CAROL TAYLOR

BROWN SUGAR WANDERLUST THE EX CHRONICLES AND INSIGNIFICANT OTHERS


Get ready, Luscious Jones is a very sexy story. In it I wanted to explore what happens when two very different people get together and surprise each other.


PRAISE FOR
THE EX CHRONICLES

"It's a familiar premise—four 30-ish, New York City friends... navigating the perils of single life. Thankfully, Taylor makes it fresh again in her delicious debut novel by punching up the ante with some intriguing Terry McMillanesque twists."
— Publisher's Weekly



PRAISE FOR BROWN SUGAR

"Audaciously refreshing."
—Essence
"A stylish anthology."
—Publishers Weekly
"As smart as it is sexy."
—Honey



CONTRIBUTORS


Sapphire, Pamela Sneed, Natasha Tarpley, Jabari Asim, Tony Medina, RM Johnson, Leone Ross, Reginald Harris, Marci Blackman, Kwame Dawes, Lisa Teasley, Michael Gonzales, Lois Griffith, Chris Benson, Diane Patrick.


CONTRIBUTORS


Glenville Lovell, Deep Bronze, Miles Marshall Lewis, Nina Foxx, SekouWrites, Sandra Kitt, Preston L. Allen, Carol Amorosa, Jervey Tervalon, Nalo Hopkinson, Brandon Massey, Tracy Price-Thompson, Sandra Jackson-Opoku, Melvin E. Lewis


CONTRIBUTORS


Tananarive Due, Nelson George, Zane, Bernice McFadden, Timmothy McCann, Shay Youngblood, Sandra Kitt, Willie Perdomo, Jenoyne Adams, Preston Allen, Yolanda Joe, Leone Ross, Nicole Bailey-Williams, Michael Gonzales, Kathleen Morris, Rebecca Carroll, Shawne Johnson, Reginald Harris.


CONTRIBUTORS


Wanda Coleman, Patricia Elam, E. Ethelbert Miller, Lolita Files, Karen E. Quinones Miller, Trisha R. Thomas, Michael Datcher, Sharrif Simmons, Denene Millner and Nick Chiles, Lisa Teasley, Preston Allen, Tracy Price-Thompson, Lori Bryant-Woolridge, Michael Gonzales, Raquel Cepeda, John Keene, Leone Ross, Miles Marshall Lewis.

LUSCIOUS JONES


I wonder if you taste as good as you look, Luv?" He whispered in his rolling Cockney accent.

Reggie was a Brixton boy, unassuming but full of surprises. I’d met him at a Moshood fashion show. You know the scene: Niggeratti and Afrocentric back to the motherland, Kente cloth wearing types. And of course plenty of yummy muscled Homeboys, fashionistas, Mack Daddy’s in full pimp gear, and music video ‘hos with weaves for days on the stroll with their producer pimps. As always there were a few regular Joe’s dazed by all the prime trim. Reggie stood out from the pack only because I’d clocked him hawking me. You know, the lick look. I could feel my clothes being visually stripped off me.

As I’m stepping out the door he pimp rolls up to me and starts his spiel. His name is Reggie; he’s from London. I‘ve got pretty eyes. He likes my hair. Blah. Blah. Blah. I don’t give him any play, he was so totally not my type, you know baseball cap, big jeans, rugby jersey the whole nine. I look for a cab to make a get away; it’s Brooklyn so there’s none around. He’s oblivious, just keeps talking, like my panties are gonna drop at his accent alone. Then he asks if I’d like a free Tae Kwon Do class. He teaches in Bed Stuy. Hmmm, I’d always wanted to take Tae Kwon Do. Okay I say. I rustle through my bag, give him my card then hightail it away.

Homeboy called me that night, like two hours later. Yeah, I know a bad sign but he was mellow and funny and our talk had a nice flow. He was 34 and lived in Fort Greene. When he got to the part about the two-year-old son with his—get this—good friend because quote she wanted to have a baby and couldn’t find a good father unquote; I closed the file on his case. Maybe I should have appreciated his honesty. Instead I bid him good night, thanking God for Caller ID.

He called me every night for two weeks. How was I doing? Was I ready for my class? Did I want to meet for dinner? Then how about tea? Every night it was the same. I’d pick up the phone ready to tell him to stop calling, then end up gabbing with him for hours.

After three weeks I finally gave in.

"Okay, okay, you can come over for tea. But it’s Thursday and Must-See TV is on." This was a few years ago, before Girlfriends.

*****

He rang my bell around 7:45. He must’ve run the whole way. I hung up his triple fat and gave him a quick tour. Then I put on the kettle for tea and switched on the TV at five minutes to eight. Perfect timing.

Fuck. He wanted to talk.

"Why don’t you want to talk?"

"I told you, I watch certain shows on Thursdays. We can talk at 9:30."

