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[Short Story] Price of Glory

He is walking slowly and breathing heavily. The moment has come, the time is near. His eyes are red as if He was crying. His heart is burdened as if He was dying. What is this that has come upon the son of the King? The weight of sin and sorrow of imminent death looms before His eyes. A separation from His Father means separation from love, grace, and everlasting mercies. Is this the way He should go? Is this the path He should walk? Is there no other way? Can this cup really be for His lips? The taste of sin is bitter. The taste of sin is death. The taste of sin is the grave.

In His face is evidence of the weight of a divinely appointed time. The moment has come and a sacrifice of love is required. It was ordained that He should be the Savior of the world. He is the Passover lamb. He is that snake on the cross. He is sinless, yet found guilty; blameless yet scourged. He stands before sin, death, the grave, and much torture, so that the beloved children may approach the loving Father once more. In the courts of a pagan government, He stands accused of a crime He did not commit. Rejected by His very own people, He was left to the mercy of Gentiles. All who saw Him, mock Him, shaking their heads saying: “He trusts in the Lord; let the Lord deliver him.” Where is God? Where is the Father at this crucial time? Where is the Spirit of Holiness that He so greatly relied on? It would seem that He is nowhere to be found. The miracle worker is left standing alone, betrayed, and abandoned.

The bitter taste of sin, like that of a fatal poison, left a horrid savor in His mouth only foreshadowing the eventual sting of death looming in the darkness. In a few moments, the poison will seep through his digestive tract and into his bloodstream. Its nature is to kill. It literally chokes his organs, robbing Him of life. Sin separates Him from the mercies of breath, strength, and even rest. Sin separates Him from love and Love himself, who is God.

Secreted through the pores of his skin, was the carrier of life, the blood. The One who had no sin became sin, and it was killing Him. Life was leaving him and death was taking its place. The inner workings of every sickness, every disease, was upon Him. He was bruised with the curse of every generation, the results of sinful man. He was oppressed by every sort of demon; they sought to mutilate him, the sought to mar the image of God in Him. In the streets they spat on Him, in secret, they crowned Him with thorns. In the square they whipped Him, leaving not one square inch of his body untouched. His bones were exposed and out of joint, His blood was poured out, and He was made to carry the symbol of a failed messiah. He made himself subject to everything which sought to dehumanize Him. He walked all the way to Calvary clutching tightly to the symbol of shame; and it was there at the top of the hill, the “Place of the Skull,” they pierced his hands and feet.

The King of Glory

The strength He once had He subdued; the authority He possessed was momentarily relinquished. He was treated like an outcast, a slave of foreign descent. His heart grew faint and the light in His eyes was quickly getting dim. The dogs surrounded Him; the terror of hell threatened His spirit, melting His heart like wax within His chest. The bulls ravaged His body, till His appearance was no longer that of a man. A body made in perfect symmetry was distorted by blasphemers. His image no longer resembled that of His Father. He could no longer speak, His tongue stuck to the roof of His mouth. They took him clothe and gambled for them.

Crucify the King of the Jews? “But what has He done to deserve such a punishment,” Pilate asked? Jesus Christ had to pay the price of sin for humanity, yet He himself knew no sin. Jesus Christ bore the persecution of hell, for the deliverance of those who were dead to the Father.

Although He was innocent, He took the beating of a guilty man. And in all this, Jesus Christ the son of God never once complained, never asked why, and never looked back. And though He was tempted to turn away from this path of torture and death, He drank the bitter wine which was prepared for Him. He did it so that the will of His Father would be fulfilled. Jesus, in all that He did and in all that was done to Him, never dishonored His Father. In His affliction, He praised the Lord. In His time of need, He worshiped. Even in the bowels of hell, Jesus faithfully waited on the deliverance of His Father and He never doubted. Hope was never dull, for He longed for the presence of His Father. In eager anticipation, He waited for the glory which was to be revealed through Him.

