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  LICKIN' LICENSE

  From Lust to Love to Deception and Death

  A Tale of Street Erotica

  by

  Intelligent Allah

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Wahida Clark Presents Publishing, LLC

  60 Evergreen Place Suite 904

  East Orange, New Jersey 07018

  973-678-9982

  www.wclarkpublishing.com

  Copyright 2011 © by Intelligent Tarref Allah

  All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  ISBN 13-digit 978-0-982841426

  ISBN 10-digit 0-9828414-2-6

  Library of Congress Catalog Number 2010936251

  1.Urban, Erotica, Lesbian, African-American, Brooklyn, NY, Street Lit – Fiction

  Cover design and layout by Oddball Design

  Book interior design by NuanceArt

  Contributing Editors: Jazzy Pen Communications and R. Hamilton

  Printed in United States

  Green & Company Printing. LLC

  www.greenandcompany.biz

  Acknowledgements

  I'm from Brooklyn, so I know heads in 'hoods all over New York City. I've been locked down since '94, so I'm cool with dudes all over the New York State prison system. I'm an active member of the Nation of Gods and Earths, so I know brothers and sisters with knowledge of self across country. My family is deep and it extends from Florida to Albany, New York. But if you fall in any of these categories and you're not mentioned, don't take it personal. The shout-outs will come later. These are acknowledgements of the people I recognize for directly helping me over the years to become the writer I am. The fiction I write is the result of me writing in virtually every field there is, with inspiration, instruction and insight from a lot of people.

  My peeps (formerly The Ill Cipher and Masked Villains) that I ran the streets with and started writing rhymes with back in '92. My physical brother Uneek and my righteous brothers Victorious (East Medina Entertainment), Whyz Ruler (Intelligent Business Investments), I.B. and Be Born. I was just dabbling in poetry until y'all influenced me to start spiting. One of the nicest emcees I met Up North—that inspired me to write a 50-bar verse after hearing him: Jah Gunz a.k.a. Dirty Gunz (E.N.Y.) Writing rhymes helped pave the way for nearly every type of writing I've done, from articles and screenplays to copywriting and editorials to essays and fiction.

  My comrades that introduced me to writing as a means of fighting for my freedom and challenging unjust prison conditions. The late Power Ruler Nation Allah, R.I.P. Divine G (Author of Baby Doll and Money Grip, among other books).

  Larry "Luqman" White, Gene, Arnold, Baba, Pooch, Kasiem, Quick, Q, Abdul Majid and all the other brothers who served on the editorial boards of The Lifers' Call and Ujima with me.

  The college instructors who helped me step up my pen game. Professor William G. Martin and Assistant Professor Michael Hames-Garcia from Binghamton University. Professors Tad Richards, Delia Mellis, Rachel Levitsky, Jane Schlubach and Amanda Vladick from Bard College. I had no interest in some of the things I had to write about, but the process of researching and writing helped me a lot. The writing instructors from other writing courses I learned from over the years. Robert Gover (Writer's Digest Novel Writing Workshop), Pattie Eagan (Shawangunk Valley School), Kathleen Reid (Rising Hope, Inc.).

  Elise S. Zealand for serving as editor of my articles and essays early on and blessing me with The Elements of Style. My professor and instructor of the Harvest Moon Collective poetry group: the late renown poet and author Janine Pomey-Vega who helped me advance my poetic skills and focus on The Elements of Style. R.I.P. Arin Arbus for your analytical eye and insight on characterization and screenwriting. Zenola Watkins for always giving me an intelligent woman's view on my work. Gysia a.k.a. Kwame Ersell (Brooklyn: Lessons on Young Lives in Chaos), where would I be had you not schooled me on fiction early on? Zach Tate, the Ambassador to the Elite (Author of Lost & Turned Out and No Way Out), thanks for not being a yes-man and being a grown man. You’re home now, so take over this industry! Rashawn Hughes (Author of Under Pressure), I owe you a lot as a confidant and fellow writer. Papooch a.k.a. F. Gee Heyward (Author of Game Like Honey), the most active go-getter I met in prison. Casio Mike (Author of 2 Sides to a Story) and The Twinz (Authors of Crime Pays), watching each of y'all make it happen from scratch in the pen was an inspiration. DeVine (Author of Humor From Behind The Walls), a woman of your intellect and ambition is a rare source of motivation for me. Keep writing. My fellow East New Yorker, Dee from The Pink Houses, I've never seen anybody write as much as you do. I'm waiting on Texas Tom (LOL). Stroke from Harlem, for reading and giving me feedback on everything from my 'hood tales to my romance. Glad you're home, but I wish you could've critiqued Lickin' License. Dr. Supreme Understanding Allah (Author of How to Hustle and Win and Rap, Race and Revolution), for giving me a voice in the book Knowledge of Self: A Collection of Wisdom on the Science of Everything in Life. Winthrop Holder, for giving me a voice in the book Classroom Calypso. God Kalim, for giving me a voice in The Five Percenter. Everyone at theurbanbooksource.com for giving me a platform. Freyda Dinshah, for publishing my work in American Vegan.

