Tyrone: A Story For 'Empowered' Women
"The writer's prose is so thick it will steep deep inside of your brain, leaving your head sore the next day"—DailyCuller
"A bizarre betrayal of the romantic formula"—Tingle Magazine
“A story as dark and frightening as the ghetto, itself.”—HipTopShape Magazine
“A masterpiece that every young woman today needs on her bookshelf”—Purple Hair Chronicle
“Tyrone’s presence is so big, your womanhood will explode”—Go-Gurl
“A satire that hits harder than a step-father” C|suite
Tyrone (A Short Story)
STEPHANIE WAS AN INTERESTING WOMAN, she was a little on the thick side—not fat, just homely like Pam from The Office—, and had a few inspirational and Chinese inspired tattoos.
In University, she majored in Applied Woman's Studies with a Minor in Lesbian Tap-dance Therapy. Ironically, it was a difficult major to apply. After graduating, she held several odd jobs and carried a massive student debt load to the tune of $100,000.00. Her husband, Barry, is currently working hard and diligently to pay it off for her, while he slaves away at his accounting firm.
She worked for a little bit as an Artificial Sperm Extracting Engineer: forcefully sperm jacking hyenas in Africa so that their hyena semen could be tested for hyena gonorrhea; a serious disease known to hyenas in the area. Soon thereafter, with all her experience, she moved on to horses, cows and then humans back home. Stephanie’s new sperm extracting job—a promotion to Chief Prostate Massager— involved working with men who had lost their arms/hands in industrial accidents or the war, who wanted to donate their sperm. On a day-to-day basis, Stephanie would vigorously massage men’s prostates in order to extract the precious white gold.
After that, she worked at Meowzers!—a non-profit that puts down stray cats. Finally, she worked at an experimental government funded school for parents who wanted to raise their children gender neutral. The job didn't last long because her feminine hips, round apple ass, and ample breasts made some of the 'Offspring,' as the children were called, embrace evil cis-gendered male-rapist identities.
Stephanie then found herself working at a University Library. It was an easy drama-free job and she was well qualified since she was a woman. Stephanie was re-magnetizing the returned books when a large, buff man approached her. He was tall, unnaturally muscular and had a stoic unshaven Eastern Samoan face; tattoos for days.
“Excuse me, but do you have Women Don’t Have to be Accountable, by notable Feminist author Kari Dykkut." The man said, while drinking a chunky, chalky substance from a shaker cup.
“Is that water?" Stephanie retorted, being a rule stickler of a woman.
"Yea, it is" The man said with a glint in his eye, reminiscent of a gladiatorial sex God.
"I have that book but it’s at my house. I love that book and I always check it out." Stephanie said, apologetically.
“Sounds like an indicator of interest to me, I’ll be at your house at 9.” The man said.
Stephanie shook his hand, “My name is Stephanie.”
“Tyrone, is mine.”
As Tyrone walked away, Stephanie couldn’t help herself; she spent the good portion of time leering at Tyrone’s shapely gluteus maximus; wondering how thick his cock was. She got wet at the thought of this. The rest of the day she was a complete mess; her panties: The Wetlands.
Stephanie’s husband, Barry, was sitting by the fireplace enjoying his hot coco whilst in his onesi. The doorbell rang. Stephanie opened the door. The massive man, Tyrone, towered over her, holding flowers.
“Happy Valentine’s day”, he said with that same smirk on his face.
"Well me and my life partner Barry don't celebrate valentines because it perpetuates traditional gender roles." Stephanie informed the man, nervously.
“I celebrate it” said the man without any emotion on his face.
"Would you like some herbal tea?" asked Barry.
"I’d like Stephanie to read to me," said Tyrone, as he proceeded to lead Stephanie upstairs into her and Barry’s master bedroom.
It got so awkwardly quiet in the room as everyone knew—except for Barry—what was about to take place upstairs. So quiet, that you could hear a pin drop; Tyrone’s sperm, percolating inside his nut-sack.
“Ok” said Barry, as Stephanie is ‘independent’ enough to make her own decisions. Barry has full trust in her. He even let’s her manage all of their household finances.
Suddenly, Stephanie was alone with Tyrone. He grabbed her by the waist. “I want to show you something”, he whispered. Normally Stephanie would object to such rapid advances. Normally, Stephanie insists on active consent with Barry, but she felt safe in the man's arms—more importantly, she felt those every dictating and glorious, Gina tingles. For once in her life she felt like she didn't have to prove anything, she didn't have to be a strong independent woman™, she could just be.
"Barry wouldn't approve of this," Stephanie said in a fit of last minute resistance in order not to appear as slutty as she has always been with strange men in the past. Barry is a very understanding man, he will understand that this is his fault.
