    
H_i_c_k_s_o_n
Newbie Poster
Username: H_i_c_k_s_o_n
Post Number: 10
Registered: 05-2006
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Monday, July 31, 2006 - 11:30 am: | 
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ALL THE LADIES IN THE HOUSE SAY: A-O-W-W-W!!!
It’s 1983 and THE ROOFTOP roller-skating rink is the place to be! SKATE ON!, a coming-of-age tale about three teenage girlfriends from the Polo Grounds projects in Harlem, New York, learning life in the streets, getting into trouble and having carefree fun; while hanging out at the world’s most notorious skating rink, THE ROOFTOP. Meet the young ‘80s ladies:
Shani Smith – Darling, smart and naïve, this 15-year-old college student and devout Christian is growing bored of her sheltered life and “good girl” image; becoming more fascinated with fast life in the gritty streets. What happens when sweet and innocent Shani attracts Bricks, a ruthless drug kingpin from Washington Heights?
Shani was absolutely gorgeous, face fresh, youthful and full of innocence; possessing a smooth, golden caramel complexion. With a perfect set of straight, snow-white teeth, her sweet, brilliant smile could brighten the dullest of gray skies.
At five-foot-four, Shani was short with a voluptuous body. Having thirty-four C sized breasts always seemed to catch the attention of young boys and older men. They couldn’t help to stop and stare at her bouncing bosom, as they jumped and jiggled when Shani walked. She also possessed a huge, round rump that stood high and mighty, legs defined and shapely, being bow-legged—having thick thighs and sculpted calves.
Curious, luminous and inviting, Shani’s wide, doe eyes danced; being light brown and sparkly with long eyelashes.
With hair so healthy, full and shiny, Shani’s jet-black ringlets reached down to her soft shoulders.
Her nails were short and always well-manicured, glossed with her favorite pink-tinted, clear nail polish that she’d applied herself. While shopping on 125th Street at Woolworth for toiletries for her move to Washington, DC, Shani contemplated long and hard on purchasing the box of Lee Press-On Nails and fiery-red Revlon nail polish that Keisha insisted she should wear, but immediately changed her mind; resisting, fearing that she would resemble a slut. In addition to feeling that she was way too young to wear such bold applications, Shani knew that her parents wouldn’t approve of her of wearing cosmetics that made her look grown.
Although she was now living out-of-state with her aunt, Shani always felt her parents presence; she sensed them watching. Pure, charming and darling, perceived by everyone as the bubbly, loving, “good girl next door”, Shani always wanted to remain so in her parents’ eyes. It was important to Shani to be viewed as wholesome by them; due to her parents being overly religious Christians.
Even with Keisha’s recent wrongful influence on Shani and her way of dressing provocatively without her parents’ knowledge or consent, quickly blossoming into a sexy, young lady, Shani was still a virgin who proudly maintained her innocence—conducting herself as a well-mannered, intelligent, respectable girl.
But Shani was terribly frustrated with her squeaky-clean image, being sheltered by her parents and with them treating her like a child. Shani no longer saw a little girl when she examined her fully developed body naked in front of her full-length mirror. Shani was maturing rapidly, along with her yearning to grow up. As for being “perfect”, Shani would prove to herself that she wasn’t anymore, starting with her sneaking off to New York City to hangout with her friends, Keisha and Mo-Mo.
Monique “Mo-Mo” Morrison – Rough, rebellious and raw, this 18-year-old inspiring rapper is a rebel without a cause; finding herself at war with the ghetto. An aggressive nymphomaniac, living minute-to-minute, by any means necessary, will Mo-Mo succumb to the dangerous trappings of the inner-city?
Mo-Mo was a belligerent, lowly educated, hard-core ghetto-girl who was extremely violent and wild. Known for her southpaw boxing skill and powerful knockout punches, she’d often amused herself by fighting other peoples’ battles on the block for sport. That’s how Mo-Mo met Shani.
Last January, Sheneeda and Jaiwockateema tried to rob Shani of her Bonsoir “B” bag near Building 1. Mo-Mo observed what has happening and had rescued Shani, feverishly pounding both girls over their heads with her glass Kabangers.
She didn’t even know Shani at the time, but fought for her as if they were childhood cronies. Since then, the two have become close friends—Mo-Mo admiring Shani’s intelligence, innocence and sincerity.