Jesus said, “The Son of Man is about to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill Him, and He will be raised on the third day.” The resurrection of Jesus was the greatest miracle to ever grace this planet. But how did the Son of God rise when such unimaginable things were done to Him. Hearts of hatred poured out violence, hostility, and murder upon Him. Hearts of lust poured out debauchery, depravity, and all forms of corrupt sensuality. Selfish hearts abandoned Him. Prideful hearts rejected Him. Jesus knows what it is like to be hated, to be beaten, to be laughed at, and to be scorned. Jesus felt what it was like to be raped, to be treated like a piece of meat, to be betrayed, and to be doubted. He can identify with the victims of racism, sexism, violence, envy, and anger.

The darkness of the world tried to creep into His heart by the temptation to become equally self-reliant, vengeful, prideful, and hateful as they. The rulers sneered, “He saved others; let Him save Himself if He is the Christ of God, the Chosen One.” The soldiers mocked Him, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself.” Even one of the criminals who hung next to Him insulted Him, “Aren’t you the Christ? Save yourself and us!” Anger and pride could have motivated him to come down off that cross and with the help of 10’000 angels, He could have severely punished them all. But with one single swipe, He overcame it all. Jesus looked upon each one of them, seeing their ignorance and the lostness of humanity in sin and said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” The victimization he then knew and felt, He accepted. He accepted it without remorse. He will forever live with the memory of what happened during that terrible day, that glorious day. And though the pain lingers, the nail scars still in his hands, he forgave and still forgives.

And so that you know the Son of Man has the power to forgive, rise, take up your bed and enter my kingdom. Jesus spoke with that authority as the Son of God forgiving sins and making the lame walk again. There is forgiveness for all who look upon that bloody gory cross to find that Jesus paid it all.

On the first day of the week, the dawn of a new era, Mary and Martha stumbled upon the empty tomb, the tomb of Jesus, with two angels standing guard. Indeed the death of Jesus was not the end but the beginning of a new age. His death was not one of a failed messiah but one of a King who gave Himself in love to redeem man in glory. Mary and Martha were the first to bear witness to the resurrected Jesus Christ, walking in the glory of God. The resurrection power of God raised Jesus from the dead. Not only that, the resurrection power of God defeated the sin which separated the Son from his Father. God’s resurrection power completely dissolved the chains of every curse, every sickness, every disease, and defeated the oppression of the enemy. No devil in hell could keep him bound. Jesus bore the ultimate weight of sin for all humanity, for all time, and the resurrection power of God raised him in glory. Jesus bore the weight of glory.

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[Short Story] In The Beginning

In the beginning is the first chapter of my book “In Fullness of Glory,” a non-fiction Christian inspirational work. I often use short stories to express ideas which can only be understood when deeply felt. Enjoy and thank you for reading.

Everyone grew silent. No one stirred. No one moved. Something great was about to happen and the anticipation was growing thick in the air. The angels watched intently as the Creator began his work. God, three in one, took center stage. And like a symphony, before it begins, preparations were made. God had a plan, a piece of music to be played. But of course, all the angels knew that when God steps out like this, it is going to be an amazing sight.

Then he spoke, “Let the show begin. I will build for myself a temple.”

“A temple, what’s a temple?” they all whispered amongst themselves.

“A place where my presence will dwell,” God proclaimed quite boldly.

All the angels looked at each other a bit confused. They thought that the current space they lived in was already God’s dwelling place. So what was this temple He spoke of? God lifted up His hands and his Spirit went forth. And this would prove to truly be an amazing adventure for the angels; because this is the first time they were ever to witness the creation of a whole new world. When they were created, the current world they lived in was already in existence. So this was quite a sight to behold.

The Spirit of the Lord rose up like a great and mighty wind, shaking everything in His path. The trees swayed back and forth. The waters of heaven synchronized. And what seemed completely discombobulating became symphonic. God’s Spirit filled the atmosphere in a different way. It was as if He hovered, just waiting for the first command. All chatter had ceased and everyone’s eyes were focused on God. They awaited the revelation of the Creator’s great plan.

The power of God began to intensify as though preparing to do something big. Finally, everyone was in his place. The wind, brass, string, and percussion instruments were all ready. The Creator had not yet given a command. Not long after, He opened His mouth, lifted both His hands and spoke, “Let there be light,” in a thunderous voice. No sooner than when the words escaped His lips, the most beautiful music arose. Everyone played together in one beautiful harmonic voice. God’s Spirit lit up the sky. It was almost as if the entire atmosphere was on fire. Yet it was not in any way harmful to the multitude of spectators.

