Life Is Good
Lavon Crawston closed down his tablet and placed it onto his table. Then he moved across to his sofa and let himself almost fall into its padded comfort. It felt real good.
He was in an exceptionally good mood. His system was putting out some fine old-school funk. Just the sort he'd grown up on and definitely the groove that he really went for. This new urban stuff was fine but it just wasn't his preference. He heard enough of it down the club, heavy bass rhythm and rap vocals. He had no problem with it but some variety would be good. One day he'd asked the guy who owned the place about it. Man by the name of Antwan - down there on one of his regular visits to see his high standards were being maintained.
Lavon figured he was a good judge of people. He had a strong feeling that Antwan was on his side of this particular musical divide. He was a few years younger than Lavon but the man was smooth. Had to be to have the premium lawyer pussy he had back home. Let alone to be right-hand man to Mr Taylor. Because if Lavon reckoned he was a good judge of folks then he was for damned sure that Mr Taylor was.
So he'd asked Antwan and the man had just smiled at him.
"You can work it out my man."
Lavon guessed it had been obvious. "The young guys all wanting it?"
Antwan just shook his head and Lavon realised his mistake.
"The ladies wanting it?" The club's female clientele tilted real white and not a bit suburban. Not really the gangsta demographic but in that split-second he understood.
The woman and girls didn't come down there for what they could get at home. Back in the neatly-manicured suburbs or the small towns they'd left to come to the big city. They came for what they needed real bad but couldn't get at home. They loved that contrast. The music was part of it. Told them they were in another world - a world where they could express themselves to the full. Where they could be who they really were. In many cases, at least at first, that meant they wanted it as 'street' as street could be. They wanted the music, the fashion, the ghetto phrases and attitudes. Because if you were a white woman at one of Antwan's clubs then you weren't no tourist. You were there to be desired, to be pursued, to be claimed by a Black man.
Those were the women that came to a club like Antwan's. Most of them had white boys back home, husbands or boyfriends. But those white boys weren't up to the job of satisfying their women. They put a ring on it and then thought their job was done. They lapsed into routine, into boring normality, into seeing their lover as some kind of personal servant for the cooking and cleaning.
That was no way to treat a fine piece. A man needed to make sure she knew how sexy she was, how much he wanted her. She had to know that her man wanted her for who she was - a unique, beautiful, desirable woman. She knew that and she wasn't going to be straying but them white boys just couldn't seem to catch on to that. Which suited him and Antwan just fine. Because some of them fine pieces who weren't getting their due at home would find their way to the perfect place for getting just the attention they was wanting.
So if the girls wanted their music as 'urban' and as 'ghetto' as possible then that was just fine. All part of the process. Give the girls what they wanted and soon enough they'd be reciprocating. Everyone was a winner.
Tonight he wasn't at the club so he could let his preferred sound fill his apartment. He didn't need to be setting no mood tonight. Tonight's visitor knew just exactly what she was coming for. It was every two weeks but it wasn't routine. There was always a clock on his girls - soon they'd be leaving the college to make their way in the world. Meant a man didn't take them for granted, it meant he made sure to give them all his attention every minute that he had them.
It was moving on towards the end of the school year now. Another turn-round of tenants. How many more times would he see tonight's visitor? After tonight maybe two. He felt a familiar twinge of regret but just that little stronger than he had in previous years. This year had been a fine crop. The only pity was that sweet blonde dime Rachel had only come with a few weeks to go. Had she been with him from the start of the year he knew that she'd have been coming down and knocking on his door. He 'd seen it in her eyes sometimes when he talked with her, heard it in her voice, known what was in her soul.
You couldn't get a more blue-blood looking girl than Rachel but old Lavon was a man of discernment and experience. He knew how Rachel looked at him sometimes when she didn't think he was watching. He also knew she'd been asking some of his other girls about him. He knew the signs.
Lavon felt the stir in his pants. Damn but that girl was fine. If he'd had another couple of months, maybe just one, she'd have been down here for sure. Knocking on his door and then finding out just what was tenting his shorts. Turn that girl's world upside down because once she'd tasted the forbidden fruit then there was no way she'd ever go back to white-bread. Lavon knew that without question. That sweet blonde piece could be the poster girl for, 'Once they go Black they never go back.'
Still there it was. Man couldn't have everything. If he caught every fish there'd be no fun in the sport. He could not complain about this year. This year had been one to remember.
Lavon again had a thought that had come into his mind a few times recently. It was in the nature of things that his tenants were anywhere from twenty to twenty-three years old. He wasn't anywhere near seeing forty again. There'd come a time when he should hand over the reins - pass on the responsibility.
It happened that he knew just how he could do that. His old service buddy had kept telling him to come down to the Caribbean where he'd been developing a resort catering to adventurous young professionals. Spend the winters down there and from what CeeJay said the white tail came a-flocking and all a man had to do was pick and choose. Fresh prime pussy every week. Completing that Caribbean holiday experience for CeeJay's visitors.
It was mighty enticing. Especially round about November when the wind began blowing cold and when the first snows were falling. However, it wouldn't mesh with his landlord duties here. Every year he let loose into the world maybe five or ten fine white girls who'd come to understand that true sexual satisfaction came in only one color, just like that old bastard Henry Ford's Model T. He liked to think of all the young brothas out there who got to enjoy the graduates of his little finishing school. It was a responsibility, an important job that needed to be done.
