If Only for One Nite

by James Earl Hardy Narrated by Landon Woodson

Overview

In the third title in the bestselling B-Boy Blues series, Mitchell Crawford attends his tenth anniversary high school reunion and comes face to face with the man who stole his virginity and broke his heart: gymnastics coach Warren Reid. Will
Mitchell finally have his say and exact his revenge-or will he fall for Warren's charms and be the same fool twice, if only for one nite?

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly

"How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of my Tootsie Pop? I don't know, but keep on bastin' and tastin' it wit that special sauce, and I'm sure you'll find out!" Amour fou gets a new twist in the third novel from African American gay novelist Hardy (B-Boy Blues and Second Time Around). Told almost entirely in flashbacks, the story centers on narrator Mitchell Crawford's extended affair with his preternaturally beautiful high-school gymnastics coach. Hardy's exuberant "b-boy" writing is best suited to the bedroom (and bathroom, locker room, gym, etc.) Often it descends into sloppy sentimentality, as witnessed in his attempt at a high-school valedictory speech. And, as usual, his work is free of complex moral reasoning: he condemns a sexually predatory preacher for the same behavior that he celebrates in the gym coach, the only discernible difference being that the coach is the better looking of the two men. Reckless, thoughtless, facile as it is, given the paucity of African American gay erotic writing, it is not difficult to fathom the popularity of Hardy's books. Author tour. (Sept.)

Don Belton

With If Only For One Night, author James Earl Hardy moves from the speedy hip-hop sensibilities of his two previous novels into a slow, jamming performance suggestive of the Luther Vandross R&B chestnut of the same name...

In If Only For One Night, as in his other novels, Hardy turns the dominant cultural gaze around. Here black masculinity has been centralized and valorized,and whiteness is relegated to the margin.

[The book] is a humorous, assaultive and sexy song about young love and experience that is provacatively not so much about coming out as it is about coming in- to a richer sense of belonging and self-acceptance.
— The Advocate

Product Details

BN ID:	2940176188585
Publisher:	Recorded Books, LLC
Publication date:	05/31/2022
Series:	B-Boy Blues , #3
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

Have you ever had a crush on a teacher? I'm sure we all have. From the first day, the first moment you meet them, you're

Captivated.

Captured.

Committed.

Convicted.

My very first crush was on an English teacher named Mr. Weatherspoon in the second grade. He was fresh out of college and looked so fresh (uh, young) that, after meeting him on parent-teacher conference night, my mother just knew she was on Candid Camera: She thought he was a student masquerading as a teacher. He just took her observation as a compliment and flashed that smile. Lord, that smile. He had what you would call a baby-grand grin. Whenever he flashed it, I would hear them ivories and ebonies being tickled (notice how most forget to mention those black keys). And I don't know what tune was being played, but whatever it was, it was hypnotic - just like him. He always came to class dressed down in a shirt, jacket, slacks, and tie, and his scent was an aftershave lotion called Blue Musk (yes, I had the gall to ask; there was a reporter in me at that age).

I looked forward to when he would hunch over my desk, give me one of those smiles, reach out with that big, brown hand, and crown me the winner of our weekly spelling bee by brushing my head and saying, "Outstanding, Mitchell. Just outstanding." And I earned that reward every week: I studied an extra hour each Thursday afternoon to ensure that I held on to my title. When he smiled at me, when he touched meI don't know, that button was pressed. Yeah, it was an innocent gesture and in no way sexual, but it had the opposite effect: Those homohormones really kicked into gear. I didn't know at that age what it was I was feeling or why I wasfeeling the way I was, but I knew that I loved the feeling.

But I was fully aware of what I was feeling and why I was feeling it this time. And I was truly enjoying what those homohormones were doing to me. I was in a daze, a haze over Mr. Reid: I just stared into space in all my classes, daydreaming about him. And at night? My wet dreams were so wild that I found my pillow and sheet on the floor in the morning and my underwear soaked. In a sense I had my art teacher, Ms. Yearwood, to thank for that. I dreamed of Mr. Reid

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