  The people who gave me feedback on Lickin' License. Joan Burke Stanford of Jazzy Pen Communications, from one editor to another, you're the truth! My mother Margaret for your editorial assistance. June from Bushwick, for the Spanish spelling. Everyone else that gave me overall assessments. Nut from Crown Heights, some publishing company needs to put you on their payroll. Kay from Newburgh, good looking on the Balmville info. Shamah ShaRize from the BX, you went in hard on me. Peace Soldier—Nothing Else matters but freedom!!! Yusef from Albany, thanks for speaking your mind Breezy from the BX, don't be so hard on Vanessa. (LOL) Science from Brownsville, I'll be following you out there, so catch me at a signing. Khalil a.k.a. Bless, my ENY homie, when I thought I was done, you proved me wrong. Big King from L.I., I appreciate you helping me logistically to make this a reality.

  Wahida Clark. We go about six years back at least, since you were in the pen. I always told you I respect your hustle. Thanks for keeping me busy on the editorial side and now letting your company be an outlet for me to showcase my talent. As I always tell you, stay focused, stay real and stay up!

  Kisha Upshaw and the entire WCP staff, from the readers to the typists. A lot goes into bringing a book from manuscript to store shelf. People just don't know. No business can prosper without a strong team! To all the writers of WCP: Tash Hawthorne (Karma With A Vengeance, Parts 1 & 2), Cash (Trust No Man, Parts 1 & 2 and Bonded by Blood), Missy Jackson (Cheetah), Mike Sanders, (Thirsty, Parts 1 & 2), Victor L. Martin, (The Game of Deception) and Anthony Fields (The Ultimate Sacrifice). Every book y'all put out helped fuel me to step it up and move with WCP.

  For everyone about to taste Lickin' License, I dare you not to touch yourself or your significant other (LOL). After you've tasted Lickin' License, post a book review on amazon.com. Thanks to my cousin Bunny in The A, you can go to Facebook and MySpace directly to let your words be heard and learn more about me. You can send me your feedback at Intelligent Allah #95A4315, Box 1000, Woodbourne, N.Y. 12788. I need you to help me get my mind right while I work on Lickin' License 2: More Sex, More Saga. I write for me, but I'm motivated by you. Peace.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CANDY

  sex was in the air. The woman’s long legs were spread as far apart as possible. Her back sunk into the leather couch of her offi
ce. Her slanted eyes rolled to the back of her head. She thrust her pelvis forward as her body jerked uncontrollably as if she was having an exorcism. She felt like she was floating. Her lips quivered. The euphoric sensation of her throbbing clit was all she sensed. Her oak desk, the photos on her walls, the ultra modern lamps, the breeze from the ceiling fan—they all were non-existent. The only important thing was the tongue between her thighs. It made her feel so good that she could not utter a sound, although her mouth was wide open. Candy’s manicured fingernails clawed the crushed velvet couch as she climaxed. Finally, she managed to whisper, “Thank you.”

  She opened her eyes as Vera removed her face from between her legs. Candy watched the firm figure of the nineteen-year-old wiping her cum-soaked lips. Vera’s gold and brown dreads hung to her slim waist, just above her large, round butt. Her body was a work of art. It appeared to have been perfectly sculpted from chocolate and it tasted just as sweet.