This was the beginning of a new atmosphere where the physical realm would exist. This new atmosphere was completely different than any other the angels had ever witnessed. The complexity of physical science was formed, expressing the beauty of the Creator’s heart in a new way. And though the bodies of the angels had been enveloped in this creation process, they were certainly aware that their feet had not left heaven. These two realities where somehow overlapping.

God spoke again and His Spirit moved and the earth was formed. The entire congregation of angels gasped at the sight. Then God uttered another command, “Let there be light.” And there it was. But this light was not like the first light. This light seemed like a great smoke at first, and then it became dense and eventually formed what is now the sun. These physical things were certainly not of the same bodies as the angels, yet they declared the glory of God loudly.

The Creator created many planets in many different varieties and forms. He set them all in their orbit around their sun. There was one particular planet called Earth, God allowed His Spirit to hover over its waters. Then He meticulously formed and created the land and the sea. He created vegetation, seed-bearing plants, and trees that bore fruit. Then there was one particular area on the planet the Creator called Eden. And in Eden, he planted a beautiful garden. He allowed his Spirit to flourish that garden and when it was all complete, he inspected the work himself and made sure everything was good.

The angels know what it is like to serve the true and living God. They know what it is like to be directed by Him. They know what it was like to go where He bids them to go and come where He commands them to come. And it has always been their pleasure to execute the will of Almighty God. After all, it was for that purpose they were created.

But when God stepped down on planet earth and he formed man with his very hands. When God breathed the breath of life into man, He made man in the image of himself. The angels wondered with great amazement: what is man that you are mindful of him. What is man that you crown him with glory and honor? What is man that you give him free will? What is man that you give him your creation to have dominion? What is man that you love him?

“It is my nature to love,” God replied. Well, it all makes sense now. Humanity is the offspring of God. They are the beloved children of God. He wants a class of creatures who would love Him by their own free will. “Yes, and though the world they are living in is completely unruly, I have placed my Spirit within them and have given them my power to subdue it,” God looked around with a bright smile on his face. “Oh, how wonderful it will be when they realize their full potential within me.”

“These men and women are my children. They are my image on this earth and I have given them the fullness of my glory. When the rest of creation sees them, it will be as if they are seeing me because my glory will be upon them. And though evil ones arise from among you,” a gasp of surprise came from the entire crowd.  “Yes, many of you will betray me. Evil ones from among you will tempt many of my children away from me. They will dishonor me by corrupting my divine image in my creation. The mind of men will become clouded with sin, their spirit corrupted with darkness and they will lose sight of me their Father. As a result, many of my children will lose sight of who they are. But many of them will come looking for me. I made them to have intimate relations with me. So when they hunger, when they are sad, when they feel pain, it will be a reminder that they were made for intimacy with their Father, Lover, King, and Friend. Their true purpose can only be found in me. And when they come, I will hold them in the safety of my arms.”

The Lord turned towards the entire congregation of heaven. “I am sending my word, my eternal power that brought everything into existence. His name will be Jesus. He is my unique Son, the radiance of my glory, and the exact representation of my being. Even though my glory cannot dwell with sinful man, I will not leave man without an image of me in the earth. Jesus will be their roadmap back to me. He will be the blueprint for their lives. He will be the lighthouse for those who are lost at sea. He will show them the way to my presence and introduce the Holy Spirit to dwell within them. He will show them the fullness of my glory, the way, the truth, and the life. He is the King of Glory”


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[Short Story] Needed to be Loved

This story has inspired so many people to see love differently. This story is a fresh taste of love told in an unconventional way.


She looked into his eyes and became lost in his eternity. Her heart fluttered like a thousand little butterflies in the bright of spring. “My love,” she whispered. But not a word came out of his mouth. Yet she knew how he felt. He loved her and it was all in his eyes. Her eyes immediately filled up with tears, as her heart overflowed with a joy that was unspeakable. She stepped in closer to him and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. He could not escape her grasp, but he did not want to. Tears were running down her face and her ears were pressed firmly against his chest. His warmth was radiating and his heart was racing. His arms closed in around her, saturating her with his love. She had never been so happy to see her husband, lover, and friend. She felt closer to him than ever before.

