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P.O Box 420492

Miami, Fl 33242

This book is a work of non-fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitously to protect the actual parties involved. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

For information address www.atourthrulondon.com

ISBN_ 978-0-615-7112302

ISBN: 9780615711232

Special Thanks From London….

First off, I must thank God for not only everything he has given me but also for everything he has taken away. For without failure & a great deal of loss, one can never truly be inspired. Furthermore, I am grateful for the talent that God has not only put within me, but has allowed me to use and be a blessing to others. Who would have ever known that my story would be used as a gift of hope, love & success. Only God knew the challenges that I’ve faced along this tour, and only he knows what is to come. Wherever the road may lead, I am confident that I will be prepared with the guidance of my mother, Madeline, who watches over me. Sleep in peace my beautiful angel, I hope I’ve made you proud. To my soul mate, my right hand man, my Clyde and best friend, thank you for holding me down and being my foundation. I can never thank you enough for your vision, inspiration, and most importantly, your patience with me, I Love you eternally!. To my unborn child, I am so looking forward to spending the rest of my life being the best mommy I can be. You are my greatest accomplishment yet. I can’t wait to meet you, to hold you and to tell you how much I love you everyday for the rest of my life . Thank you for choosing me as your mom. To my grandmother, I am so thankful that God allowed you to step in when my mother died. Thank you for always accepting me, believing in me, and loving me like a mother would. Your constant and

About the Author…

Everything that I’ve ever accomplished in life I had to first visualize it. I saw myself graduating from high school, college, getting married, having a successful career and writing a novel that would one day create a new trajectory for my life and also transform history! A blind woman once said, “ It is a terrible thing to see, and still have no vision”. God once said, “ write the vision, and make it plain.” Everything that I am and will ever be is because Jesus loves me. Without God, I am nothing, and I am eternally grateful for the ideas that he has birthed within me. Everywhere I’ve been, it’s because God wanted me to go, and everywhere I am going, He is taking me. A good friend once told me, “If you can’t part the Red Sea, or walk on water, then, you can’t stop me from doing anything in life.

As a child, my parents were big on education . They were also happy with who we were, and wanted us to be happy in our own skin. They pushed us to the limit and would not accept mediocrity or failure. They wanted us to be the best we could be, and I was equally determined to prove myself. They worked hard to give us what we needed and they loved us unconditionally. I grew up in a very stable environment. I had everything I needed as a child, and most of what any little girl my age wished for. I didn’t have designer clothes and shoes, but, I had the greatest amount of love that money couldn’t buy. My fondest memories take me back to our circular wooden table, where my father would grace the food my mother prepared, and we all ate together and discussed our day, our dreams and hopes. My dad labored on the construction site from early morning till late at night. While my mom performed her wifely duties; she wasn’t a lawyer and he was no doctor, but, we were still the Huxtables! I had the best family any little girl could want. I wanted to make my parents proud for everything they did for me, so I pushed myself to the zenith.

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Chapter 1: Memories

The deafening noise outside my window echoed through the thick walls of my spacious, one bedroom Miami studio. The Miami Heat had just won the finals and crowned the NBA champions, and I had the luxury of joining in the celebrations and basking in their glory. Millions of fans dashed to the streets in a frenzy, screaming, “ Let’s go Heat!”, Let’s go Heat!” For a moment I wanted to join in the festivities, but cardboard boxes surrounded me and all I could do was wonder how long it would take before I unpacked all these huge boxes sprawled across the floor. Soon I mustered all my strength as I picked up one of the hefty boxes labeled ‘Journals’. It had been years since I had written in one, or even read past one. What exactly was I holding on to? Why did I even pack them? Was it a coincidence that I had noticed this particular box? I picked up the purple, old, journal and began flipping through the almost yellowed pages. It was cold, wrinkled and musty-reminding me of phases of my life; page by page, filled with so much heartache and pain. As I read, the memories kept flowing, memory after memory, each detail brought tears to my eyes, enough to make me weep as I began reading the first page.