  “Why you lookin' at me like that?” Vera asked.

  Candy leaned up until she was sitting in the center of the couch. “Come here,” she whispered.

  Vera smiled, stepping forward. “What's up, baby?”

  Candy gazed at Vera's perky B-cups, and then grabbed a handful of her butt. “You know your body is so beautiful, right?”

  Vera giggled.

  Candy turned her around and gently kissed on each of her butt cheeks then slid her tongue between them.

  “Ahh,” Vera whimpered.

  In seconds, Candy had Vera slumped over the arm of the couch, jabbing her tongue into Vera's crack. She slid her hand underneath Vera and massaged her clit simultaneously. Clutching Vera’s waist with her other hand, Candy tried to stop her from squirming uncontrollably. The more Vera moaned the more wet Candy became. Seconds turned to minutes and time flew as their sweaty bodies overheated with lust.

  “I can feel it, Candy.” Vera began panting. “I'm cumming.”

  Candy slurped and rubbed faster until she felt Vera's delicate body go limp and her panting stop. She stood and patted Vera on the butt. “Come on,” Candy said as she led Vera into the private bathroom connected to her office. The two women lathered and rinsed each other's bodies, a sensual routine to which they had become accustomed.

  Thirty minutes later after the two women were dressed, Candy glanced at her watch. It was 10:10 a.m., ten minutes past the opening time at Candy's Shop—Harlem's hottest hair salon. Candy was sure Leah was waiting out front. The gorgeous Latina was her most reliable employee, always on time. “You ready?” Candy asked Vera.

  Vera nodded.

  She and Candy walked out of the office and through an area filled with lockers and benches that served as a dressing room. They stepped into the brightly lit, spacious beauty shop that housed five work stations equipped with state-of-the-art hair tools and chairs. The walls were covered with mirrors and photos of women who had their hair done at the shop, plus snapshots of exclusive hairdos from Essence magazine. Candy grabbed a remote off a table covered with magazines. She pointed it at the iPod doc beneath one of the two large flat screen televisions. The surround sound system began blaring Jay-Z's Empire State of Mind from the speakers discretely situated throughout the shop.

  “Hey, Candy,” Leah said, stepping into the shop. “Sorry I'm a few minutes late.” She smiled at Vera. “Vera.”

  “Hi, Leah,” Vera responded.

  Candy turned to Vera. “Call me later.”

  Vera winked and stepped out of the shop.

  Candy looked at the smirk on Leah's face and shook her head, before sitting down. “Don't even say it, girl.”

  Leah laughed. “You are just too much. You and these young girls.”

  “She's a grown woman.”

  “Technically, but barely legal. You got her by what? Eleven years? You really need to stop taking advantage of these young girls.”

  Candy was silent, noticing the seriousness in Leah’s tone and facial expressions.“She'll be twenty soon, so you can say ten.”

  “Didn't you say she got some crazy-ass brothers? They'll probably kill you if they find out you turned out their sister.”

  Candy sucked her teeth. “Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled, thinking of how wild she heard Vera's brothers were. But she knew they would never find out about her. Vera feared her family learning about her sexuality. It was the reason that she was comfortable traveling, all the way from Brooklyn where she and her brothers lived, to Harlem to see Candy.

  “Just be careful,” Leah said as she made her way to her station and began setting up for work.

  Meisha stepped through the door. “Newww Yorkkk. Concrete jungle where dreams are made offf,” the chunky brown-skinned Harlemite sang along with the music in the shop. “Owe.”

  A short, dark-skinned diva donning Fendi heels followed behind Meisha. She strutted over to the chair at her workstation as if she was a model on Rip the Runway. She set her Fendi bag down and removed her matching shades, revealing her hazel eyes. “Chanel has just entered the building. Thank you, thank you.” She bowed and smiled. “No autographs, please. Thank you.”

  Leah burst into laughter. “Y'all are crazy. Only in Candy's Shop.”