In addition to her volatile temper, ill manners and street-bitch antics, Mo-Mo was rough around the edges—literally and figuratively. Eighteen-years-old and having dark, rich, coffee-colored skin, Mo-Mo’s complexion was beautiful, even with suffering from the mild case of eczema on her hands—and with her face, full of blemishes and bumps from the excessive fighting, junk food and sodas she’d habitually consumed.
Bearing a small scar on her left cheek from being sliced with a box cutter, Mo-Mo proudly endured her battle mark. “The Deceptinettes”, a female gang who jumped Mo-Mo inside of Park West High School’s girls’ locker room last year, physically attacked her. Mo-Mo took on the dangerous crew of girls all by herself, winning the brutal brawl, due to her knowing how to fight hard and dirty.
With deep brown eyes, full lips and high cheekbones, Mo-Mo highly resembled an African queen. Mo-Mo wasn’t bad-looking, she just didn’t take care of herself; nor was she ever taught how. Because of this, Mo-Mo was often forsaken for her ignorance by most.
Awkwardly standing knock-kneed and pigeon-toed at five-foot-seven, big boned with an hourglass figure, Mo-Mo was a brick house! Thick and curvaceous with a body that wouldn’t quit, she had ample sized forty-two D breasts, shifting wide hips, big legs with well-toned thighs. Having the largest ass in Harlem, Mo-Mo’s behind was humongous—nicely rounded and firm. It automatically became a sideshow attraction whenever she appeared, as everyone, young and old stared in disbelief; amazed at the shape, fullness and size of her butt. A man once joked about “spanking” Mo-Mo’s rear, claiming that when he’d knocked it…her ass knocked him back!
Her hair length was short, in which Mo-Mo wore individual box braids, braiding it herself; having real, human hair extensions. Often, her braids were sloppy and unkempt, having naps and a fuzzy hairline. Mo-Mo’s coarse, natural hair grain never matched the soft and silky texture of her extensions, but she always soaked the ends in a pot of scalding, hot water to achieve a wet-and-wavy look.
Mo-Mo never polished her nails or kept them clean, having dirt underneath them regularly. Rarely shaving the hair from under her armpits or bikini line caused Mo-Mo to have a rank, body odor. Someone left a package at her apartment door one day, filled with a large can of Right Guard, Nair and a bottle of FDS Feminine Deodorant Spray with a typewritten note attached. It read: “Aye, Funkbox, clean ya stank pussy and stop puttin’ Buckwheat in a headlock—you nasty bitch!” Mo-Mo assumed it was either a prank from Sheneeda and Jaiwockateema, or Oscardo—still sulking over Mo-Mo kicking his ass six years ago.
She’d now lived alone in the Polo Grounds, due to her mother’s untimely death six months ago—dying of sclerosis of the liver from her excessive drinking of hard alcohol. Just days after Mo-Mo’s mother’s death, she’d received a letter in the mail from Social Services, stating that they were aware of her mother’s passing, her only legal guardian, and that Mo-Mo would receive a visit from a social worker; one who would be instructed to place her in an all-girls group home in East Harlem.
Mo-Mo had begged other family members to allow her to live with them, but they all refused, not wanting to deal with Mo-Mo’s nasty disposition, constant fighting and barbaric lifestyle. Nor did they wish to support Mo-Mo emotionally or financially, resulting to her relying on public assistance from Social Services. At that point, Mo-Mo hadn’t any relatives whom she can depend upon—she was on her own and had to grow up fast.
Luckily Mo-Mo’s eighteenth birthday had arrived a day before she was accosted at her front door by a male social worker—the rude investigator from Social Services antagonizing Mo-Mo with legal documents; indicating that she was to temporarily be in his custody and taken immediately to a group home.
“SUCK A FAT BABY’S ASS!” was what Mo-Mo yelled at social worker before slamming the door in his face.
Failing most of her classes, Mo-Mo barely attended school. She was in the tenth grade, but had belonged in the twelfth. Mo-Mo was still a special education student, now having a six-grader’s reading and writing level. Her former teachers passed her in school, being totally unconcerned with Mo-Mo’s learning disability. Their goal was to pass as many students as possible, in order to avoid being reprimanded by superiors for failing a large number of students. The school system had quotas to meet, and didn’t receive the needed funds from the government for the following term—if a large amount of students were held back.
Along with other personal issues, Mo-Mo was hot-in-the-ass, fast and promiscuous, having the temperament of a low-class whore. She was a big-time freak, a sex fiend with an insatiable appetite for men with huge dicks—becoming weak at the knees at the sight of a protruding bulge.