And without a thought or effort, without a trace, all her pain was washed away. All the people who used her, in an instant, did not matter. The bitterness of being lied to and disappointed suddenly disappeared. She did not have to do anything but accept his love. There were no other obligations but just to allow her husband to really love her. And though it was an initial struggle for her, his true intentions were apparent when he came to her rescue. And who would have thought to rescue a whore? Who would have thought to listen to the heart’s cry and prayers of a woman broken in spirit? There was no innocence in her. Her virginity was taken long ago. She was used and unwanted. Yet when she called out, “I just want somebody to love me,” he answered and came running.

He was a respectable man in the community. He had done many things in the name of our Lord and is seen as a righteous and holy man. People often looked to him for counsel and advice; he was held in high esteem. Yet, that meant nothing when compared to his love for her. So what pain he must have felt when he found out where his wife was. She was back in the arms of her former lovers; those who paid to use her. She was caught up in the web of lies her mother bore her into. This depraved life was her only truth and he knew that. He knew her struggles and still, he loved her. He knew her shame and yet he held her close. He knew her affections had a split personality. Sometimes she wanted him and other times she felt the pull back to the life of the Red Light District. Yet his mind was exclusively on her and her alone. He grabbed his leather trench coat and hit the streets; his destination, the Red Light District. He wanted his wife back and he was prepared to fight to get her.

On his way there, the people who knew him recognized him and the chatter began. The rumors flew, “Isn’t he married? Why is he heading to the Red Light District?” Those who knew him personally and the predicament he was in advised him, “Please don’t do this. You can easily get a quiet divorce and be done with her. There are better women out there.” Others started to say, “His wife is a whore.” And others chimed to confirm, “I knew there was something wrong with him. No one is that perfect.” It got out over the social media and grapevines and his reputation took a steep decline. But matter the price, no matter the consequences, his love would not say no.

He sought her in the storefronts where she would be on display. He walked quickly, looking for that familiar face and figure. But she was nowhere to be found. He pulled a picture out of his wallet and started to ask questions, “Have you seen this woman? Have you seen this woman? She is my wife, have you seen her? I know she is around here somewhere.” Then finally a man stepped out of one of the stores. He was quite big in stature. He was about 6’5” and had a rather large stomach. When he stepped out he had a handkerchief he was using to wipe the sweat from his forehead. The husband stepped quickly towards the man and showed him the picture of his wife, “did you see this woman in that store?” The man with a big grin on his face replied, “I was just with her.”

Anger and jealousy rose up within him and he stepped past the man almost knocking him out of the way and ran into the store. To the first person, he saw he said, “I want this girl.” The attendant pointed towards room number eight. He stepped into the room, closed the door behind him, and walked in slowly. The room was very shabby, as though there was no effort in putting it together. There was a double bed off to the side and it had a red veil as a canopy. There was a woman lying in the bed with her arms out wide as though she was tired and resting, just like his wife would do when she was tired. The woman became startled as though she fell asleep and was awaken suddenly. His wife was always a light sleeper. The woman spoke slowly as though she was drunk, “please, just allow me 10 minutes to freshen up. You can have a seat.

“Marie? Is that you?” her husband asked.

“John?” she replied with a shocked sound in her voice. She grabbed one end of the sheet and tried to cover herself. He walked over to the bed and pulled the veil and there was his wife completely naked and bruised. She had dark circles beneath her eyes. And though the sheets were pink and red, he could clearly see that there was blood on them.

The pain of seeing his beloved in this way set off in him what seemed like an eternal pain. Marie could not look at him; she tried to hide her face as the shame of her activities finally made itself apparent. She started to breathe heavily and she cried out, “John I am so sorry.” John took off his leather trench coat, reached out to his wife and picked her up by the hand. He used his trench coat and wrapped it around her. He picked her up and started to carry her out of the store.

