Rule Number Three

I stretched my neck, rolling it back and forth before commenting, "No, I never took money for sex. Nor did I ever use alcohol or drugs to get laid Nor have I ever paid for sex, lie to a girl to get sex, or especially, never used sex as a weapon. It was also somewhere around that time that I also learned Rule Number Two --- the Two Time Rule.

"What's the two time rule?" She looked confused, and maybe a little embarrassed for not knowing what I referred to.

"You wouldn't know it, Chloe my love, because you are still pure. But I assure you, you will fall prey to this rule, just as every other member of your gender has since Adam and Eve left the Garden."

"Well, what is it?" she demanded. "Wait, first tell me what Rule Number One is."

"I already have, babycakes. That's the rule about how virgins always fall in love with the guy who gets their cherry, unless they give it to a stranger who they never see again."

"OK, so what's Rule Number Two?"

"Ah, well, that's a secret that all men should know, but only a few actually do. It's because we are ruled by our gonads --- you know what gonads are, don't you dear, and their function on a man?"

She nodded her head yes, urging me on by widening her eyes and lifting her eyebrows to show her impatience.

"Because we men are under the spell that women have placed on our gonads, most of us miss this most important rule, foregoing everything sacred to our gender in the pursuit of bumping fuzz.... Making the beast with two backs.... Laying pipe. Entering the silken cavern. Do you get my meaning here?"

"Yes, I get your meaning! You're talking about --- pardon my French --- your talking about fucking. Right?"

"Exactamundo, chica sabor," I replied with an eyebrow raise of my own. "Fucking is precisely the word to use. We men ignore the rule. We abandon it readily. We forsake its wisdom, because of the spell you women have cast upon us, creating our endless desire for fucking."

"So...? Are you gonna tell me what this almighty rule is that's so secret to women and so ignored by men?"

I drummed my fingers on the shift lever, feigning deep consternation over whether I would be betraying my fellow men. I took a deep breath and sighed.

"It's not really a secret to women ---- it's more like a misunderstanding. Anyway.... I like you, Chloe, I really do. But I'm afraid that knowing this rule will only hurt you in the long run. It will make you suspicious before you ever have need for such a heinous emotion when dealing with a man whose company you enjoy. If you were not lily pure of heart and body I would gladly tell you. Or you would probably recognize it for yourself, or perhaps maybe not, for that is the other side of this insidious rule. The side that women avoid or misunderstand just as assiduously as men do the other."

"God, you're making me crazy with all this high-fallutin' talk!" she complained, becoming a bit miffed at me. "You called it the two time rule, but I don't think you mean it like someone who cheats, like a two-timer. And you said we are talking about...fucking," she continued, trying to ignore that she was blushing bright red again. (How many times was that today... twenty?)

"So it's something about fucking two times," she deduced, accepting the word more readily now. "But what? What about fucking two times, Chris?" she pleaded.

"You really want to know? Absolutely and positively? Because if I tell you, it's going to change the way you think about a lot of things. I mean, I've already betrayed my male oath and explained to you how we men see taking a girl's virginity --- that it means nothing to us more than a great thing to brag about to our buddies. I don't know if I can tell you the two time rule and keep a clear conscience."

Chloe slumped down in her seat and stared blindly out her window, exasperated to the max. I let her stew while I negotiated some nasty traffic around a supermarket. Finally she turned to me.

"Are you gonna tell me, or not?"

"I'll tell you, Chloe," I said, becoming serious, "but I don't think you'll know what it all means, or you'll forget it like most people do. But here it is: For a man, the two time rule works like this. If a guy has sex with --- fucks --- a woman more than two times, he better be prepared for the change that invariably happens to his partner. And remember, I've said he should already know this, but through ignorance and that spell by women, his brain refuses to acknowledge the rule. What he thought was just a fun relationship with a girl has suddenly changed.

The third time he makes love to her, she's gonna start believing that there's something 'special' happening between them. It's no longer just scratching a delicious itch to her. No, now it's got meaning. But he'll keep coming back to scratch his itch, thinking that's all she wants too, until finally she'll come right out and ask where their relationship is heading. Now if he had a lick of sense he would have seen this coming, because after all, it's the Rule. But because of his blindness, he'll miss it completely, time after time, with woman after woman. So he'll say something stupid like, 'what do you mean, relationship? And she'll say, 'This, you idiot. This thing we're doing together. Laughing, and holding each other, and making love. Doesn't this mean anything to you?'"

