tagLetters & TranscriptsThe Chronicles Of Tyrone; Good Bad

The Chronicles Of Tyrone; Good Bad


My name is Tyrone and I'm not black. I don't know why black guys think that the name Tyrone belongs exclusively to them. My friends will invite me over. I suppose they say something like, 'My dude Tyrone is on his way.' Then I show up with my pale-ass and they start freaking...asking me if I'm a cop. Then my friend will grin and say, 'hell no he's not a cop. He's my supplier.'

I have a lot of acquaintances and I am always having to explain the answer to this question; 'Why does a white boy like you have a name like Tyrone?' Then I will have to point out that: First, I'm not white, I'm Sicilian. Second, a boy does not bring in a man's amount of money. Third when my parents got off the boat from Sicily, the first American movie they saw had Tyrone Powers in it. Of course this brings us to the inevitable jokes about what if my parents had seen ROOTS or Shaka Zulu.

I grew up in an all black neighborhood. I don't talk or act much different than the guys I hung out with. But it's not fair to characterize me as a wannabe black. I don't want to be black; my black friends catch hell for doing the same things I do. My given name is Tyrone Fedro Ribisi. I'm twenty-eight years old, and I am a drug dealer.

I suppose people expect me to follow this up by saying; but I have to do it to support my habit, family, sick sister...but none of this applies to me. I am a drug dealer because I like the money. I suppose that I should feel sorry for the fact that my actions contribute to the decline of my own community. But I don't think of these things. I think about the effects of my drug sales about as much as a person eating a big thick steak considers PETA. In my opinion this doesn't make me a bad person...however, I realize that it doesn't make me a good person, either. And even the knowledge of this doesn't bother me. My customers do not come to me asking for validation of their character, nor do I ask them for the same. Just like the cashier at the local fast food restaurant doesn't evaluate his customers before selling their death burgers, I don't concern myself with whether or not my customers have spent the last of their kid's lunch money on a bag of weed, or if they are going to lose their job for coming into work on a cocaine high.

I work for a Japanese gentleman, and on that I will say no more. My boss deals in designer drugs and I am one of his runners. Sometimes he will give me a new drug to sale...and obviously I have to try it out first before I pitch it to my customers. This tends to be problematic for me. I don't like junkies but I'm pretty close to becoming one.

A junky will steal from their family, sale their kids, and pawn their black baby off as yours. This last one I know for a fact because it's happened to me.

One night I came home to an unexpected visitor. As usual, I unlocked the door to my apartment and was half way across the room before even bothering to cut on a light. All I could think of is getting away from the trash of the streets.

Most people say that there home is their haven but for me it's true. My living room is done in earth tones. Expensive rugs dotted the dark, hardwood floors. It's contemporary but not the cold ultra modern decor that some go for. I like nice things but when I come home I don't want to feel as if I'm walking into a cold museum.

I picked up a remote control and music began to immediately stream through the hidden speakers. Not many know that I have a passion for blues. A soft guitar rift began drifting throughout the room, followed by the low crooning of Elmore James. I took out my little black book and cell phone. Nightly I finalize my schedule for the following day, making corrections and adjustments as needed. Nobody follows a schedule any more. People call me up wanting this or that. I'm not nickel and dime pusher. I run big drugs and I like to keep things to a schedule. But that doesn't stop people from calling me up in order to cop some weed or pills before a party.

After all of that was done I could finally relax. I opened the drawer to my entertainment center and retrieved my own stash, dry swallowing a downer. It was the only way I could get to sleep at night. I knew I'd be asleep in half an hour so I immediately stripped out of my clothes, hanging them in my walk in closet for Nana to take to the dry cleaners.

This is a routine that I follow nightly. Next is the shower. The shower spray is always set to hard so that it feels like stinging little fingers trying to pulverize my muscles...but I need the free massage. A drug runner's job is very stressful! I washed the goop out of my hair. Yes, I'm Sicilian; therefore I use hair goop. Then after the shower I walked naked into my bedroom. The lights were out and would have stayed out had I not stumbled over something that had been left on the floor.