But as he was walking out, there came a rustling from the back. Word had gotten to the owner that one of his workers was leaving before her contracted time. “Where do you think you are going? She has a contract with me,” the owner exclaimed.

John replied, “She is my wife and I am taking her out of this God-forsaken place.”

“Well you must first satisfy the contract, or else I will call the authorities.”

“How much,” John angrily replied.

“Well, she has three years of service left in her contract, and she averages 36k per year, so you do the math” the owner nastily said.

John gingerly put his wife down to sit on a chair near the exit. He pulled out his cell phone and called his assistant, “I want you to transfer 108 thousand dollars to this account.” He passed the phone to the store owner, “give him your account number.” The store owner gave John’s assistant the numbers, the call ended, and the store owner handed him the phone back. “And if you come near my wife or anyone in my family for that matter, you will be sorry.” John turned and picked up his wife, “You’re going to pay for everything you did to her.”

“I felt as though I had nowhere to go. I just could not escape,” the tears started running down Marie’s face again.

“I know baby, but you are safe now.” John got his cell phone again and called his assistant, “get me a car, at the entrance of the Red Light District, I want to go to the hospital.”

At the worst time in her life, he still loved her. Though she was not faithful he still paid her ransom. He took her, washed and cleaned her wounds, and loved her the way she needed to be loved.

Chp 1 Say Sorry – Do You Think Your Mother Would Like Me?

These are the first 5 chapters of my first novel, Do You Think Your Mother Would Like? which you can read online completely FREE!

Chapter 1: Say Sorry

All at once, a haze of light, a throbbing pain, and confusion swirled in her head. The feeling of hot bile churned in her stomach attempting to erupt like a volcano. “Oh my head. Crap, why is it so bright in here,” words were difficult at this time in the morning. “Left those damn things open.” Rays of sunshine beamed through an unmasked window antagonizing the after-effects of one too many Vodka Red Bulls. Through the haze, came a sound. Something familiar that her liquor induced mind could not quite process. Shine bright…..Shine bright….beautiful like diamonds in the sky. If anything could wake her from the dead, it would be the sound of her iPhone’s ring tone blasting a Rihanna track. Slowly the haze gave way and reality started to set in. Yeah, reality, with an entire host of upchuck attempting to trespass its threshold.

She slowly placed one palm against the bed, slightly lifting her head. She turned her face towards the direction of the vibrating melody attempting not to shift her body out of fear of eruption. One slight movement could turn the entire contents of last night into projectile, molten, wet and slimy vomit. “Oh man, I think I might have over did it just a little,” she whispered to herself. Her Red Leather Gucci Soho bag was laying by her waist, which thankfully made it easy to reach in and pull out her life line. Without even looking to see who was calling, she clumsily swiped the screen and answered, “Hello.”

“You need to come get Josh,” the voice over the phone said, rather emphatically. “You need to come get Josh, he’s gonna be late for school again.”

“Ma,” she replied. “Can’t you just drop him for me? I had a late night at work.”

“You know what, I am tired of always taking care of your crap. You’re always having late nights and plus my car is in the shop. I gotta take the bus today. So you need to get your no good hide out the bed and take this boy to school. He’s about to be late so hurry it up.”

“Ok Ma,” she muttered.

“Sylvia,” her mother said and paused. “Sylvia,” she said again and paused, her silence demanded acknowledgment. She only called her Sylvia when she was really upset. In every other mood, Sylvie was the name of choice. Sylvia still could not help but feel as if she was alway upset at her; always disappointed.

“Yes,” Sylvia answered with a sigh, knowing that tone in her mom’s voice all too well. Knowing some smart jab to the face was on its way.

“Please don’t come over here dressed like a whore; god knows Joshua don’t need to see you like that, or whatever state you’re in,” and with that the phone went blank.

Mom always knew how to push her to the edge of loosing it. And even though Sylvia expected it, she’d always hoped it wouldn’t come. The comments which were more than just words. She’d almost hoped that some supernatural maternal instinct would kick in and suddenly transform her loveless mother into just an inch better than what she was.  But no, 31 years has been long enough for miracles. “Who the hell is she to judge anyways,” toxic thoughts roamed through her head. I so hate her sometimes. Always acting like she knows me. The least she could do is make up for all the crap she put me through as a kid. Whatever, I don’t need her handouts. Sylvia’s anger brought back memories of a life long ago.

