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“The idea that sex is something a woman gives a man, and she loses something when she does that, which again for me is nonsense. I want us to raise girls differently where boys and girls start to see sexuality as something that they own, rather than something that a boy takes from a girl.”

— Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie



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Friday, May 16, 2014

Excerpt from New Novel Night Nurse

Excerpt from book Night Nurse 
Copyright © Crystal Evans 


Apple had a wheatish complexion with her face being somewhat pallor. Her soft brown breasts spilled over her bra cups taunting men like two melons beckoning a vegan. Her vagina peeped from behind the V shaped laced front thong and her two batty pegs did a wobbly dance against each other as she paced back and forth in the seedy nightclub in a skin tight girdle ensemble. She had the prettiest pussy in the club, it hoisted above the margin of her legs like two hog seed from a back shot position and was clean shave, same colour as her legs with a silver vagina ring running through her clitoris that drew attention like a billboard on a light post. 

The club reeked of incense that killed the smell of weed, fuck and liquor. It was a run down building in the midst of Kingston, on the back road where respectable men took their Downtown Girlfriends and came for the occasional ghetto slam.  Men would be seen filing in and out of the club twenty four hours like an ATM and the Go-Gos came out in full swing to get some air in the daylight. 

It was a sight to behold, variety on top of variety of bodies from scrawny to mampy, every flavor of the week, different sizes and shapes for every male folk. In the daylight the bleacher's skin was not as pretty as it appeared last night under the disco lights nor is her face appealing without the lace wig. Wigs were available in every colour imaginable, for some women GoGo dancing was family career since mothers and daughters can often be found dancing at the same club.

It was not Fiction or Usain Bolts Tracks and Records, you did not need any status to be admitted to this makeshift sex shop. The cheap carpet had more holes in it than a test picture at a gun range, the sofas were scuffed with weed and cigarette burnt and the stools had seen more sexcapades than a porn director. The air was underneath the musky scent of smoke, a suffocating blanket of cheap colognes and condoms strew the outer back of the club like elongated balloons on display, some stuck to a piece of wood, others folded and with liquid still running from its circular entrance, paraded the sins of the night world for all to see

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