by Carl Weber
Tyrone was whistling as he began his rounds, checking each hallway of the school. Not saying good-bye to Sylvia had been a deliberate act on his part. It was Tyrone’s belief that lovemaking was really a game, and if you learned the rules to any game, you could win. Reaching into his wallet, he pulled out a worn piece of paper he had been carrying since his days in prison.
Tyrone’s 10 Rules To Satisfy A Woman
1. If you like her, hold out at least three months. (This will drive her crazy and make you more mysterious.)
2. Try to refrain from seeing her more than once a week (Temptation is a hard thing to resist, especially in a beautiful woman.)
3. When you kiss her, make it count. (Give her an idea of what your tongue can do.)
4. While you’re holding out, tell her what you plan on doing to her sexually. (Always best to do this by phone.)
5. Sex is at least 50 percent mental. The things you tell her should be stimulating to a woman. (You want to make her fantasize about you.) Remember, the more she wants it, the better it will be when she gets it.
6. Ask her questions. Find out what she likes and dislikes.
7. Any woman can make a man come, but not every man can make a woman come. (This means you do whatever it takes to get the job done and you’ll be her hero.)
8. Take your time and use a lot of foreplay. (Slow and steady wins the race.)
9. Oral sex is the key to success. (Don’t stop until she tells you to!)
10. If she’s satisfied, you’re satisfied. (No rule could be truer.)
Damn, he thought. I sure had a lot of free time on my hands in prison to be writing this. Still, Tyrone believed there was truth in what he had written so long ago, and he smiled as he realized he had completed rules one through six. He was definitely looking forward to number seven through ten. Though he was making her wait, Sylvia had ignited a fire in him too.
It was about quarter to four Christmas Eve when Tyrone walked up the stairs from the F train. He had just spent a few hours with his two daughters and was truly feeling good about himself. He smiled as he looked in the bag of Christmas presents his girls had given him. His girls were growing up fast, and they made him proud.
Sylvia’s Mercedes pulled up to the curb. Opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat, Tyrone grinned at Sylvia.
“Hey, baby” He moved a little closer and pressed his lips against hers.
“My Lord, what’s put you into this mood? For kisses like that, I’ll pick you up every day”
Tyrone chuckled as Sylvia pulled away from the curb. “Where are we headed, Sylvia?”
“To a Christmas party with some friends of mine. Do you mind rubbing elbows with the black elite?”
“Sure, why not? I can go for a little Grey Poupon.” Straightening his tie, Tyrone faced Sylvia and sniffed his nose up in the air.
They laughed together as they headed toward the Long Island Expressway and the north shore of Long Island, home of some of the country’s wealthiest individuals. Many of the homes in the area were once enormous estates, complete with a gatehouse, a separate residence for the house-keepers, and acres of land for bourgeois pleasures such as horseback riding. Even as the “old money” families sold off their estates to be broken into several parcels of land, the new owners still had enormous mansions set well back in the woods. Gated entrances with warning signs guarded most of the homes from tourists curious to see how the rich and famous were living on Long Island. For someone like Tyrone, the opulence and enormity of the homes was awe inspiring.
Holy shit! That house is bigger than my whole building. This thought crossed his mind not once, but with every home they passed on the narrow winding road.
“Nice, huh?” Sylvia smiled as she noticed how captivated he seemed to be.
Tyrone nodded and pointed to a huge Georgian mansion they were passing. “Is that really a single-family house? My God, Sylvia, that house must have five or six bedrooms.”
“More like ten, actually, but yes, all the houses around here are owned by one person or a family.” She pulled into the driveway of the Muttontown Country Club.
“Damn,” Tyrone mumbled as he looked at the huge old mansion at the end of the driveway. “Is this somebody’s house too?”
“Not anymore. That is what they call an old-money house, which was bought to make a new-money country club. It’s all really confusing and doesn’t make much sense unless you are white and have Donald Trump-type money”
“Wait a minute. Didn’t you say this was a Christmas party for some black elite?” Tyrone was a little confused and definitely intimidated. “When did they start letting blacks into the country clubs?”