Sylvia was mom’s mistake. She had Sylvia in her teenage years. Her high school sweet heart and Sylvia’s dad got mom pregnant on prom night. When he found out she was pregnant, the phone calls stopped, mom’s sweetheart turned sour and he ran off to college never looking back. Mom would always warn Sylvia about men who make huge promises. Sylvia always figured that her dad was the very reason for this. Maybe he was a big dreamer or maybe he knew mom was materialistic and used it to get into bed with her. “Don’t you ever let a man get between your legs with promises of a big house in the Hamptons. You better work hard and make your own way,” Mom would say. Back then, a gold necklace would have had Mom melting. A man could have bought her soul with diamond earrings. Imagine how bitter she became when the gold turned out to be gold plated and the diamond was a cubic zirconia. The last they heard of the dead beat, he was a car sales man in some undisclosed part of the country. He had a great job as an accountant, but then he got caught embezzling money. “Don’t bite the hand of the one who feeds you,” Mom would say. Another quote from her library of wise words to live by. Some of the stuff she would come up with seemed to have been birthed from the pain and bitterness of years gone by. “Never trust a man who blinks with one eye.” Really, who comes up with this stuff. The wise words of mom, Sylvia was sure, came from some backwater superstition of her childhood in Colombia, add a dash of the Holy Catholic church and voila. How did Bernie, Mom’s husband, put up with her all these years. He must have been some saint of a patient man or just simply as crazy as Mom. Well whatever he was, he was patient or crazy enough to marry her in the middle of all her ridiculousness.

Either way, Sylvia was a mistake and a failure and Mom saw her in no greater light. She was hard on Sylvia. Maybe Sylvia was an embodiment of Mom’s younger self; an embodiment of her shattered dreams. Maybe Sylvia’s life was a mirrored image of Mom’s dreams and the vanity of it all; doey-eyed, naive, and desirous of sparkling things. Maybe if Sylvia had fallen for the big house on the hill top, Mom would have thought different of her. All it took were few snorts of coke, vodka, and a date rape drug and she was pregnant; mirroring Mom’s own teenage pregnancy with Sylvia. The combination had her so doped up, the doctors had to juice her a few times with those electric paddles to bring her back. At least those guys felt bad enough to call the Paramedics once they saw her nose bleeding. And it was under these circumstances Josh came to be. Joshua Bradley, the miracle boy was conceived under a little less than ordinary circumstances. You could not make this stuff up if you tried. The fact that he survived pregnancy with Sylvia is a miracle all in itself.

She pushed against the soft sheets and left the phone where it laid. She slowly lifted her groggy and sopping body leaving a palm and body print in the memory foam. Her legs were not fully functional but she was able to somewhat stand. “Here we go,” she said to herself, finally coming to terms with what she had to do. One step after the next finally got her to the restroom of her small one bedroom apartment. She slumped face first over the toilet and allowed the juices to flow. The porcelain had become her salvation from the tormentuous demon in her stomach. Once she felt as though she had sufficiently relieved herself, Sylvia made it over to the kitchen and took the opportunity to make some coffee. “This is definitely a black coffee morning. I need to get going.” Her strength slowly returned as the sick feeling drained away. Her legs still quivered, from more than just side effects, but dancing five hours with small breaks here and there. After the third hour, her legs really hated her. At the end of the night, she could barely push the gas pedal without her legs shaking uncontrollably. “I’m really getting too old for this,” she said to herself hoping her legs would work after only a few hours of sleep.

