BY Terrance Dean
June 16 2011 5:55 AM ET
With the publication of Hiding in Hip-Hop, an expose that set the entertainment industry on its ear, Terrance Dean gave voice to many African-American men in Hollywood and in hip-hop who conduct clandestine same-sex relationships. Through revealing yet discreet anecdotes about his liaisons with the rich and famous who were also on the “DL,” Dean’s provocative and candid account brought to light a hidden gay subculture. Now his debut novel, Mogul, colorfully illustrates the story of Aaron “Big A.T.” Tremble, who falls for the most popular boy on high high school basketball team, George. At the end of high school, George is shipped off to California to play college ball, leaving Big A.T. heartbroken. He turns to music and finds himself at the center of one of the most successful hip-hop labels in the industry.
Mogul follows Big A.T., who accumulates millions of dollars in the bank, real estate holdings, luxury cars, and countless fans, but his love affair with a hip-hop artists hinders him from living the life he truly wants to live.
Below is an excerpt from the book, which arrived in stores on Tuesday.
Chapter Eight — Big A.T.
In my junior year at Boys and Girls High School in Brooklyn I had it going on. I was popular. I had a fly girl and fly gear.
And I was on the basketball team ... had a jump shot like you’ll never believe. I was even recruited by some scouts to go upstate New York to play ball at Syracuse University. That’s how fucking good I was.
But, I will always remember the date, October third. I’ll never forget it. It’ll always stick with me.
After basketball practice we were all pissed off as we headed to the showers. One of my teammates couldn’t seem to make a basket to save his life, nor the team’s ass. So coach made us sprint around the gym ten times at full speed.
Generally, after a long hard practice the team would head out to get something to eat before going home. But, this practice was hard and long. My entire body ached. My muscles were throbbing. My feet were screaming for a relief from my sneakers, and my hands began to cramp.
We were sweaty and smelly. I was in desperate need of a shower. The gym reeked like that of musk and old sweat socks. Some players started joking around. We needed it. The mood was tense. I was, at least.
While showering, I caught glimpse of my teammate George Rochelle’s naked six-foot-five rock-hard body. George was a high school senior, captain of the basketball team. All-City. All-State. Power forward and, the most popular male in my school.
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