Date: Mon, 19 Feb 2018 01:47:08 +0000 (UTC)
From: Hank M <redbeardedsf (at) yahoo (dot) com>
Subject: TYRONE IN ALABAMA, chapter 1

Tyrone in Alabama, Part 1

by Master Redbeard
r-e-d-b=e=a=r=d=e=d=s=f at y+a+h+o+o dot com

This is a story of a white Southern sheriff who dominates and uses a
teenage black boy for sex. Although Tyrone is turned into a sex toy, the
N-word is never used in this story. If you're looking for nasty racist
epithets, go away. Tyrone is called "boy" and "young black buck," but the
white men in this story are "New Southerners" who do not resort to racist
slurs, even as they feed their hard white dicks to the innocent black
youth. In the third part of the story, the once-straight Tyrone is taken in
by Sheriff Ken, a big powerful black man. The boy learns to love and
respect Sheriff Ken, comes to call the man "Daddy," and faithfully serves
Daddy Ken's thick black cock.

I started out wanting to write a gay sex version of the movie "Get Out,"
but the story took on a life of its own. The other inspiration for this
piece of writing was cyber role-play chats I had with "jackson1." Maybe
jackson1 was truly a 19-yr-old African-American youth with very little gay
experience (and a wonderful vivid imagination). Or maybe jackson1 was some
old fat white guy. As with all cyber role-play, I will never know and it
doesn't really matter to me. I hope that jackson1 (whoever he may be) finds
this story.



* * * * *

I wasn't happy when mom said we would be moving to Alabama. I mean, when
you're a politically woke black teenager, Alabama seems like a scary
place. But mom's company needed her to step in and solve some problem so
this would mean a big financial bonus for her.

It was a pretty small town and most of the black folks lived down on the
other side of the interstate. But mom insisted she wanted us to live on the
nice side of town. Wherever we went to look at rentals I was self conscious
that there were white people staring at me. What were they thinking of me?
What would they want to do to me? I know today isn't like the era of
lynching, but there are still bad things that happen to black boys when
they're in the clutches of white people.

We visited this really nice little house that was for rent. It was two
stories, but very compact. There was a big bedroom and full bath
downstairs, and a narrow flight of steps that led to a small bedroom with
its own toilet and sink. I liked the setup. It would mean I'd have my
privacy from mom. When you're a 17-year-old guy that's important. I sleep
in boxers and sometimes I have a boner when I'm heading to the toilet at
night. Now I could walk around as I pleased, knowing my mom would not come
upstairs.

But when we went outside I looked at the much bigger house right next to
this one and saw a political sign in the front yard that made me
uncomfortable. There was also an old white man sitting on the porch that
surrounded that big white house. He was fat with white hair and looked like
every stereotype you ever saw about a Southern white sheriff. In fact it
turned out that Captain Worthing was the retired sheriff of this Alabama
town.

The old white man waved to us all friendly and called us over. He came down
from his porch, introduced himself and shook my mother's hand very
graciously. He was way friendlier than I would have expected, especially
considering the sign for that particular political candidate. He was
impressed with my mother's job and said he could tell she was a "fine lady
raising a fine boy." He explained that the small house used to be the
carriage house for the main building, where he lived. Also, he was the
landlord.

Then he turned his attention to me. It made me uncomfortable the way he
kept on touching me, feeling the muscles in my arms and shoulders and
complimenting me on my form. But I didn't want to offend him and, as the
real estate agent had said, they do things different in Alabama. Out of the
blue he asked me if I wanted to earn extra money. Well, of course, what
17-year-old boy doesn't want and need extra money? He said that he could
use help with some things around his house ("I'm not as spry as I used to
be, son," he chuckled) and if we moved into the small house, he'd be happy
to have a "strong young buck" like me to give him a hand.

My mom intervened and said, "I don't know how much help you need, Captain
Worthing, but my son and I want to be good neighbors. He could certainly
lend a hand to a neighbor without getting money for it."

Captain Worthing turned to the real estate agent and said, "You better give
these nice people a good deal on that house. They're the kind of fine folks
I want as my new neighbors."

Mom told me later that "buck" was a term used for young black male slaves,
and that she didn't appreciate the old white man using the word. But she
conceded that he had been so much more welcoming than she expected, she
shrugged and chalked it up to "they do things different in Alabama." She
didn't say anything about Captain Worthing referring to me as "boy," but I
took offense. After all, I was close to my 18th birthday with impressive
shoulders and a well-developed chest.

I started helping Captain Worthing with little things. He was still strong
and capable, so the help he wanted was mostly an extra hand to move heavy
things or a young steady person to get up on a ladder. I never took money
from him for these small tasks, but he would give me old clothes and things
from his grown sons that he thought I could use. The shirts and pants
weren't anything I'd want to be seen in, but I liked the sweatpants and
t-shirts. He even gave me a jockstrap and asked if boys like me still wore
them for gym class. I mumbled an answer. I didn't want to be talking about
my underpants with this old white man.

When he asked me to take on bigger jobs, he offered me an hourly rate. It
was below minimum wage, but better than anyone else in town was offering to
a teenage black boy. He started by asking me to paint his enclosed back
porch. It took a full Saturday just to scrape off all the old peeling
paint.