March 17, 2007: God, why am I here? Why is this my life? I know that I can be doing so much better. I’m so scared, so afraid, and so lonely. I know that my mom would turn over in her grave if she saw me like this. My nights are so long and my days are so short, and, sometimes I feel like death is the only answer. I had everything that I ever wanted, but, in the blink of an eye, it all changed. You changed it, God. You! I feel like you are punishing me. I am so angry and so ashamed of who and what I am. I wish I could erase my past and start all over again. I know that when I get out of here, I am going to be something great, something wonderful, and something beautiful. At least, that’s what I hope. I want to start my own business, open a store, and prove to my mom that I can be somebody. I want my dreams to come true. Please God, save me! Love, London.

I closed the journal immediately. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to read another page but I couldn’t; I didn’t want to think about what I had been through. I know it made me stronger and I know my past gave me a better present, but, reading that first page took me right back to the spot where it all began.

Chapter 2: A Motherless Child

In the beginning, I loved life. My life seemed really hopeful, but it all changed. I met money, and money met me. I dreamed money, I loved money, and, I was determined to do anything for money. I didn’t want to be just an ordinary bitch; I wanted to be the extraordinary bitch and the only way to get what I wanted, and how I wanted it, simply meant that I would be different from everyone else. You see, a 9-5 job was just not my style. I wasn’t in for all that slave labor and getting a minimum wage that couldn’t buy a pack of weave let alone to pay my bills. Growing up, I saw my mom working the same long hours; she would come home, take care of my three sisters, and me and then get back up every morning to do the same thing over and over again. Not me! I couldn’t work for anyone if it wasn’t for myself. I had different plans for Ms. London, and I wasn’t going to stop until all my dreams came through. My life got so screwed up because I didn’t have the right kind of guidance and love that little girls should have. I was a motherless child, and my dad was dead too. I wished my daddy were alive when I was growing up. If he were, probably he would have been able to teach me the way a man was supposed to treat a woman, which explains why most, if not all of my relationships ended up ‘fucked up’ because I didn’t know what to expect from a man, and how a man was supposed to treat a lady. I had to take my chances growing up in a house full of bitches and, being the second to oldest meant I had to set examples. But, with the life I was about to live, I wouldn’t be the one to be setting any example. Not me. The funny thing is, I had the opportunity to be a ‘woman of class’, but, instead, I wanted to be a woman with ass, money, and luxury. People always wonder what makes a person do the things they do or behave in a certain way, and, I feel that it’s because of the things we go through in life. I know for sure that our experiences shape us and make us who we are. That I can testify to. But, what exactly fucked me up and made me what I once was? Well, things took a tragic turn when I turned ten years old. While most fifth graders spent their time playing outside, combing doll babies’ hair or riding their bikes, I, on the other hand, spent my fifth grade school year watching my mother suffer and eventually die. Her life ended so tragically that I’ve actually created a mental block on the events leading up to the cause of her illness and her final demise. I actually forced myself to forget the sad events because they were putting me through so much torture and emotional pain. All I remember is, one day we were all laughing and having fun, then, the next day my mom was in a wheel chair, sick, sad, hopeless and dying. I mean, I had two wonderful grandmothers, but no one could ever replace my mom. So, when she died, I felt like an orphan. Well, when you look at the bigger picture, I was an orphan. I didn’t care about life, friends, family, school or love. And I didn’t feel that anyone cared about me either, well, except for my grandma. All I wanted was money. Money was my drug and I needed money to deal with the pain. I lived by one motto and that was, ‘ the more money, the less problems.’ And, I had a million and one ways to get it.