“When Reginald Lewis made his first billion. And in our host’s case, when his gallery was appraised at a hundred million. Money can make the most prejudiced people color-blind. That is, until the money runs out.”
“Our host has a gallery? Who is it?”
She turned and smiled. “I thought you might like to meet Bernard Ridgewood. Maybe you two could talk art or something?” she teased.
“Sylvia! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this sooner. At least you could have given me some time to prepare.” He was suddenly very nervous about meeting a man with so much influence in the world of black artists.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Bernard is a good friend of mine. He’s already heard lots about you, and he’s eager to meet you. Just try to relax and be yourself, and I’m sure he’ll love you.”
He tried to do some deep breathing to calm himself, and smiled weakly at Sylvia. For her it was just another ritzy affair, but for him it could be the start of something big, or a complete dead end. He did not want to do anything to make himself look stupid.
Sylvia stopped the car in the circular drive at the front entrance of the club. She stepped out of the car, handing her keys to the young parking attendant She held her hand out for Tyrone. He stepped out, a little wobbly in the knees, and they entered the foyer of the club.
Inside, a tall salt-and-pepper-haired white man in a tux greeted Sylvia and Tyrone.
“Dinner will be served in approximately one half hour in the dining room, and cocktails are being served in the living room now!’
“Thank you, Frederick,” Sylvia said as he helped her take off her mink coat.
“Excuse me, sir.” Frederick took Tyrone’s coat and folded it over his arm. “A sport jacket is required in the club.”
Goddammit. I knew these white motherfuckers was gonna pull this shit. Throne thought before speaking. He was already so nervous, this one comment just set him off. The last thing he needed was to have some pasty-faced butler telling him he wasn’t dressed appropriately.
“So what you want me to do, leave?” Tyrone clenched his fist as he got in Frederick’s face.
Frederick took a step back, seemingly unfazed by Tyrone’s aggressiveness. “Actually, sir, I was going to ask you if I could supply you with a sport coat.”
“Oh.” Tyrone was embarrassed to see a small crowd had gathered nearby when they heard the commotion. “Yeah. I’d appreciate that” He nervously smoothed the front of his shirt.
“Then follow me, sir.” Tyrone followed with his head held low.
“Meet me in the living room, Tyrone,” Sylvia called after him. He couldn’t tell by her tone of voice if she was upset with him for his outburst.
Hopeful that no one would recognize him as the idiot from the foyer, he entered the living room of the country club wearing a suit jacket. Frederick had managed to and one that matched his pants and tie perfectly. Searching the room, Throne found Sylvia talking to a very unattractive elderly woman. He approached her sheepishly.
“Hi.” He tried to sound apologetic.
“Hi, handsome. The jacket looks great.”
Sylvia’s smile let him know that he was forgiven already. She knew this was his first time in such surroundings and was sure her little surprise had set him even more on edge. It wouldn’t have been fair to get ups
et with him for the incident in the foyer, since she felt partly responsible. Besides, it didn’t seem like the onlookers were really even aware of what had happened, so everyone could just forget about it, including her and Tyrone.
“I apologized to Frederick and he seemed cool with it.”
“Good. By the way, Tyrone, this is an old high-school friend of mine, Blanche Peterson.” She gestured to the woman she had been speaking to.
“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Peterson.” Tyrone thought to himself that there was no way this woman had been a classmate of Sylvia’s. She looked thirty years older than Sylvia did.
“That’s right, the pleasure is all yours.” Blanche flashed a gap-toothed grin as she took his hand and rubbed the inside of his palm with her middle finger. “And do call me Blanche, sweetie. Mrs. Peterson is my mother. I’m a single woman, if you didn’t know.”
