Booker Dialectical Journal

“You’re hurt,” Tom stated, his laconic responses beginning to grate on Booker’s nerves. “He hurt you.”

Devin Booker was born in Grand Rapids, Michigan, on October 30, 1996. He was born to Melvin Booker and Veronica Gutierrez. His father, Melvin Booker, was named the 1994 Big Eight player of the year while point guard at the University of Missouri. Booker was in Michigan, while his father was pursuing a professional career overseas. Devin visited his father two months out of the year while he was on summer break. At an early age, Devin was taught by his father that having a basketball IQ was more important than natural athleticism.

Calculate the effect on the financial statements in Tables 1 and 2 if the accounting system were changed to incorporate the cost of barrels ($31.50 each) into the inventory accounts.

Instantaneously, I withdrew my throbbing hand and stared at his palm startled by the sting of his touch. Without a second thought I closed my eyes and gripped it again. His fingers interlocked with mine and the pain subsided as I rose to his level.

Scott lined himself up with Mitch's hole and slowly pushed in, hissing as he was surrounded by warmth. Mitch gasped, his hole clenching around Scott, causing stars to fly across his eyes. He gulped and continued pushing in inch by inch until he was fully seated inside of Mitch. "T-tell me when to move." He

Embarrassed by the young man’s affections, Booker gently disengaged from the hug and quickly busied himself by picking up the discarded clothing littering the room. “Of course not,” he replied softly. “I’m just tired, and, you know, adjusting to being

After his confrontation in the bar, Booker 's consciousness shifted to self-reflection, the intensity of his resentment decreasing as his levels of anxiety increased in slow, measured bursts. Tom had not only infected his heart, but he had also infected every fiber of his being, leaving him unprepared as a rising surge of emotion consumed his mind, body, and spirit. The Booker of old would have taken the attractive man back to his apartment and screwed his brains out, but the new and improved Booker had no interest in casual sex. He wanted Tom, not just as a sexual partner, but as a friend and confidant, someone he could share his innermost thoughts with when he needed advice or a sympathetic ear. He didn’t want to spend his life alone, and with the calming effects of the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream, their fight now seemed trivial, a superfluous response born from jealousy and embarrassment. In the heat of the moment he had overreacted, his protectiveness coming to the fore, his need to coddle Tom ultimately pushing him away. It was a foolish mistake and one he knew he might have to live with for the rest of his life if he didn’t make things right. Therefore, he made the decision to ignore his ego, apologize for being a monumental pain in the ass, and beg forgiveness, even if he had to do so on bended knee.

Booker’s wild, panicked eyes slowly regained their composure, but when he saw the startled expression on Tom’s face, they once again filled with tears. “Wh-what the fuck is wrong with me?” he whispered, his bottom lip wobbling uncontrollably.

But just as he had made up his mind to tell Booker it was over, a strident voice inside his head told him to stop being so pathetic and fight, fight, fight! Despite the roller coaster ride that was their friendship, Booker had chosen him as a partner, not Jorge, and he needed to stop doubting his lover’s motives and treat him with the respect he deserved. But it wasn’t quite as easy as that. If their relationship was to survive, he needed to overcome his fears and give Booker the greatest gift he could offer; his unconditional love. It was a huge step for someone who only three months before had been violently raped by seven strangers, but it was a sacrifice Tom was willing to make. His love was absolute, and he wanted to experience the same level of passion his lover had once shared with Jorge. He wanted to feel loved. He wanted to be Booker’s everything.

He took in a deep, trembling breath while tears ran down his face. He could feel the wound on his side bleed out as he shifted on the couch. He sucked in his lips and wiped his eyes while the dial tone rang, waiting for Foggy to answer the phone.

Sensing his shaking hand, Vibe took a deep breath, forcing the movement to stop before pressing

When Duncan was completely inside, he tipped his head back to enjoy the sensation with a deep exhale of breath, “Maker.”

“I, I am sorry Olive. I knew I just had to. You understand, don’t ya? I had no choice. I knew you wouldn’t have looked twice at me. Am, am I right?” Zane nervously stuttered and rumbled, as per usual whenever he gets nervous or excited.

The corridor was quiet, the only thing to be heard was the ticking of a nearby clock. Butterflies swarmed in the pit of my stomach; my black flats pinched my toes as I forced my feet to pace around the length of the hall, hoping to lessen this feeling of anxiety. The paper I held in my hands was slowly deteriorating under the sweat of my palms, the heavy black robe causing beads of perspiration to condense atop my brow and beneath my arms. Regardless of how many times I’ve been in that same hallway, holding that same piece of paper, I repeatedly become a bundle of nerves.

“Excuse me, sir?” I managed to say. He looked up at me. His eyes were all were red and his nose was swollen, probably because of all the crying. They were never ending tears, they just kept streaming down his face. “Are you alright? I’m sorry, I just overheard you say something about someone killing another individual?” I stuttered. He wiped his tears with his shirt sleeve, and looked straight into my eyes.