Chapter 3: The Fast Lane

Around 10th grade, shit got really fun for me. I was a full-grown woman and loving it. I had been through so many dicks, friends and foes that I had lost count. I didn’t give a damn about life because life didn’t give a damn about me. I realized I loved money more than I loved myself. Life became exciting for me, like a carnival, only I was riding every ride! By this time, the money was coming fast and easy. I was sixteen but I could pass for a twenty one year old. All I needed was an ID, and with that, I could do anything. I could lie, steal, trick, and even rob with my fake ID. I remember the first time I walked into the strip club. My heart was racing so fast I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I was shaking so badly that the club owner asked me if I was cold, then, I handed him my sister’s ID and told him I needed a job. And, that sealed the deal for me. I was willing to do anything as long as money was involved. School wasn’t my style because I was living in the fast lane and I didn’t think I’d ever crash. Who needs school when you’re living in the fast lane? Dancing was my life, it was very exciting and I loved how both men and women admired my body. It made me feel very special, very safe and very secure. I wanted to explore life and I wanted to live on the wild side. The side where dreams turn into reality, where niggas and money come easy, and where you dance on a pole all night, get laid by a dude and wake up with a stash of money in your hands. There was nothing that I wasn’t willing to try. Nothing! So, I dropped out of school and educated myself on how to make money. That’s all the education I needed. I learned very quickly that I needed three things: fuck, suck, and save. With those three things, I knew that life would be a slice ‘ a cake. I could easily be a millionaire by the time I was thirty. I had everything a 16 year old could imagine; no school, no responsibilities, a bunch a niggas, money and a whole lot of fun. And, even though I wasn’t an adult, I was doing what grown folks would never even dream of, let alone do.

I met this nigga named Gino at the Rolex. I was wearing a leopard thong and I was topless the night him and his friends walked in. My breasts were firm and perky with tattoos plastered all over them. When he walked in, I knew I had to have him. Then, I saw him, sitting at the far corner of the bar checking me out. He lusted with his eyes and I knew right then what he was thinking, he was imagining me sitting on his dick. He wanted me just as much as I wanted him. My whole body started shivering, I could feel my nipples harden and my pussy becoming soaked. My heart was racing a mile a minute and I knew I had just met the man of my dreams. I took notice of his swagger as he walked over to my table. He was fine as hell! He was wearing a Coogi Leather coat and some Timberlands. His head was bald and shiny, with a mouth full of shimmering gold teeth and colorful, symbolic tattoos all over his body. My type, I thought. “ Hey, can I get a lap dance, London?’ he asked with a sexy grin. When he called my name, I could feel myself melting. Something about him turned me on. I don’t know if it was the way he bit his bottom lip, or the rubber bands around the stash of money he pulled out. But, there was something special about him that I liked; I knew I was going to fuck him tonight!

