax. He was
sitting with his best friend, a few of their friends, and a group of L.A. girls
that came up for the barbecue. They were all drinking Heinekens, laughing at
something that no one else was privy of hearing.
obsessed with Jax,” I told her.
“You realize that about ten guys have approached you tonight
and you're attracted to exactly zero?” She put her fingers together in the
‘okay' symbol and looked at me through the O shape. “What's he giving you that
somebody else can't? It damn sure isn't attention. We came here tonight, and he
said hi, gave you a half hug, and then put a wine cooler in your hand. That's
it. Now he's over there with the Ratchets.” She pointed to the L.A. girls.
Why do I like Jax so much? I don't know. Maybe it's the
classic case of someone not wanting you; therefore, you want them enough for
the both of you. Usually, your attraction for them fades once the guy or girl
shows interests in you. But that's not the case with Jax.
The one moment Jax shows a genuine interest in me is when
we're in bed together. There's an attentiveness that he gives me that is so unlike
his character; I end the night wondering who the real Jax is. Firsts things
first, when Jax begins an evening where sex will be imminent, he always takes
me to get something to eat. Usually, we head to a diner. A diner. An L.A. boy
taking me to a diner for burgers, fries, and malts is so nostalgic that I'm
already ready to sleep with him. Jax explained to me that L.A. loves the
seventies: music, cars, pimps, and oddballs. And the seventies were all about
diners. I love the sixties, and that era was all about diners too. So there Jax
and I are, sitting at a diner, in the same booth, spiritually in two different
eras. Me: the before. Jax: the after. And yet, somehow, we look right together.
Of course, while Jax and I are at the diner, we barely touch
our food. Why? Because Jax, as elusive and reserved as he is, is actually talking to me about things. He becomes
interested in how I grew up. Where I've vacationed. Which grade I want to teach
when I graduate. He wants to know all about the
designer-clothes-for-the-lowest-price-possible game that Vanessa and I play.
He's interested in hearing about the $40 Chanel purses we found at some old
lady's estate sale. He wants to know if she was too old to recall that Chanel
is a formidable designer. He wants to know if Vanessa and I bolted to the car,
with our tires screeching as we sped away with our purses. He thinks it's smart
to buy quality clothes for cheap. He thinks it's strange that two girls who
grew up on country clubs are so frugal. He thinks my stories of eccentric old
widows with big red-framed glasses are funny.
the one who suggests that I go home with him. In fact, I’m always the one who
suggests it. He never has to ask me because I’m always craving the attention he
Miraculously, every time we have a date and then end up at
his house, his roommate is always out for the night.
We always enter the house through the kitchen door, and I
always plop my Vera Bradley overnight bag on the kitchen counter. He always
grabs us something to drink, and it's always a wine cooler.
Where’s the liquor? I want to yell. I thought that’s what gets people in the
mood! But he never offers any. I take a sip or two before excusing myself,
my Vera Bradley in hand. I always head to his room to freshen up first. I'm not
a big lingerie girl; I'm into shoes. So, after I freshen up, I head out of the
bathroom with just a pair of Louboutins on. He's always in his room, fiddling
around with something on his computer. I notice how tall he is, how broad his
shoulders are, how good he smells, how cool he seems.
I’m the one
who walks over to him.
He looks up
from his computer, looks me over, and flashes his eyebrows at me.
And then it
generally picks me up to straddle him, before our mouths begin to attack each
other. There’s a hunger to our pre-sex kiss. It’s as though our mouths are
saying ‘Finally! These two have been
driving me crazy.’ By this time, I’m ready for him to just toss me on the
bed and FUCK ME HARD. But he doesn’t. Not yet. His hands grip my ass. Hustle
Dicks love a nice ass. Jax always sits me on top of the desk in his room first.
He then drags me to the edge of it by my legs and spreads them the furthest
they were created to go.
He goes to
on his knees in front of me, he could be there a good fifteen minutes. In
theory, that’s a long time. When I think about how much energy it takes to eat
pussy, with gusto, for fifteen minutes straight, I almost pass out from
His personal goal is to make me orgasm four times. I usually
can give him a good three. If the fourth one comes, I'm always astonished that
I had it in me. Jax taught me that the first time a woman orgasms doesn't feel
as good as the second time. Strange, but for some reason, that second orgasm
ALWAYS feel better. Not as strong as the first, but so much better.
After a while, he'll stand up, have me straddle him, and
he'll walk to the bed. All the while I'm frantically undressing him, sliding
off t-shirts, and struggling with jean buttons. He's kicking off Converse and
taking off his watch. By the time he plops me on the bed, he's completely
And this is
when it gets strange.
He looks at
me and then eases his body on top of mine. Body on body. The fragrance notes of
my perfume and the notes of his cologne in a marriage of sorts, becoming a
He takes his time with me. Kissing me with passion, but with
slow passion. Easing inside of me. Stopping if I tense up and then slowly
spreading my legs if I've clenched them. He lets his fingers intertwine with
mine. He's not a pounder; he's a digger. And so, every in and out seems to be
him going deeper… and deeper… and deeper still. Long strokes.
In bed, he
takes my advice seriously.
He’ll crash his groin into mine when I tell him to fuck me.
Or, depending on the position, he’ll crash his groin into my ass.
want, all I have to do it let him know. And he’ll get it done, no matter what.
-There you go. Hope you
TO: Rachel Isles
SUBJECT: My book
I try to give you want you want. That’s all I’m trying to do
now. You want a certain life. I want a certain life. We both want the same
life. Right now, I’m going hard when you’ve asked me to go easy. For once, I
can’t do what you want me to do, Rachel.