My heart leaped in my throat as I cursed silently over the fact that I did not have my gun in hand. There was someone in my bedroom. You see, I'm a neat freak, never leaving shit out of place. I suppose what really freaked me out is the fact that someone had been lurking here for over an hour while I went about my routine, showered, listening to my blues. That more than anything convinced me that I'd be dead already if that had been the plan, so I quickly flipped on the light switch that was located on the wall mere inches from where I was standing.

I sucked in an annoyed breath. The fear that had been gripping my heart was suddenly replaced by anger. "Bitch, what the fuck are you doing in my bed?" Angela smirked not taking the situation nearly as seriously as she should have. If I'd been holding my gun...

Her smirked only inflamed me more. I stormed over to the bed and yanked her roughly by the arm. "Get out of my fucking bed!"

"Ow! That hurts!" She stumbled out of the bed, an angry pout on her heart shaped lips. There was a time when that pout would have done something to me, now it just made him want to smash my fist into it. I hated her now as much as I had at one time loved her. When she stood, her perfect full breasts bounced. Mmm, she was nude. My dick betrayed me as it rose slightly in her direction.

Angela wrenched her wrist from my grasp. Then her expression became seductive. She ran her hands up my still damp chest. "Tyrone, baby, I missed you." Her fingers grazed my nipple and I shuddered then pushed her away.

"Angela, get your shit and leave." I looked around, taking inventory of whatever might be out of place. I didn't like having a junkie in my place! Angela's hand snaked out to stroke my dick and the damned thing betrayed me again by becoming rock hard!

"You might want me to leave...but Little Tyrone doesn't." Angela swung her long black hair over one shoulder. She knew that she was hot as hell. Angela and I had been a couple for most of our teenage years. But that was before she'd been getting her junk behind my back. I regulated how much both of us used, but she was buying from other sources and becoming a junky in the process. Still, I wanted to help her...at least until I found out that she was turning tricks to get her fix. The hate still didn't come until she pretended to be pregnant by me.

She was pregnant and it could have been my kid, so although I didn't want her—could barely stand the sight of her, I took care of her. When I went to the hospital after she gave birth, I took one look at the kid and turned right around and walked out of the room without saying a word. I'm Sicilian, she's Sicilian but I knew a black baby when I saw one. 'It's just a dark Sicilian!' She had screamed after me.

And now my cock was betraying me too. She leaned in to kiss me and I turned my head in an attempt to insult her. She was too stupid to be insulted. Her hand stroked me causing me to shudder. I reached out and allowed my fingers to glide across her nipples. They reflexively plumped but I resisted the urge to draw one then the other into my mouth the way I knew she loved. I placed my hands on her shoulders and stared into her dark eyes.

"Suck it."

Angela's face lit up as if she had won a contest. I watched her without expression. She sank to her knees, eyes never leaving my face as she gripped my shaft and began flicking her tongue at the head of my dick. I drew in a strained breath. Expertly Angela swallowed up every bit of my huge swollen cock until I finally dumped what felt like a gallon of cum down her throat.

I let her play with my flaccid dick for a few minutes. "My turn now, baby." She said while rising to her feet. She tried to place her lips to against mine.

"No no, bitch. You needs to get the fuck out." She gasped in shock, her eyes growing wide. I spotted her purse and crossed the room to it, dumping the contents on the floor.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" She ran over to me and dropped to her knees where her things were scattered. I saw her stash but ignored it. Instead I scooped up what I was looking for; the key to my apartment. She tried to snatch it from my hand.

"Angela." I said in barely contained rage. "I can't believe you made a key! I will be changing the locks. So don't bother coming back."

She gave me a tearful look that did not move me in the least. "Tyrone! Please don't be so cold. There was a time when you loved me-" I nudged her towards her clothes which were lying on the floor.

"Go home and take care of your baby."

She gave me a pleading look. "It can be like it was before."

I looked at the clock impatiently then back to her coldly. This fucking bitch was cutting into my sleep time. "Give me your hand."

