By Albert Samaha
By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
By Alison Flowers
By Albert Samaha
By Jesse Jarnow
By Eric Tsetsi
You were the one that broke me in; I lost my mind and sold my soul for your thug luvin'. You were everything I never knew I wanted, bad to the bone but fine as wine. The kind of brotha who turns a good girl into a bad ass woman, that man every ghetto mother warns her daughter about; a smooth-talking sexy mother fucka who makes a female salivate. Dark and handsome with a twist of danger. I never really stood a chance once I laid eyes on you. I remember staring at your naked body stretched out on the bed while you slept, I knew it like I knew mine, and damn, Negro, you were fine. Your flawless skin never revealed the violence that you lived on the streetsno bruises, scars, or bullet holes. You were perfect from head to toe. You loved the way I woke you up, and always smiled before you opened your eyes. I smiled too, 'cause I knew I had just tamed the thug in you. Happy Valentine's, lover cause you blew my mind a million times.
Of all my ghetto loves your gangsta turned me on the most. Remember the time you beat the shit out of that guy who disrespected me? I craved the beast in you that night. I watched as macho turned sexy; your muscles flexed, sweat poured, power unleashed. I had to have you. Afterwards you put on your shirt, smiled devilishly, and said, "Lets go baby." Back at my crib we got busy, tonguing, grabbing, and pulling one another. Suddenly we stopped 'cause no two people should ever get that primal. Instead, we blazed a spliff and talked all night. We politicked about racism and reparations, James Baldwin and Tupac, the Black man and woman, and growing up ghetto as Bob Marley wailed in the background and the aroma of sandalwood incense filled the air. It ended up being all about mind sex that night, baby, but you rocked my mind, body, and soul. You were truly gangsta.
There is nothing sexier than an intellectual thug, the kind of guy who is crazy street but has a Ph.D. I often wondered if your female students knew just how nasty you were. They must have cause you wore sexy like a million-dollar suit. We had a groovy thing for a quick minute; no commitment, no drama, just two grown-ass sexual beings who turned fucking into art. I adored your body as you paid homage to mine. You were my Mandingo, my bitch, my ho, and you loved it. Only a real thug is secure enough to submit to his woman. I remember how you moaned when I held you in bondage with my dreads. You said you felt my power. Just thinking about you makes me lick my lips.
So thank you all for thuggin me lovely,