Tyrone thus stood behind Stephanie and began his process by sliding her panties off. He bent her over the large mattress. She felt something poking her near her now swollen and glistening, cunt. Stephanie felt Tyrone’s thickness slap her butt cheeks a few times, his python dong dancing around her opening like how a young Zulu would pace around an open fire.
Suddenly, penetration happened; the emotionless Terminator pumping, began. The rhythmic slamming of Tyrone’s built pelvis against Stephanie’s tender buttocks produced mini shock-waves and sounded like the familiar tribal drums of the San Bushmen in Africa; a tribe that Stephanie had encountered during her travels as a young and naïve college girl ‘finding herself’. Downstairs, Barry was wondering why he was hearing, what he thought to have been two ham sandwiches, slapping together.
After 30 minutes of pumping, Tyrone whispered into her ear, “I’m going to endorse you, now.” Stephanie felt herself being filled like a jelly doughnut. The gooey like substance was overflowing and dripping out of her finished genitalia, just like the Kalambo Falls.
Then, in a flash, Tyrone was gone. He slipped out of the window, immediately after his climax. She heard the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle in the night roaring away, like a swift lion through the Serengeti. Stephanie was confused in her post-hornial state; she still had semen dripping out of her. A mess that Barry would soon clean up for her; apron, gloves and sanitizer in tow.
“Tyrone!” She yelled, into the crisp winter evening. Barry rushed up the stairs, almost tripping himself in his onesi and spilling herbal tea. He burst into their bedroom, completing forgetting about their ‘Ten knock’ rule.
“You sounded upset, my dear, so I brought you some peach peko herbal tea,” Barry said in a simpish manner.
Stephanie held Barry close and began to read her favorite book out loud to him: Women Don’t Have to Be Accountable.
Nine months later, Stephanie and Barry conceived a child. Barry, being slightly confused at the news, as he and Stephanie had only done ‘over-the-pants stuff’ for the last year or so due to her ‘migraine issue’, that had been steadily progressing ever since they’d shacked up.
When the baby came out of Stephanie— it exited her love tunnel rather easily due to the extremely loose nature of her vaginal walls—, the doctor looked at Barry with concern. Barry must’ve not noticed the child’s pigment, since he was crying and blubbering all over himself at the sight of this miracle child. A miracle, because years before, Barry was diagnosed with an extremely low T-count score and was deemed almost completely infertile, at the age of 35.
They named the baby, Charlie, in order to not reinforce racist stereotypes attached to certain names given to certain ethnic backgrounds.
Barry soon put the pieces together, yet remained loyal to Stephanie. Stephanie, however, wanted a divorce from Barry in order to be with Tyrone, who would occasionally stop by their house to fuck Stephanie before bedtime while Barry burped and fed Charlie in the other room. Barry, wanting what was 'best' for Stephanie, reluctantly signed the papers and gave her the house and contributed to the child and Stephanie's welfare through alimony payments.
Tyrone soon moved in with Stephanie and Charlie but then grew tired of her talking about her advanced degrees and how Tyrone needed to be around a little bit more to watch Charlie, so she could go work her jerk-off job at the clinic. Her patient load was getting back-up while she was on maternity leave and were growing frustrated with their inability to 'donate' by themselves.
"I have patients trying to jerk themselves off with their feet, Tyrone!" She said after getting a call from her boss, saying she needed to be back at work soon. "Someone needs to be there to milk these armless and harmless men."
Tyrone didn't like Stephanie's demanding and uppity nature to which he had not seen before, given the fact that he would only spend maybe 30 min a night with her. Tyrone left one day and never came back.
Stephanie began to lose it; losing her job, her man, and not having the proper resource flow to accommodate her trendy, granite countertop lifestyle that her a Barry once had.
One day Stephanie tried calling Barry, wanting and begging for him to come back to her. She had learned Barry had killed himself; hung himself using a chair they bought from IKEA and rope purchased with the Home Depot gift card they got from the baby shower.
Stephanie soon found herself on Food-stamps and living in section 8; surround by all the Tyrone's a gurl could ever want.
If You Liked This Check Out: The Bro Next Door
Chad Swagger is your typical American male who enjoys wearing a polo shirt to the office even more so than getting drunk on the weekends with the guys. In his high school yearbook, he stated that his ambitions in life were to work for a large beer company and to become a “skilled lover” between the sheets. Half as charming as he thinks he is—and twice as desperate— Chad’s erotic sexual exploits tend to be awkward in the wake of his supreme thirst for love, desire, and admiration. Darkly funny and utterly offensive, The Bro Next Door is a twisted character study that exposes a rare side of the characteristic American Bro.