  The ladies exchanged hellos and hugs. They began preparing for their customers to enter the shop. Leah, Chanel, Meisha and Candy were the four stylists that made Candy's Shop more than Harlem's go-to spot for hairdos. The shop was where women came to discuss the latest gear by Roberto Cavalli, what brother would be the next official sex symbol to replace Denzel

  Washington after he retired, who was the last person shot or arrested in Harlem and what handsome thug was coming home from jail with a hard dick in his pants and pussy on his mind.

  While Meisha added on to whatever was mentioned, Leah usually brought some mental stimulation to the conversations—the type of mental stimulation she got from Long Island University, where she majored in business management. Despite the professionalism Leah and the other stylists brought to the shop, Candy was searching for another beautician. She had fired the last one because of the woman's laziness. Candy liked a festive environment in the shop, but she took her business seriously. She had opened the shop 10 years earlier in the summer of 2000 with the help of Leah. Leah had always had a business mind, but she didn’t have the money Candy had accumulated from hustlers she dated. Candy felt guilty knowing that Leah’s insight helped create the shop, but Leah had no ownership in the shop. But Candy was all business and the business was all her’s. The shop had helped her maintain a luxurious Harlem apartment with two closets full of designer clothes and the customized BMW M3 she steered to the bank each week to deposit $1,000 into her savings account.

  Chanel stepped outside and returned with two Sak's Fifth Avenue shopping bags. “All right, all right, y'all. It's that time of the month and I don't mean the red light special,” Chanel said. It was customary that each month a different person in the shop gave out gifts to everyone who worked there. Chanel began pulling out clothes from the bag—a Christian Dior blouse for Leah, a Fendi clutch for Meisha. “And last, but not least,” Chanel said, stepping over to Candy. “A Michael Kors shirt for the hottest chick in Harlem.”

  “Thank you,” Candy said, hugging Chanel. “This is hot.” She held up the silk lavender piece so everyone could see it.

  “Girl, that's nothin'. You know how we do,” Chanel said.

  Candy smiled. It was those displays of camaraderie that Candy loved about the shop. She watched Chanel walk away and then peered into the mirror in front of her. The five foot ten redbone adjusted her weave. She had the body of an Amazon and the face of a beauty queen. People often told her that she needed to leave the hair business behind and pursue modeling.

  “Hey, Candy,” Leah called out.

  “What's up?” Candy responded.

  “You give any thought to that idea I gave you for starting another business?”

  “Yeah, jotted down some ideas.”

  “Ahh, here we go,” said Chanel, shaking her head. “
Heifer got a punk-ass beauty salon; now she wanna be Bill Gates out this bitch.”

  “Wish I was Bill Gates,” Leah said. “He lost seven billion last year and he still the richest dude in the country with fifty billion.”

  “You heard that, Chanel? Billion. Can you spell that?” Candy laughed.

  “I hear that hot shit,” Chanel mumbled.

  “Now, Leah, as I was saying before East New York's finest ho interrupted. I'm thinking about hair care products.”

  “There's a big market for it, but there's an even bigger industry supplying.” Leah pointed at the assortment of products in front of her. “There's about a dozen brands here alone that I'm using.”

  “I know, I know, I know. That's why I have to find a niche.”

  “You should go online and do some research. See how big the market is, then see how big the industry is. Then see where you can fit in.”

  “Yeah, guess I'll hit Google and see what's up.”

  “Good morning, ladies,” Rich announced, as he walked through the front door and removed his aviator shades. The stylish hustler lived in a penthouse on 100th Street, where the Upper West Side ended and Harlem began. He seemed to switch up his women and cars by the week. He had a tall, athletic build and the complexion of Taye Diggs. According to the rumor mill in Harlem, he had a dick like a donkey and the stamina of a cheetah.

  Rich stopped in front of Meisha. He pointed at her curly hair, then his cornrows, which Meisha had styled a few days earlier. “You ready?”

  “One minute,” said Meisha. “Sit down. I gotta make a quick call.”

  Rich sat and leaned back, rubbing his hands together, as Meisha pulled out her Sidekick. “I'm a busy man, Meisha. You know if I could stop time, I wouldn't need this Rolex.”

  Chanel sucked her teeth. “Plllease. You need to stop your bullshit.”