I shook my head sadly. "Did you catch that, Chloe? Did you see how fucking changed to making love after the second time? It's important. It's part of the Rule."

I looked over at Chloe for a brief moment, trying to see if she understood before continuing.

"Because she's forgotten her half of the rule, too! She sees having sex more than two times as the beginning of something more than scratching an itch, forgetting that a man is driven by his testicles and that he only wants to get his rocks off, and then go to sleep, or better yet, go home or send her home, whichever the case may be. He's forgotten his half of the rule that promises that if he bangs her more than twice, he's in for trouble. She's forgotten her half that promises that a man very rarely sees sex in the same light, no matter how many times they screw. For him it's about the same as taking a good dump, but usually smells a whole lot better."

I stopped talking and looked over at Chloe, who was looking at me dumbfoundedly. Finally she spoke. "Are you kidding me? That's the rule? That men are stupid and that women are emotional nitwits?"

"You can doubt it all you want, Miss Crosby, but I assure you it's true. Like the Virgin Rule. I've already warned you about that one."

"Remind me again," she said defiantly.

"It's simply this. You will fall madly in love with the man you give yourself to the first time, even if he's a complete idiot and jerk. You however, will convince yourself that you see something in him that no one else sees --- a hidden pool of something that you feel you can not live without. This will go on until you finally awaken from your trance, and then you will probably end up hating him for deceiving you so blatantly, even if he's overall a pretty nice guy who just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time."

"Oh, so you're saying that whoever I give my virginity to will be some poor unlucky son of a bitch, who even though he's an all right guy I'll probably end up hating?"

"Most likely," I agreed. "Unless you do what I suggested, which is to give yourself to a stranger you hardly know, but who you feel you can trust. Someone who will be gone completely from your life immediately afterward, so there will be no way for you to hound him until he does turn into that hateful wretch you will create in your mind. I think it must be nature's way of teaching a woman something, but I'm not exactly sure what. You ladies are wired way different from men."

"I think you're insane!" she cried, half in despair and half in anger.

"You know that most tribal peoples indoctrinate their girls at around age 11 or 12, and usually by several of the older men of the tribe. That way the girls don't dwell on what they've lost and move on to form loving relationships with men their own ages based on reality and not their imaginations."

"Yeah, like there's anything to learn from people stuck in the Stone Age," she commented bitterly.

Even though these Stone Age cultures are not technologically advanced, their social traditions have worked well for them for hundreds of thousands of years" I countered. "Our modern culture is barely out of the cradle in comparison, and what do we have? Murders, suicides, genocides, depression, identity loss in a system that takes more than it gives back, and an abandonment of the family unit. You never see those things in those primitive societies. We can learn a lot from them about human dignity."

"So let me get this straight," she said after a long moment of consideration. "Say for instance you and I became involved sexually. Because I'm a virgin, and because you'd still be around, you're saying that I would automatically fall madly in love with you, even if you treated me like dirt afterward? But that eventually I would come out of this trance and end up hating you?"

"Yes! And think of what would happen if you gave me your virginity and then we made love on three, four, or five different occasions! Then both rules would go into effect. You would be, for all intents and purposes, partially insane, and subject to mood swings, emotional outbursts, fits of deep depression and God knows what else for quite some time. And as a typical male pig, I would be stupid to it all, only wanting to rut with you like a farm animal as often as possible before turning the game on TV or falling fast asleep. That is, if I was a typical guy, who doesn't understand the Rules, which I do."

"But what if you were in love with me?" she asked in a child's voice, using a tone which almost begged me to go gentle on her.

Her eyes were brimming with tears, the harsh reality of what I was explaining to her collapsing the romantic notion of the world she had carried since hearing her first fairy tale. I knew I shouldn't have opened my big mouth in the first place about the Rules. This poor young thing had a horrible home life, and here I was ruining for her the dreams she had of living happily ever after.

"Well, Chloe," I answered while looking deeply into her lovely eyes, "if we were both in love then would be a whole different story. Then Rule Number Three comes into play."

"And what's Rule Number Three?" she asked hopefully, twisting her hands in her lap.

