Introducing... Taalam Acey

Let me think, hmmmm..?  There are people that just set the standard that us mere mortals sometimes strive to reach.  You have Tiger Woods to the number of felonious affairs. Fiddy Cent to the number of times he can reference being shot in one rap to sell a record. Wacka Flocka to THE absolute worst stage name in the entire history of entertainment. 

Now really, these standards no one really cares for.  But however the man featured below is the Michael Jordan of the Mic.  He is the male version of Jilly from Philly.  Put it like this, here is a quote from his second piece. ( And you must hear both.  After the first one he comes right back to stay tuned and just watch. )

Taalam Acey FREESTYLE
" After I undress and lay down, I am going to whisper poems in your ear, at frequencies so beautiful, only your clitoris can hear"

OH MM Geee!  If I can be 1/3rd of the poet and wordsmith that Talaam Acey I will be very successful.

So with no further ado, Introducing - Taalam Acey

A little sharing never hurt..

I am asked where my inspiration comes from.  How do I capture the passion?  How do I create such "booty call" inspiring passages?  By working smarter, not harder.  My favorite authors do this very thing and do it well.  I read and re-read my favorite books.  Often I am moved in a different direction each time.  The end result is always my work but the inspiration is stolen.  Here is a passage from a book from my favorite author.  I think after I read it, somebodies phone was ringing...and no I wasn't ordering a pizza.

ENJOY~

     Some time goes by.  Some talking.  At some point I hold her.  Touch her.  And that naughty grin blooms on her face.  The one that starts in the left corner of her mouth, and expands with desire.  We lay back under the covers.  And we explore each other. The magic is always there.  The chemistry remains so strong.
     I put my mouth on her breast, a hand between her legs, tell her, "You're wet."
     Her bracelets jingle as she moves me up and down.  "I know."
     "When did you get wet?"
     "When you opened the door.  How many times do I have to tell you that you have this effect on me?"
     "Thought you were mad."
     "I might get mad, might scream and shout and hit upside the head with a pot, but Bermuda is never, never mad at you, don't you know that?  She always welcomes you."
     I kiss her.  Touch her.
     She says, "Seven years and I still excite you?"
     "Just like you did the Jeep."
     Her tongue traces from my chest until the heat from her mouth consumes that growing part of me.  She used to afraid to do that, now she won't stop unitl I beg for mercy.
     She stops savoring, stares at my handle with studious eyes, "Hard to believe all of this goes in me."
     We turn, and like cats, we do each other at the same time, slow and easy.
     Her tongue traces up and down as she moans.  "You are the pussy-eating king, you know that?"
    "Why, thank you."
    "You always give me honeymoon sex."
     I look at Bermuda. Talk to her. Touch her. Taste her. I love her aroma on my face.
     Nicole shudders.  "Ooooo.  You're making Bermuda quiver."
     My phone rings again.  We're too busy pleasing each other to stop.
     She pulls her locks and squirms.  "I want you on top of me."
     I say, "French.  Ask me in French."
     "Baise moi, Oooo baby. Baise moi."
     The phone rings again.
     Nicole bucks, pulls me deeper inside her, slaps my ass in a steady rhythm, chants how much she wants me, needs me, loves me.

• Dickey, Eric Jerome.  "Chapter 7, page 67 & 68."  Between Lovers. New York: Dutton, 2001. Print.

I enjoy multi-lingual cunnilingus.. and in French no less...  ROTF..

Good Night!

Love Unlocked. The series, Part I

Carefully she moves…not wanting to wake him.  She can still smell the alcohol seeping from his pores mixed with the cheap perfume from whomever he's been fucking lately. "Son-of-a-bitch! So tired of all your shit," she says quietly to herself.   Tip-toeing into the closet she pulls all her clothes into her Louis Vuitton Luggage. Grabs her Manolos & Pradas.  Grabs her diamonds and even her wedding ring.  "I earned this," she says to herself.  "BEEEEP-BEEEP!!"  4:45 a.m. and the horn from the taxi outside on the curb slices through her attempts at secrecy. "Damn-it told his ass I'd be down and NOT to blow the horn." 

She peeks around the door frame, checking to make sure the excuse of a man has not been brought back into the land of the conscious.  "Good, still out like a light."  She has been putting up with all the, "I'll change" speeches she can handle from him over the last few months.  Fast women and liquor seem to be all he has cared about since his father passed a bit more than a year ago.   He has put his hands on her for the last time.  "Punk-ass, I hope I never see your trifling ass again!" as she sneaks out of the 2 story brownstone in renovated Harlem. 

This place has been home to her greatest happiness and simultaneously the darkest hours of her life for the last 4 years. The birth and subsequent passing of her only child, their only child, Brianna Marie.  SIDS took her at 7 months old.   Jamal was so connected, so supportive at during that time.  The post-partum depression was just starting to wane when the star of her life passed into the arms of the Lord.   She cursed Him for taking her away.  Still hasn't quite come to terms with Him over that fateful night 2 years ago.  Jamal was close to the edge after losing her but since the sudden death of his father shortly after losing Brianna, he has never been able to bounce back.  Refused counseling, refused to admit that there was even a problem.  Black men seem to believe that admitting they need help speaks to a weakness or deficiency in the size of their dick.

Silently as she can she travels down the steps of what will no longer be her place of residence.  She looks back at the place that she used to call her sanctuary.  Still conflicted she said, "I can't do it anymore Jamal…" as she set her wedding ring and her set of keys on the console table and quietly closed the foyer door behind her.   Tears flowed down her cheeks as she crossed the threshold and dragged her bags down the last of the steps to the curb.  "You alright Ma'am," as the cab driver helped her with her luggage.  "Yes I'm fine.  Please take me to the Westin at LaGuardia Airport."  "Yes ma'am." 

A cool wind blew down 125^th Street and a chill soared through her, down to the bone.  Another look up at the darkened window, and she wonders silently, " Can I really do this?"  With a deep breath she knows that a part of her will always be here.  New York City has been a part of her, woven intricately into her social and emotional fabric.  She knows next to the loss of her baby, getting on a plane will be the next single most difficult thing to do. 

She pulls her collar of her coat closed and tries to push the pain from last 2 years from her memory. Desperately she wants to live in the laughter filled days of yesterday spent with Jamal.  He is her family. Was her family.  She pulled her cell phone out, pushed the number 2 and hit send.  Just after the first ring, "Hey baby…are you okay?"  "Yes, I'm fine…, I'll be landing at Dulles tomorrow afternoon…can you pick me up?"  The seductive baritone voice on the other end responded, "Of course…it's about time. I love you Pilar."  As she closed the door of the cab and sat down, "I know, I just had to be sure… I will see you tomorrow."

..to be continued

Copyright © PureRenaissance 2007

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