I could have guessed that, Tyrone thought, noticing she needed a breath mint. His stomach turned when he realized Blanche had made a pass at him. Ugly women had made passes at him before, he’d even slept with a few, but Blanche Peterson and her shit-for-breath had to have been the worst. Looking for an escape, he turned to Sylvia and offered to get her a drink from the bar.
“Gin and tonic, please. How about you, Blanche?”
“No, thanks, I have what I need right here” She eyed Tyrone as she took a sip of her drink.
Blanche watched Tyrone walk across the room to the bar, then turned to Sylvia. “I see you’ve got yourself a new boy-toy, Sylvia. Honey, he’s good-looking too.” She turned around to take another look. “Nice and tall, just like I like them. I find the tall ones always seem to fuck better for some reason. What do you think?”
“Let me tell you something. He is not my boy-toy He’s a very close friend who I don’t want hanging out with a whore like you.”
She tried to be discreet but stood close to Blanche as she shoved her finger in her face and growled at her. For as long as she could remember, Blanche had been making passes at Maurice whenever they were at social functions together. It stemmed back to some incident in high school that had happened so long before that Sylvia couldn’t even remember the details. She just knew that Blanche never seemed to let up. She was jealous of Sylvia and determined to get revenge. With her newfound confidence Sylvia was not quite so forgiving this time. But Blanche wasn’t about to back down as she pushed Sylvia’s hand out of her face.
“Listen, girl. All I wanted was a slice of the pie. But call me a whore again and I’ll take the whole damn pie,” Blanche threatened before storming away.
“Who the hell was that woman?” Tyrone asked as he returned with their drinks.
Sylvia rolled her eyes. “That sick woman is Blanche Peterson, New York and the country’s number-one black madam. She can make or break most of the men and a lot of the women in this room. I suggest you stay away from her. She has a thing for younger men.”
“Kinda like you?” He tugged her arm playfully, but Sylvia shot him an evil glance.
“Oh, Sylvia!” A high-pitched voice came from behind the pair.
“Bernard!” She turned, wrapping her arms around a very short, well-dressed, light-skinned man. “How was Europe?”
“Absolutely marvelous,” he raved. The voice did not seem to fit him. “And the men! Child, the men were so sexy, I almost committed rape.”
“You are too much.” Sylvia shook her head and smiled.
“I’m too much? Look at you” He touched her hair with his hands. “I love this new look—the short hair, the short dress, the handsome man. You look so sexy, you make me wanna go back to women.”
“Oh, Bernard, you lie so bad” Then she shot him a look and added, “About going back to women, that is. The part about me being sexy is so true.” Sylvia did a little spin so he could admire her little black cocktail dress. She stopped her display and put her hand on Tyrone’s arm. “This, Bernard, is Tyrone. He’s the young man I’ve been writing you about. He’s truly changed my life, and you can thank him for my new look.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Tyrone extended his hand nervously, hoping to make a good first impression.
“Call me Bernard.”
“Bernard is our host tonight, and he owns Ridgewood Galleries.” Sylvia wrapped her arm around Bernard’s shoulder. She winked at Tyrone because she knew full well that he was already painfully aware of just who Bernard Ridgewood was and what he did.
“You know, Bernard, Tyrone is quite the artist himself. Maybe you should take a look at his work before he signs a contract with Walter Black.”
“Walter Black’s going to sign him?” Bernard searched Sylvia’s face for an answer. He was intrigued.
Nodding to Bernard, Sylvia gave Tyrone a look that said “Don’t you dare open your mouth.” Tyrone willingly complied
“Well, in that case, make sure you give Sylvia a copy of your portfolio to give to me. I wouldn’t want Walter Black to steal some of my thunder.”
He led them into the dining room, where the large staff of waiters had begun to place shrimp cocktail at each place setting. Sylvia and Tyrone were seated at a table with several other couples, most of whom were married. Blanche Peterson had somehow managed to get herself seated right next to Tyrone and spent most of the meal trying to monopolize his attention. As difficult as it was for him, Tyrone behaved politely to the woman.