"Rule Number Three can apply either to a virgin, to a man, or to a woman. It works like this: If the man who takes a virgin's maidenhood is in love with her, and emotionally mature enough to handle all that being in love entails, then they live happily ever after. If a man is in love with the woman he's fucked more than twice, and she with him, the same thing goes. That's Rule Number Three --- The Happily Ever After rule."

Chloe looked at me gratefully and then broke down crying for a quick couple of sobs. Once she got herself back under control I decided it was time to lighten the mood a bit, so I added,

"... or at least until the last episode of the last season of their favorite television show, or unless he tells her they are, a) out of money; b) that his mother is coming to live with them; c) that he's taken a job in Yellowknife in the Yukon Territory of Canada and she should start packing immediately and to remember to pick up snow shoes for both of them; or, d) he asks her to do a threesome which includes her younger sister. If any of those issues come into play, you can probably conclude that the happily ever after stuff is gone the way of the goony bird."

I grinned over at her and asked with a perverted leer, "You don't have a younger sister, do you?"

Chloe reached over and slugged me in the arm just as we pulled to the front of her condominium tower. She hopped out without further comment, then turned to lean back in the passenger window.

"Are you sure about this, Chris? Are you sure that I'm not being a big inconvenience? Are you sure you think I'm worth it?" The honesty of her questions was written across her face.

I smiled at her and put my hand on her forearm. "Grab what you need. Take as long as want. I'm not going anywhere. I think you're worth it."

Twenty seconds later I was out of the car and bribing the concierge to find out what apartment she was going to and the name on its lease. This turned out to more difficult that it sounds, for the man on duty was good at his job. I had to mention a few important names in the area, and then match phone numbers with his computerized rolodex so he could call to verify I was who I claimed to be. Ten minutes later I was speaking to the leasing agent herself, an old friend of sorts. She confirmed that there was indeed a William Crosby in the building as a new tenant, having recently arrived from Omaha with his daughter Amanda, no age given. I asked if she could describe Amanda, and the woman was spot on.

"A lovely fair skinned girl, with quite a body under those dreary clothes she wears. I happened to see her one day recently out at the pool, and darling, let me tell you, if I was so inclined, I would love to spend time with her."

I asked if a thorough background check had been run on her old man, the former Air Force jet jockey now piloting a southern hemisphere route for American.

"Perhaps we can discuss this over drinks, darling," she suggested. "I know a lovely place where they make the best mojitos in Miami."

The woman was known in south Florida as a female tigress with a sexual appetite which required lusty servings of fresh man meat on a frighteningly frequent basis. She went through boyfriends the way other people might go through a package of bologna.

"OK," I agreed. "I have a bit of business to take care of until around 6PM, then I'm free after that."

"For the whole evening, I hope," she said in a husky voice. "I haven't seen you in ages --- since you took care of me two years ago when I was staying at the Fontainebleau while they remodeled my apartment."

"No, I'm afraid all night won't be possible," I said cautiously. "I have an early meeting in Tampa tomorrow morning, so I'll be hitting the highway around 5AM." Until maybe 11 o'clock is the best I can do. I tell you what, you pick the place for the drinks and I'll pick the place for supper."

"Well, that sounds inviting indeed!" she remarked breathlessly. "I hear you've done quite well for yourself since those days on the beach. What is it you're doing again? Some kind of fish paste or something?"

Veronica was always the kidder.

"Yup. Fish paste. I'll bring some along if you'd like."

"That won't be necessary, darling. Just bring that cute smile and those tight buns of yours. I'm sure we'll make out just fine with those.... Why don't we meet at my place? We can have drinks there while we discuss what we'd like to eat later on. You remember where I live, don't you Chris?"

"Sure do, Veronica. How 'bout 6PM sharp?"

"Let's make it 6:30, lover boy. I can tell you're anxious, but I want to relax a bit after this rough day I'm having."

My next call was to the general manager of The Shores, one of Miami Beach's hottest hotels in the deco district of South Beach. He took my call right away, since big money and an open account in his bar can do such things with ease. Not to mention he was a college buddy of mine.