I mean, there were other men that I could talk to, but, I just didn’t want any man, I wanted this man, this nigga! He had money, and, I needed it. I had to get paid. If it wasn’t about the money, then, I didn’t want anything to do with it but everything to do with him. So, I held my composure. At first it was hard because I didn’t want to appear like a hoe or a gold-digger. Everybody already thought I was anyway, but who the fuck cared what these hoes thought of me? They were some trifling broke ass hoes whose opinions didn’t count. I was out to impress Gino, and that was all that mattered. I gave myself a few weeks and my fine ass would be driving this nigga’s car. Bet that shit! He was handsome, but at the same time he seemed every inch an asshole. To me, he was just a simple nigga who sold drugs for a living and had nothing else to do with his money. Well, he had met the right bitch. He didn’t have to look good anyway because money was what attracted me. Even if he came rolling in a wheelchair or was missing a leg, as long as he had the stash, he had me! End of story! He seemed like a low-life who would do anything to get inside my panties, and I was the right hoe who’d do anything to get his money. Little did he know just how easy it would be once he showed me the money? I walked over to him like I was the shit and tried to pretend like the stacks of money he was pulling out was all too familiar and didn’t even matter. But the truth was, he didn’t even know that I had never seen so much money in my life. I was happy, nervous and excited at the same time, just hoping his stupid ass wouldn’t read my mind. Damn, what kind of weed was this nigga selling? He pulled out at least 15,000 from his pocket. I quickly sat on his lap and started grinding extra slow. What the fuck! Which nigga walk around with so much shit in his pockets? Man, you better believe that my mind went into overdrive. That money, maybe not all, but that shit was mine, and I was going to get it by whatever means necessary. I was ready to suck his dick; balls and ass dry of every dime. Well, strange enough, the club had rules, and, one of their rules was…. no touching. I guess that that ‘rule’ didn’t necessarily apply to the niggas that were breaking bread, and Gino was that nigga. He whispered in my ear and asked me if he could take me to the back of the club. That was all I wanted to hear, he didn’t have to say it again. He must have been reading my mind ‘cause as soon as the DJ switched the song, I grabbed his hand and took his sexy ass straight into a private room. All my regular customers were just staring at me like they wanted to strangle my ass. They always wanted me to take them to a private room, but I always gave them an excuse by telling them that it was off limits. I just laughed at them ‘cause I don’t know if these sorry cheap ass niggas think I was some fucking idiot or something. If they didn’t look like Gino, smell like Gino and have wads of cash flowing from their ass, they didn’t stand a chance. For Gino, nothing was off limits, and I was ready to prove that shit! I mean, their old asses didn’t have Gino’s money so they couldn’t pay for the pussy I had. The nerves these niggas had! I took Gino to the private room called Ecstasy where I sat on his lap with my back turned to him. I positioned my ass so that his mind would wander off into my wet pussy. I knew he was admiring the tight leopard thong that was cutting deep into my ass crack ‘cause he kept rubbing his hands all over my tight little ass and slapping my pancakes here and there. Then he lit his weed and puffed clouds of smoke into the air while I kept dancing on him. I was grinding so hard that the wetness from my already soaked pussy was coming through Gino’s jeans. I went on for a long time and didn’t feel tired, and, even if I did, I didn’t care ‘cause I had very important things to take care of both in this nigga’s pants and in his pockets, so, I wasn’t about to stop grinding. I felt his hard, black dick and I knew that that shit was big. I couldn’t wait to suck it. He passed me the blunt and I blew on it a few times. It was my first time but I was blowing that shit like a pro. Nobody knew that. It was obvious that every puff I blew turned Gino on more and more ‘cause I could feel his huge organ sticking out in his pants. And don’t ask if I didn’t puff even harder! He took his hand and started rubbing up the back of my ass slowly. His fingers started to tickle my pelvic bone and I felt my pussy jumping. Then his fingers slid slowly inside my wet crotch and that shit was feeling so damn good. All I felt next was him actually tearing my pussy lips apart and sticking his finger inside my tight, hot hole. That shit turned me on even more and I just loved that kind of fore - play type shit. Damn this nigga had me gone in a matter of seconds. He stuck his finger in and out of my hot pussy and then he slowly eased two more fingers in. My eyes were turning over, my toes were curling and my entire body started shaking so hard that I didn’t know what the fuck was happening. I was having the best feeling in the world and something inside of me exploded like fucking fireworks. I was ‘ in love’ with a dude I had just met less than 20 minutes ago, and was wondering if it was a fucking dream or what. But, it was no dream ‘cause his fingers were jabbing in and out of my steaming pussy, no dream could be that good. After he was done fingering me, he told me to go get my shit from upstairs and clock out. All that was fine, but where the hell was my money? Shit, dances in private rooms meant 10$ extra, and by now he hadn’t paid shit. This nigga robbed my ass and now he was telling me to go pack up shit, and I’m thinking he’s about to take me home and fuck the shit out of me. Hell no! I wanted my money or somebody was going to get their ass kicked. So, I played it cool and walked up to the dressing room to pack my shit, mad. Man, I was hoping that as soon as I got into this dude’s car he would hand over my fucking money. I worked for it and I deserved it, and, he could bet his life on a fucking brick that I was going to have it. I was worried that things might get ugly. I started to feel like a whore. I hated how all the other girls were looking at me and shaking their heads. Perhaps by your definition I was, but I didn’t give a fuck! Maybe they knew what had happened downstairs and probably knew that this nigga was not going to pay me shit. They must have known that he was about to take me home and fuck me. What did they mean to me anyway, and why the hell did I care about what they thought of me? That was my first time ever taking a man in the private room and I saw those hoes do it on numerous occasions, so, a Bitch had no fucking reason to try and judge me. We were all sailing in the same dam boat.