The dirty mind of Andre Williams, now in its 70s, is still working overtime. The R&B original who created an underground legend with greasy 1950s classics such as 'Jail Bait' and 'Bacon Fat' continues to have impure thoughts a half-century later.

Though he has rubbed elbows with many notables in his day, as a recovering addict and alcoholic Williams has seen far more sleazy underbelly than glitzy high life. During a recent stint in rehab, the man who marked his mid-'90s comeback with suggestive songs including 'I Wanna Be Your Favorite Pair of Pajamas' (and others with titles much less printable) put his vivid imagination to work with the first prose he's ever written. The result is 'Sweets,' a tawdry slab of old-school, Iceberg Slim-style pulp fiction with characters -- from the sexed-up, drug-dealing spark plug of the title story to a preacher-loving nymphomaniac with a terrible family secret -- straight out of Williams' own colorful life.

"Of course, I added a little something to 'em to make them a little more adventurous in spots," says Williams, who will celebrate with a book launch party Nov. 14 in his longtime hometown of Chicago. "But the main factors and featured people are authentic."

While in rehab, Williams took the advice of his friend Miriam Linna, co-founder of Norton Records and an avid collector of vintage paperbacks, to write down his thoughts and see where they might lead. 'Sweets,' the first publication of Norton's Kicks Books imprint, has a foreword by writer Nick Tosches, a noted connoisseur of vice. (The book is available through Norton's mail-order site.)

Like the escapades of his characters, Williams' real-life travels in music can seem stranger than fiction. When his recording career stalled in the early 1960s, the man Redd Foxx nicknamed "Mr. Rhythm" became a staff writer for a fledgling Detroit record label called Motown, where he co-wrote the first song recorded by Little Stevie Wonder. Bouncing around the industry, he produced sides for Ike Turner and Chess Records, managed soul singer Edwin Starr and worked with George Clinton's anything-goes Parliament-Funkadelic.

"When I met George, he was as clean as a green shuck of corn," Williams says with a laugh. Motown founder Berry Gordy, he says, "had unbelievable foresight. I didn't particularly like him, but I respected him." By contrast, he says, "I didn't respect Ike, but I liked him."

In hindsight, Williams sees plenty of parallels between his scrambling to make a living in music and the drug-running and prostitution of his characters. "There is a similarity there," he says. "In the music business, you had to really examine your moves. You had to prejudge character."

Since his comeback, Williams has recorded with the Dirtbombs, the Sadies, Dutch garage band Green Hornet and the New Orleans-based Hellhounds. His raw, raunchy brand of rhythm & blues has earned the admiration of musicians half his age. It has not earned him many hefty paydays.

That's OK with Williams, who is happy to have his health back. "I never wanted to be a millionaire," he says. "I never wanted that responsibility. I wanted to do it my way, pay the rent, eat every day and buy a new Cadillac every year." And live to tell a story or two.