She had real fear in her eyes. "Why?" I silently held out my hand, waiting. Very slowly she placed her hand in mine, ready to jerk it back if I moved funny. I turned her hand palm side up, then placed my lips on the palm of her hand and kissed it very gently. I closed her fingers until her hand formed a ball, then I lowered her hand back to her side.

"If I ever see you again, in my home, on any of my runs, in any of the clubs that I hang out, I will make that son of yours into a motherless orphan."

Angela's face paled. I guess the look in my eye convinced her that I was not kidding. She didn't bother to get dressed; she just left my apartment with her belongings clutched in her hands.

Luckily for her I never saw her again. She's the last traditional relationship that I've been in. My romances are random encounters. If you fuck a woman more than once then she thinks she has ties to you, or she's going around the city telling the other women you fuck that she's your woman. Frankly, I wouldn't trust any woman that wants to be in a relationship with me. I have money, an endless supply of drugs, and I'm bad, right? They aren't with me because I'm nice. So I don't allow anyone up inside of my apartment. It's also out of a sense of respect for Nana. Nana is sixty-two years old now and she comes by every other day to clean my apartment and to cook me good Sicilian food, since otherwise, all I would do is eat fast food. She also speaks to me in Sicilian which is cool. I learned it listening to my folks and its nice keeping up with it. I like Nana, but that's not the reason I'm fucking her.

Remember when I mentioned that my boss deals in designer drugs and that I test them out before distributing them? There are some definite side effects to some of them...

No one knows about me and Nana, obviously. Well actually, she's told some people but I haven't, and that's another story; the story about my fat dick. But I'll tell you about a day in the life of Tyrone Ribisi and maybe it will be clear about her and the drugs.

I wake up each morning at precisely the same time without the help of an alarm clock. I never linger in bed, I never understood the concept of laying around doing nothing but watching t.v. when there was money to be made.

After using the toilet, I head to the kitchen for a bottled water, I pop a couple of uppers, and check for any messages. Then I drop down on the floor to do 200 push-ups, 1000 crunches and 100 lunges. When I'm done with that I'm usually hyped from the drug and exercise and my muscles hum pleasantly.

Usually by that time I will hear Nana enter the apartment as I'm showering.

She makes it a habit to announce her arrival...it was just safer that way. "Il Tyrone, è giusto me. Lei è nella doccia?"

"Sì! Sono nella doccia!" I yell, telling her that I'm in the shower. After bathing I wrap a towel around my waist and spend the next half an hour working on my hair. When it's properly gelled I finish my morning routine which takes another half hour then spend a few minutes considering what I should wear.

As I've previously stated, I like nice things. I dress mostly in nice slacks, nice shirts that show off my chest, Italian leather shoes and expensive leather coats. As I'm contemplating my selection, Nana comes scurrying into my room with a handful of fresh sheets. I glance at the old woman. She is bent over the bed, pulling the ends up under the corner of the King sized mattress. She isn't wearing her support hoes; the ones she was supposed to wear to protect her legs from varicose veins. That's when I feel my dick twitch.

I turn my attention back to the walk in closet, continuing to search. "Nana, where are my brown slacks? Did you pick them up from the dry cleaners?"

"No. li terranno. Dicono che loro non potrebbe prendere le macchie fuori."

I turn to her abruptly. "Stains? There weren't any stains in those pants. You tell them that I want those pants by the end of the day or I'll take my business next door to their competitors!" With as much business as I have given to them, I've probably put the guy's kids through college. I'd be damned if I'll wait for my clothes like any other l'uomo via dalla strada!

With adrenalin and uppers pumping through my system, I stepped up behind Nana and placed my hard cock against her rump. She jumped slightly as I ran my hands over her thick thighs and beneath her dress; no panties, just as I had suspected.

I chuckled. "Who's a dirty old slut?"

Nana turned to look at me, cheeks flushed. "Sono la sua puttana..." She speaks breathlessly. I reached around to stroke her slit. She'd shaved for me. I had explained to her long ago that I couldn't abide by long grey pubes...that was just my own personal turn-off. Carefully I dipped my dick into her. She was ready. She must have been thinking about me all morning. I begin to rapidly pump into her withered old pussy calling out insults while she moaned and groaned and loved every second of it.