Sylvia made her way back to the bedroom and caught a glimpse of herself in a full body mirror, which was leaning adjacent to her closet. “Ow, I’m already starting to bruise,” she said out loud scrunching her nose at the reddening palm print on her derriere. She ran her fingers through her tangled dark brown hair. The curls, which took her the better part of an hour to style, were all but gone leaving a tangled mess in the wake. Sylvia’s hair was thick and reached down to her breasts. As she got ready for a shower, she could feel the huge hand sized welt on her left butt cheek beginning to get sore. “That jerk,” she said under her breath. “Had to make him pay for it.” He knew the rules. Many of them did: no slapping or groping or sticking or licking or biting or anything freaky unless your dancer agrees to it; and he chose not to obey them. Sylvia was doing that grinding thing she does, which usually drives them wild, but Gerald got a bit too excited and landed a hot one on her backside. “Now, Gerald,” Sylvia was sure that was not his real name, but he said she should call him that. And who would give themselves a fake name like Gerald. Considering the circumstances a hot 5 feet 4 inches latina grinding her 41 inch butt on his minuscule rod, he should have been prompted to choose a much sexier name. Sebastian would have been a far better choice, Sylvia thought. But all the man could come up with was Gerry. I guess I can understand why he felt the need to slap me like that, she thought. He lacks originality and his prude of a wife probably doesn’t allow for such behaviors. “You know you shouldn’t have done that. If you want me to continue, you’re going to have to show me that you’re very sorry. Gerald say you’re sorry,” Sylvia had said holding out her hand expectantly. Gerry laughed and showered her with twenty dollar bills. Then Sylvia turned and poked her butt at him, “Gerry, say you’re sorry.” She reproved him with sass, turning an otherwise bad situation to her advantage. Sylvia was always good at that. Actually, Sylvia was quite exceptional, and as a result, turned bad situations into money opportunities. She looked over at the large Gucci bag laying on the bed to see the cash had already spilled out. There had to be at least two grand in there, she thought. The glee filled her chest, which made the rotten feeling in her stomach worth it. “Thank you Gerald,” she said unable to stifle a broad grin.

The others girls said that he was a Mayor or something, which wasn’t strange. The only people who came to these parties were men and women of high esteem. Those who were far too popular, who had to maintain an appearance of virtue in the public eye, secretly enjoyed all the pleasures Miami had to offer. Of course, it all took place in an environment where they knew their identity would remain unknown. There were even quiet rooms, where these people could go if they had to take a call from someone they didn’t want knowing about the strippers. The traditional strip club would simply not do. Hence, Max Dinaro, the owner of the Royal Playhouse, threw these private parties for his high end clients. Clients, for whom money was no object.

Some twenty minutes later Sylvia pulls up at Mom’s house in a shiny new Mercedes. She beeps the horn, jumps out and leans up against the side of her brand new luxury car. Late but always fashionable. Mom bolts out the front door, attempting to not be surprised, “took you long enough.” She steps past Sylvia and heads for the bus stop.

“Ma,” Sylvia calls after her. “Ma wait!”

Joshua, not far behind, could see Sylvia attempting to catch up to the energetic 5 feet 4 inches, 44 year old woman, Latina spice.

“Ma wait,” she repeated. Finally caught her by the hand, pulled her, and slowed her pace. “I’ll just take you to work.”

“Don’t bother,” Mom was playing hard to get as always when it came to Sylvia.

“Ma, c’mon, please just let me drop you to work. You don’t need to take the bus. Don’t you have to be at work by eight. You might as well come with me. You’re gonna be late.” Sylvia tugged, still holding fast to Mom’s hand.

Mom stopped. Sylvia could see the disappointment in her eyes, the fact that the car looked brand new and was expensive disgusted her. “I don’t want to ride in that thing.” She pulled her arm quickly, freeing herself, and made her way across the street. This time Sylvia did not pursue her.

Standing at the side of the street Sylvia pleaded, not caring what any passerby might have thought, “why can’t you just be happy for me, just this once?” A lump developed in her throat, making it difficult to get the words out, “Would it hurt you to just, to just…” Her words trailed off, not finding the courage to finish what she started.

“To just what?” Mom replied over the sound of the passing cars and the large city bus lumbering down the street. “To just what Sylvia? What did you have to do to get that car?” Mom started to speak again, but her words were drowned out by the bus grinding to a halt. Sylvia stood on the other side of that two lane street and watched Mom climb into the large city bus.