Mo-Mo’s self esteem and subsidized income was low, but her sex drive was extremely high, having sex with men for cash while soothing her inner pain. Mo-Mo didn’t sell her body for money due to desperation and destitute—she did it for the fun of it. Mo-Mo loved dick and decided to earn money while doing what she enjoyed the most—getting fucked! She was going to have frivolous sex regardless, “SO WHY NOT GET PAID FOR IT?” Mo-Mo often reasoned.
Academically, she was slow, but Mo-Mo was nobody’s fool; being street-smart with thick skin. A true survivor, who persevered, by hook-or-crook, Mo-Mo was determined to sustain—by all means necessary.
Keisha Campbell – Sexy, sassy and self-indulged, this 16-year-old materialistic girl is the “Ghetto-Princess” of Harlem. Extremely driven by money, power and the glamour of the drug world, Keisha, manipulatively goes to great lengths to get what she wants; even if it’s playing with fire by courting Bricks. Will lust and greed ruin her relationship with best friend, Shani?
Keisha was a young, fly bitch—and she knew it, being the Ghetto-Princess of Harlem. With striking looks, expensive designer clothes and an overly confident persona, Keisha purposely made females envious and jealous of her, hating the effervescence of her very being.
Guys praised, desired and dreamed of being with Keisha. She was bewitchingly beautiful, and all the fellows from uptown wanted to fuck her.
Royally standing tall at five-foot-nine with head snobbishly held up high in the air, Keisha had the body of a runway model—a small frame, perky breasts, sized thirty-two B, legs lean and elongated with a plump, medium-sized behind. She always walked with her butt hoisted and protruded outward, making her sexy, seductive swagger totally irresistible.
With long, thick and straight hair reaching down Keisha’s rear, hair that she absolutely loved and was obsessed with, Keisha repeatedly tossed her mane, twitched her neck and slapped her left thigh whenever she spoke passionately; being overly dramatic with her expressions while proudly flaunting her hair length. Keisha’s hair color was originally sandy-brown, but was treated and dyed with a burgundy rinse, thanks to her Dominican hairdresser, Blusette.
Keisha’s face was perfectly symmetrical and immaculate. Possessing a radiant ethereal glow, her light, butterscotch-colored skin with reddish undertones was smooth as porcelain, in which dudes in Keisha’s neighborhood often referred to her as a “red bone”.
With light, hazel-brown eyes, wicked, mysterious and deceiving, Keisha mesmerized men as they engaged in conversations with her.
Full and luscious, Keisha’s lips were to-die-for—her favorite facial feature. She often pouted them as men stared hard with intrigue. Just a slow, simple application of Keisha’s honeysuckle lip-gloss made many men penises rock-hard. Earlier that evening on 145th Street, a group of rich drug-dealers were holding court with their cars doubled-parked outside of Steak-n-Take on Eighth Avenue. They were showcasing their new rides, creating an audience on the block, as Mo-Mo and Keisha came upon the scene; Keisha having a “six sense” of where wealth was. She pretended not to notice them, as Keisha retrieved her Bonne Bell lip gloss from her new Gucci bag; slowly glossing her lips, as she and Mo-Mo stood on the curb in front of the restaurant.
Enticing the hustlers, they all became aroused by Keisha’s naughtiness, immediately greeting her and offering cash and beeper numbers. Keisha didn’t refuse them, loving the attention—the adulation; they fed her ego with adoration, as she’d embraced their lustful admiration. Keisha knew she was a “star”, and a star always had to shine…even at the lips.
At only sixteen, Keisha was mischievously clever and extremely sophisticated for her age, using her beautiful looks to her advantage. Effortlessly making entrances wherever Keisha went, she wasn’t just drop-dead gorgeous—Keisha was a bitch-goddess; having men heads spin whenever she’d appeared.
Instilled as a child that she was highly privileged, Keisha whole-heartedly believed that all men owed her, and that the world was truly her oyster. Early learning her self-worth and street-value in the ghetto, Keisha made guys shower her with money and lavish gifts—even if she had no interest in them. They didn’t mind, giving Keisha whatever she wanted, just to have a quick moment of her time. Keisha’s gold-digging reputation got around fast on the streets, and her slogan was clearly understood by all hustlers: “Ducats-by-the-buckets!”
Days ago, two well-known, infamous drug-dealers from East-Harlem had placed a ten-thousand dollar bet on Keisha—gambling to see who would be the first to have sex with her. When Keisha got word of this from Mo-Mo, she’d brazenly approached one of the hustlers, and easily convinced him to lie to the other about bedding her, propositioning the guy into paying Keisha half of the bet. He’d agreed and the two evenly split the profit—the drug-dealer gaining more respect from his fellow comrades, as Keisha’s street-stock skyrocketed. She was slick, realizing that the hustler would immediately boast to other dealers about the “alleged” sex act they never had, creating a synergy uptown; making herself more appealing to them, and easier to receive greater amounts of cash.