She finally wiggled away from me to drop to her knees, mindful of her arthritic hip, and she takes my throbbing cock into her mouth.

"Oh Fuck!" I throw my head back and pound her toothless mouth. She's taken her teeth out for me. "You suck the best dick you dirty old bitch. You slut." I gripped her head and the hair on her head slipped. "You're wearing a wig?" I'm panting and she nods with a mouthful of dick, looking at me with baleful eyes. "Oh you slut you. Who's slut are you?" I pound her mouth mercilessly until I cum. Nana slurps loudly.

Even after I'm spent I watch her as she catches her breath. One day she might actually have that heart attack that it looks like she's having right now. I reached down and help her up onto the bed. "Why do you get down on your knees like that? You know it's bad on your hip. Next time you want to suck my dick, just sit on the bed." I straighten her smart grey little wig. For sixty-two she wasn't a bad looking old girl. Gently, I push her back onto the bed and hike up her dress. I stroke her swollen clit with my thumb while watching her arch her back, crying out Italian profanities.

That always turns me on. The first time I'd called her my dirty old slut she had been insulted until I explained that talking dirty turned me on and that I didn't think less of her because she was mine and Mine alone. Mine is certainly the only dick going into her sixty-two year old pussy. Well let me just put it this way, if anyone else was fucking my Nana then they would be one dead muther fucker!

Nana's not my grandmother or anything, so I figured it was ok to lick her clit. Plus, I just like eating pussy—enough that I came again. When she finally got hers I wondered for like the millionth time if she would finally keel over with a heart attack. I rolled her over and slapped her ass. "Go shower. Then make me some waffles." She got up and happily did as I told her.

In the past I had always had young women as housekeepers...but then I would just end up fucking them and they would end up thinking it meant something. In the long run I decided that old women were just a bit safer because then I wouldn't be tempted to fuck them, right? So I hired a little old Lady from an all Italian neighborhood where I go to get my spaghetti Bolognese. Well one day while experimenting with a new drug that I'd been given to distribute, called sextasy II, I found that like Viagra it could give a person a hard-on that wouldn't go away. But unlike Viagra upon experiencing an orgasm the taker still felt a desire to continue to cum until the hard-on went away.

My dumb-ass took two figuring that I was young, most guys are going to take two, right? So although I had spent the morning jacking off, I was still horny. I tried to resist Nana when she came to clean that morning, but soon it was apparent to her what my problem was and she offered to help me out on her own accord.

I'd just come out of the bathroom where I'd just had a knee shaking climax. But my cock was still rock hard! I tucked my joint into my pants; but I have a fat dick so I had to be discreet. The idea of Nana seeing my erection mortified me...in a strangely enticing way—which was pretty sick to me at the time. I decided to sit on the couch and watch the news until she finished. Watching the news can kill a hard-on, usually. But I found myself trying to see her big tits through her blouse and when she moved a certain way I could swear I saw the impression of a huge fat nipple. Fuck! I'm a freak for fat nipples. She gave me a funny look and I tried to pretend to be looking at something else and when I glanced up again she was staring at my joint, bulging through my pants! She didn't say shit, she just stared for a few seconds then she reached out and yanked me to my feet. I was about to explode just thinking about how embarrassing this all was, but Nana surprised me by crooning softly in Italian and she undid my pants. She gasped and I gasped when my cock popped out.

Afterwards I worried that I'd have a fetish for old broads; but as it turned out, other old broads disgusted me and I know this for a fact because months later Nana brought her friends over to look at how fat my cock was. But for whatever reason, Nana gets me horny even without the sextasy. Fucking her is my guilty pleasure.

It's more than fucking; I take care of Nanny and she takes care of me. I know that it is strange for others that I'm a successful twenty-eight year old Sicilian drug dealer named Tyrone that has an Asian Yakuza boss and a sixty-two year old girlfriend. I realize that there are lots of things about me that are odd. I'm not 'good', but I'm not all together bad. I'll tell you some more next time I see you.

Peace out.

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