I begged him for a room for a few nights, and he replied after a few moments while he put me on hold that all he had was one of their most expensive bungalows, which he would normally comp to an old friend like me, but since it was for a friend and not me personally, he would have to charge the rack rate of $950 per night. He would of course throw in one of the hotel's scooters, a computer and a cell phone, and all the spa services from waxing to massage. I grumbled a bit but accepted his offer, giving him the name Chloe Crosby. In trade for these "extras" all l I had to do was get him the use of the Ferrari for the next three days. And that's how business is done in South Beach, just as it is everywhere else in the world. Swish!

Amanda, or Chloe as we agreed she would be called, came out the front of the tower's entrance lugging a large green duffle, the type the military issues to recruits. It looked as heavy as she, so I hopped up the steps to help. Benji was right at her feet, secured to a leash she had secured to her other wrist. Under that arm was a box of dog food and a bag with two bowls in it. I stuffed her bag behind our seats, joking that I was surprised she was able to get the kitchen sink on only one trip. She giggled and said that what she had brought was mostly her stuffed animals and boxes and boxes of pop tarts.

"I left a note for my dad," she announced once we were moving north along Beach Boulevard, passing the Marriott, another nice hotel, but a bit south from the action. "I told him that I'm safe and with friends. I didn't say anything about why I moved out. He knows!" she said vehemently. "Anyway, I told him I'd call him tonight around 7."

She looked speculatively at me, then commented, "You look like the cat that swallowed the canary."

"I think you're gonna like where I've found for you to stay till I get back from Tampa."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah!" I agreed. "You heard about Brad and Angelina coming to South Beach and holing up in a little bungalow for weeks?"

"You mean Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie?" she cried excitedly. " Not long after he left Jennifer? That's where I'll be staying? In that same bungalow?"

"You got it, babe," I said smugly. "I bet you'll still see the steam on the mirrors from those two."

"Don't you think they look great together? I know it was hard for Jen, but you can't deny the chemistry between him and Angelina."

"I guess," I agreed hesitantly. "I mean, it's sort of a good thing that I'm no longer a cabana boy, don't you think? What if I had been the guy bringing them beach towels and fruity drinks from the pool bar? Don't you think she would have dropped him like a hot potato?"

"Gawd," she laughed, "get over yourself! I say one nice thing about how you look, and now you've got the rearview mirror aimed at your face. And what is it you keep doing with your eyebrows? That little wiggle thing? Is that supposed to be sexy?"

I turned so she could see that I was only raising one eyebrow at a time, in the manner of a chic and debonair scoundrel. She laughed uproariously, smacking her thigh with her fist, causing Benji to start yipping.

I wheeled us up to the front of The Shores, where a liveried attendant held the door for Chloe. I gave him her name, and pointed to the duffle behind the seats. I walked around and palmed him a fifty, and told him to take care of my girlfriend like she was his favorite sister, giving him a stern look that said, Hands Off! He got my meaning, nodding his head and saying, "Yes sir", in the proper tone.

He did a quick check on his chart, then smiled and welcomed us to The Shores. He said we were pre-registered by Mr. Peroni himself, and that it would be his privilege to see us to our suite. I didn't correct him that only she was staying, thinking that would remove at least one more horny fucker from trying to put the make on her. Man, I know how these hotel guys operate. When I was at the Fontainebleau it was always a competition between the bellmen and the beach guys on who would tag more of the tourist honeys.

"Leave my car somewhere handy if you would please," I suggested. "I'll be coming right back out."

"Yes sir," he replied, "we'll leave it right where it is for an hour, then move it over there if you find yourself delayed," pointing to a spot on the entry curb.

With Benji trotting smartly at her heels, Chloe and I walked through the beautiful lobby, past the shops and dining room and then through the pool area to a secluded and exquisitely landscaped second story cottage which had its own gated and secured beach entrance, a lovely patio with a hammock and slider rockers, and an indoor/outdoor hot tub. Inside, the rooms were bright and sunny, the walls colored in tropical pastels and corals. There was a good sized living room with a 42 inch plasma screen complete with surround sound and all the bells and whistles for playing DVDs, satellite radio or whatever. Tomas went over each feature with enthusiastic competence, explaining this and that, and showing proper deference throughout. The kitchen was already stocked with a variety of fresh fruits and veggies and cheeses. There was a cappuccino/espresso maker with ground Costa Rican coffee in a container, bottles of expensive spring water and several types of soda, or pop as they say in certain northern regions.