Keisha fooled everyone in the process, not being bothered about people spreading nasty rumors about her. Keisha couldn’t care less of what was said, she knew she didn’t fuck with any of them—in fact, Keisha was still a virgin. A legendary dick-teaser, she gave the most handsome and charming, slick-talking, hardcore, gangster-walking, “Please, baby-baby-baby, please,” begging of men, no action. Keisha held off from having sex, making guys lust for her even more—the thought of being the first to take Keisha’s virginity was more than enough to keep them fascinated.
Yet, with her outer beauty, pseudo charm, and sensuous sex appeal, deep down inside, Keisha was mean, unhappy, extremely insecure, and one who suffered from abandonment issues. She was still resentful of her father being imprisoned without ever getting to meet him, and for her mother not being nurturing—who definitely preferred running the streets, oppose to spending quality time with Keisha.
Keisha truly thrived from being cruel and cold-hearted, gaining satisfaction by making others feel miserable and inferior to her. Secretly envious of other females who had anything better than her, Keisha was totally self-centered and rarely acknowledged other girls. She’d only greeted and mildly complemented females if she’d looked better than them, or if Keisha possessed something greater in value materialistically over the rest.
Frankly, if it wasn’t for her beautiful looks, Keisha wouldn’t excel in life. Scholastically, she was nowhere near being an over-achiever; attending Martin Luther King High School with grades being well below average.
Devoid of substance and depth, Keisha lacked spirituality and a great personality, which often led to her giving mediocre, non-stimulating conversation. Anyone who truly got to know Keisha, realized that she was “a one-trick pony”, yet Keisha prevented others from getting that close, always being guarded and aloof.
Shani was the only person allowed to connect with her, whom Keisha often treated as her personal experiment— strategically molding Shani into being her protégé. Internally, Keisha envied Shani’s beauty, intelligence and pure-hearted nature, but managed to control her with constant manipulation.
SKATE ON! backwards into the ‘80s and reminisce on fashion, street and pop-culture, classic Hip-Hop, Dance Music and R & B at its best. Word up! SKATE ON!, written by HICKSON, skating to you soon…
HICKSON is CEO and Founder of GHETTOHEAT®. Born and raised in Harlem, New York, he still lives amongst his people. Graduating from the Fashion Institute of Technology in 1998, HICKSON received a Bachelors of Science degree in Advertising and Marketing Communications.
While attending college full-time, he briefly worked as a free-lance fashion stylist, which soon led to working as a wardrobe coordinator for Audrey Smaltz and the Ground Crew; a reputable backstage management team. There, HICKSON was anointed personally by the queen-of-the-catwalk, supermodel Naomi Campbell. For five years, HICKSON was in charge of coordinating her fast and intricate outfit changes; managing to meticulously dress Naomi amidst the fever, fierceness, and frenzy backstage at major fashion shows.
Wanting to get more involved in the creative process of runway shows, HICKSON free-lanced as a production coordinator for Bureau Betak, a leading special events/fashion show production company; best known for creating innovative concepts and producing avant-garde shows for fashion designers worldwide.
With the death of his grandfather and September 11th having a tremendous impact on his life, values and focus, HICKSON began writing poetry as an outlet; expressing himself freely on paper, while dealing with his own personal struggles. The creative writing evolved into the conception of his debut book, GHETTOHEAT®, which HICKSON never intended to print, until a friend read excerpts of his work; encouraging HICKSON to publish his poems immediately.
Poverty, pressure and passion drove HICKSON into becoming a self-made “Hip-Hopreneur”, creating his multimedia company, GHETTOHEAT® on June 4th, 2003, focusing on self-publishing, distributing, marketing and selling his own works. Determination also enabled HICKSON to publish other creative artists, in which he’s always seeking new talent. HICKSON’s vision is to continue producing great quality works, with his favorite subjects being his people, the inner-city voices of Ghetto-America. HICKSON’s next release is SKATE ON!, his first novel.
To mail comments or questions to HICKSON, send all correspondence to:
GHETTOHEAT®
P.O. BOX 2746
NEW YORK, NY 10027
ATTENTION: HICKSON
or e-mail him at: HICKSON@GHETTOHEAT.COM
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