I went to turn off the kettle. When I returned Reggie was in the middle of stripping off his oversized rugby jersey to his wife beater undershirt. He had nice shoulders and a great back and his oversized shirt had been hiding big strong arms and a really nice tight ass well accentuated by worn jeans barely held up by a thick leather belt. He was honey dipped, his skin a smooth warm caramel. When he’d taken off the prerequisite B-Boy baseball cap he had a nicely shaped bald head that perfectly suited his aquiline nose, sharp cheekbones, slanted cat eyes and full dark lips. He was good looking, if you looked hard enough, but nondescript in his homeboy uniform. Normally I go for drop dead gorgeous—it’s my own cross to bear—but the more clothes Reggie took off, the more he became my type.

I ignored the smile he gave me as I set the tray down on the couch, and motioned for him to sit next to it. I poured us some tea then sat on the floor with my back against the couch. Aaaaah, Friends was starting. The whole absurdly unrealistic set up was really quite comforting, lulling even. A Manhattan without ethnicity, where money apparently grew on trees since six barely employable people could live in huge New York City apartments.

"Why don’t you sit up here?" Reggie asked putting the tray on the floor and spoiling the inane opening joke.

"Ugh! Okay, okay." Enough Mrs. Nice Guy. He was outta here by Frasier. "All right. Look, look I’m sitting on the couch." I said, flopping down next to him.

"You know if I’d invited you to my house I’d be more polite."

He was cheeky.

"Look Reggie, I didn’t invite you. You invited yourself. If you don’t want to stay, don’t. There’s the door." I pointed. The ridiculous opening song and dance sequence had just finished. Damn, I’d missed it. I loved watching white people dance.

He was stressing me. I gave him a look that must have shut him up because we sat for a few moments in blessed silence. Then I felt his hand on the back of my neck pulling me towards him.

"I liked you the minute I saw you, Luv. Y’know? Your beautiful chocolate skin. I thought at first you’d locked your hair, it was all wild standing up around your head. He pulled on a strand to illustrate. "And I loved your chinky eyes and your lips. . ." He reached over and ran a finger across the bottom one to illustrate. "so big and juicy."

I wasn’t having it. "Reggie, you’re talking." I said stating the obvious. "And quite honestly, you’re not my type."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, I barely know you . . ."

He cut me off, "Then get to know me."

I ignored him. "And for another, I’m not looking for a hit and run."

He smiled, his teeth white against his deep brown lips. "Neither am I. Why would I want to run away from you?" He took my cup and put it on the tray. Then he turned to me and said, "I’m gonna surprise you Luv."

Then in one fluid movement he undid the snaps on my sweater, scooped up my breasts and started sucking on them with such gusto that I was startled into silence.

He carefully tongued first one then the other following his lips with his hands so that none should be lonely, leaving trails of wet kisses in his wake. I gripped the armrest of the couch, my breath caught in my throat. I knew I should tell him to stop but he was doing such a good job that I didn’t want to interrupt him.

"Mmmm, you do taste as good as you look Luv."

And so did he.

*****

I knew Reggie and I were not forever. And for many more reasons than one baby mother too many. But he’d taught me a thing or two about judging people according to my own expectations and prejudices. He’d also taught me that if you give a brother who you might not think is "right" for you a chance, he might surprise you. We are still together a year later. I’ve even met the baby mother and y’know what, they really have been friends for years.


SELECTED WORKS

New Four-Book Novella Series
Book 1 coming spring 2013, with a new book published every six months.
BellaOnline Interview Part 5
Carol Taylor shares her 18 years writing and editing experience with BellaOnline.
BellaOnline Interview Part 4
Carol Taylor shares her 18 years of writing and editing experience with BellaOnline.
BellaOnline Interview Part 3
Carol Taylor shares her 18 years writing and editing experience with BellaOnline.
BellaOnline Interview Part 2
Carol Taylor shares her 18 years writing and editing experience with BellaOnline
BellaOnline Interview Part 1
Carol Taylor shares her 18 years writing and publishing experience with BellaOnline.
Book Review
Read the review at BellaOnline http://www.bellaonline.com/articles/art174517.asp
Magazine Article
Society Column, Dwell Magazine 2001
Is there a crisis in black relationships? Despite millions of examples of loving couples, do black women and men still have negative perceptions of each other? If so, where did they come from and are they true?
TANGO MAGAZINE 2009
Interview
An Editor on Editing and Writing
The Life of an Erotica Writer
Excerpt
Bronx Biannual Literary Journal #2
Advice Column
Advice on Love and Lust
A novel
In a New York City rife with emotional landmines, four friends search for Mr. Right but often end up settling for Mr. Right Now.
Books
A Los Angeles Times Bestseller and Winner of the 2001 Gold Pen Award for Best Short Story Collection
The second book in the best-selling Brown Sugar series
The third book in the best-selling Brown Sugar series.
The fourth book in the best-selling erotic collection
Read an excerpt from the book
Short Stories
Uptown Magazine September 2005
Dwell Magazine April 2001
Oneworld Magazine Feb/Mar.2002
Oneworld Magazine Sept./October 2003