Aside from the seating arrangement, Tyrone found dinner to be magnificent. Each of the seven courses seemed to be better than the one before. Tyrone tasted caviar for the first time and decided he could live without it, but the salmon entree was perfect He thought he could get used to this lifestyle.
By the time dessert was served, Tyrone was absolutely stuffed. Once the chef’s special apple strudel was brought to the table though, he found a little more room and bit into the buttery crust. As the smooth dessert melted in his mouth, Tyrone felt a hand caressing his inner thigh.
“This has been a perfect Christmas Eve,” he said to Sylvia with a smile.
“Yes, it has, and I hope it gets better.” She squeezed his thigh suggestively before removing her hand from his lap to taste her apple strudel.
Well, perfect except for that bitch Blanche sitting next to you, Sylvia thought anxiously as she glanced at the woman and gave a fake smile. Blanche lifted her wineglass in a toasting gesture and gave Sylvia the same fake smile.
Five minutes later Tyrone was eating what was left of Sylvia’s strudel as he listened to the various conversations she had with Bernard and the other guests. He was impressed by her knowledge, and content to listen rather than participate in the conversations, though she did try to include him periodically.
Tyrone smiled when he felt Sylvia’s hand back on his lap. He winked at her. Sylvia returned the wink and smiled. Tyrone was getting an erection as she continued to massage him through the thin material of his pants. He marveled at her ability to arouse him and carry on her conversations at the same time. Glancing around the table, he felt sure that no one else was aware of what was going on beneath their dessert plates. He struggled to maintain his composure as his breathing quickened a little.
Sylvia noticed his breathing and glanced at Tyrone oddly. He took the hint and tried once more to get himself under control. This became almost impossible, though, as she unzipped his fly and released his throbbing penis. Tyrone, gasped, then covered his mouth with a napkin to conceal the small moan that escaped as her soft hands manipulated him.
He was astonished at the expertise she was using. He began to wince in ecstasy and had to pretend it was a smile as a woman across the table looked at him.
“Oh, my goodness, Tyrone. Are you all right? You look a bit uncomfortable,” she exclaimed. All eyes turned to him.
Tyrone could barely get the words out but managed to reply, “No. Everything’s fine.” He took another bite of his strudel. Mercifully the guests returned to their conversations.
Tyrone could feel himself nearing a climax. He was so
hard by this point that he was tempted to finish the act right there at the table. His better judgment told him to stop though, because several people kept looking in his direction. He had continued eatina the dessert and. tried to appear engrossed in someone’s conversation, but it was nearly impossible at this point for him to conceal his rapture. He reached between his chair and Sylvia’s to stop her. To his surprise, he did not find her arm, so he nonchalantly glanced over at her, only to see both her hands resting on the dining room table.
“Holy shit!” he gulped, quickly turning to his right to see Blanche Peterson’s hideous snaggletoothed yellow smile six inches from his face. Her breath burned his nostrils.
“Feel good, honey?” she whispered as she expertly squeezed his penis to ejaculation.
Horrified, Tyrone began to choke on a piece of apple strudel. Oh, God, he thought in a panic. I’m gonna die with this bitch’s hands around my dick! Afraid to stand up because of the predicament he was in, Tyrone struggled to remove Blanche’s hand and zipped up his pants just as Frederick rushed to the table and applied the Heimlich maneuver. Struggling for air, he gasped once the strudel had been dislodged, then he nearly gagged again as he watched Blanche wipe the evidence on her linen napkin. She dropped it on the floor with a satisfied grin.
“Are you all right, Tyrone?” Sylvia reached for her napkin to wipe the apple strudel from his chin.
Tyrone was doubled over, clenching his stomach. Hell no, I’m not all right. I don’t think I’ll ever be all right, he thought. He looked up to see Blanche exposing her crotch to him under the table.
Tyrone stood upright and said in a whimper, “Maybe you better take me home. I am feeling pretty nauseated.” He was eager to put as much distance between himself and Blanche as possible.