Josh, on the other hand, seemed very happy to see the car. That thing was a beauty. All black with red leather seats. She had changed the front grille to black which gave the car a mean Night Rider look. It was sitting idle in the driveway purring like a Persian kitten. The car took up a cool, calm, and collected posture, as it sat lazily in Mom’s driveway. Sylvia saw Joshua eying the car. She thought, don’t let’s pretty exterior fool you. Because under that hood was a monster cat waiting to be unleashed and Sylvia was in one of those moods. The car was much like her, pretty and ferocious.

Josh was still standing at the porch admiring the beast from a far when she called to him, “hey Josh let’s go.” The tone in her voice drew his attention away from the car and to her eyes. Her eyes were sunken from lack of sleep and sad as if she had been mourning for days. “Jump in, let’s get to school.” She pulled out of the drive way slowly and started down the street. “Why can’t she just be happy for me. I’ve always wanted this car and now I finally have it and she had to just go and kill the entire experience. I can’t stand her.” Her level of anger was directly proportioned to the weight of lead in her foot. “I can’t wait to just get out of here. I hate this place, this city,” speed steadily increased.

“Sylvia,” Josh called out loud enough to break her train of thought and to remind her he was still sitting in the back seat. She realized the speed she was going, pressed the brake and quickly slowed the pace of the car. That car moved so effortlessly, it almost seemed out of place to drive it slow. Sylvia quickly looked through all her mirrors and breathed a sigh of relief that no cops had caught sight of her blazing down the busy street.

“You know I am still your mother right,” she commented.

“Yeah, so?” Josh replied.

“Usually, good little boys call their mothers, mom or mommy or something like that.”

“You’d be surprised, good little boys are hard to find,” he had a smirk plastered across his face. Sylvia, through the rear view mirror, realized he was wearing a blue and grey jacket. It was embroidered with a basketball insignia. There was the word Trojan on the top arch, a replica of the Trojan warrior’s helmet in the middle, and the word basketball on the bottom arch. She didn’t know he played basketball and she felt guilty for not knowing such pertinent information. Sylvia obviously had not gone to any of his games, which might have actually been a big deal to him.

“Well you are my good little boy and I think you should call me mom,” she insisted. Though after seeing the basketball jacket, she did not feel deserving of the title.

“Well Sylvie,” he drawled, “if you get me to school on time then I might consider it,” he looked down at his watch and it was already 7:35. “Oh well, too bad, it’s already 5 minutes too late for that.”

“Ok Mr Smarty Pants, we will continue this another time,” they finally pulled into the school drop of area. “Have a great day today.”

“Yeah,” he slowly opened the door but felt a bit disappointed that no one was there to greet him at the drop off. There was no one to show off his mom’s hot new ride to.

“Baby,” Sylvia said, she paused for a moment and softy said, “I’ll pick you up by four ok?”

“Don’t bother, I’m going to Chad’s after school and I can walk back to grandma from their,” he replied. “Silvie, I’m late, I really have to go.” With that he stepped out of the car and ran into the building. The door closed behind him.


This has been the first chapter of “Do You Think Your Mother Would Like Me?” Read Chapter 2 – Teacher’s Note.

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“The drama will keep the pages turning and the story will melt your heart.”

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How did Marcus Warren, a successful investment banker come to fall in love with Silvia Garnet, a woman with an ugly past, chaotic present, and what seems like a hopeless future?

Sylvia feels as though her life is on a downward spiral. Her career has seen its glory days, but those days are long gone. When she walks in on her best friend being raped, Sylvia jumps into action and gets her friend out of a horrible situation.

Things look up when her actions capture the attention of Marcus Warren, a successful finance manager. But Sylvia must battle her own demons to find a way to love this far too perfect man. Plus, who would want to be with a woman with such a tattered past?

Sylvia is certainly not the poster child of a perfect woman and there are videos on the internet to prove it. She’s hard to love, especially when everyone says she’s not worth it. Can Marcus see through her murky past?

“Do You Think Your Mother Would Like Me?” is T. A. Grant’s breakout contemporary romance novel with tons of drama at every turn?

If you like the drama of tv series Empire mixed with a gushing love story from a Nora Roberts book, then you’ll love T. A. Grant’s new drama romance.

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