We started up work again on Sunday afternoon, once Captain Worthing was
back from church and Sunday dinner in town. But no sooner had I arrived on
his back porch than he spilled an entire can of turpentine all over me. I
jumped back and said I would run to my house next door to shower. But he
pushed me toward the next room, the mudroom off the porch. Because it was a
junk room for people to wash the mud off when they came in from outside,
there was a big basin sink with a hose, and a drain in the middle of the
floor.

"Go on, boy, strip down," he commanded.

I was stammering. I didn't want to take my clothes off in front of this old
white man, but he was insistent. "It's only us guys here, Tyrone. No gals
are gonna see you. I can't let you run to your house. Turpentine is
flammable and highly dangerous." Throughout this I was slowly peeling off
my clothes so that I stood in nothing but my red boxerbriefs.

He looked me over in a way that made me feel creepy, then grinned,
"Besides, I knew a young buck like you wouldn't have anything to be ashamed
of, heheheh." He took the spray nozzle that was hooked up to the hose and
pointed it right at me, soaking me with water from head to toe.

The old white man was holding my turpentine-soaked clothes and told me to
give him my boxers. I looked down at the soaking underpants and suddenly
felt shy. I turned my back to him and peeled down the shorts, keeping one
hand covering my dick as I handed them off.

When I think back to it now, it's strange that I felt shy about showing my
dick, so instead I was displaying my bare ass to him. Even though it felt
like a pervy situation, I never suspected at the time that the old guy was
actually perving on me for sex. It just never occurred to me that a fat old
white Southern sheriff like that could be queer, especially not queer for a
teenage black boy. I had no idea on that day how queer this white man would
get with me, and how interested he was in my black teen ass.

The towel he gave me to wrap myself in was thin and white and didn't do
much to hide anything. Then he brought me a t-shirt he said had belonged to
one of his sons. "If I got the right shirt, this should hang down nice and
long and cover all your tender bits," he chuckled in a grandfatherly
way. But it must have been the wrong t-shirt because it didn't cover
much. When I pulled it down in front to try to cover my dick, my entire
backside was hanging out in the breeze. When I pulled it down in back, my
dick was waving free.

Just then I heard someone else enter. When I turned I saw a tall
twenty-something white man in a police uniform. I gasped and jumped
back. Being a black teenager I've learned to fear white cops, and I felt
especially vulnerable with my dick and ass on display. This cop was
grinning and chuckling as he said, "You got yourself a fine looking little
black buck, daddy."

I was too scared to say any of the hundred things I was thinking right
then. And it's probably best that I didn't say any of it. The Captain just
chuckled and said, "Tyrone is a good boy, respectful and obedient. Not like
you was at that age, Jefferson." I would later learn that this policeman
was Captain Worthing's youngest son.

I swallowed hard and mumbled, "Please sir, can I get something to cover
myself...?"

The white dad and son told me to hold on for a minute while they talked
together in whispered tones, chuckling and sharing whatever jokes as they
looked over at me. I turned to face the washing machine where I tossed in
all my clothes and some of the Captain's dirty laundry as well. I stayed
facing the machine, once again shy about showing my dick and not realizing
at the time how much the two men were enjoying the sight of my bare cheeks.

After Jefferson Worthing left, Captain Worthing brought me a pair of small
gym shorts that had belonged to his one of his sons. The shorts were so
tight on me that it was an effort to pull them up over my butt and I could
barely fit my cock and balls inside them. I had hardly worked another 15
minutes before I bent over and the seam ripped all the way up in the back
of the shorts. The Captain complained that we had already lost enough time
and insisted I keep working just as I was. But even as we worked, he kept
looking over at me and commenting, "Your ass is so much bigger and rounder
than either of my sons'. They got those typical flat white boy asses,
heheh."

Later on I caught him staring at me and he crooned about, "How firm your
flawless butt looks. That's an attractive feature on a young buck, strong
solid thighs topped by such firm round cheeks." I tensed my butt then,
feeling a wave of nervousness coursing through me.

I suppose for a man who was turned on by my black boy butt I gave him quite
a show that afternoon, and all for just $5 an hour. Half-dressed as I was,
I also managed to paint most of the porch. By suppertime, the only thing
left to paint was the trim around the windows.

When I bent over to take my clothes out of the dryer (and thinking back
now, what a show I must've given the old man then), he asked me to "be a
good boy" and fold his clothes as well. Folding the old guy's boxer shorts
while standing there barely dressed made me feel as if I was a servant in
this house. But I shook my head and decided to chalk it up to the way
things were done in Alabama.

I stripped off the t-shirt and the ripped gym shorts with my back still
turned and pulled up my boxers. When I looked at the front of the gym
shorts they had the name of a middle school, so of course they were too
small for me. At the time I thought the Captain had just been confused and
gave me the wrong shorts, but looking back on it I know there were no
accidents. As I put the rest of my clothes on, the Captain took the
discarded clothes from me.

"Tyrone," he began. "I know you don't have a daddy." My back bristled. This
was a sensitive subject I wasn't going to discuss with this old white
man. He cleared his throat and went on, "You're growing up fast. Your body
has already gone through all sorts of changes in just a few years, getting
bigger all over, getting hairy."

I tried not to show my feelings in my facial expressions. I was going to
turn 18 the following month, and he was talking about my body getting
hair. I cringed.

He turned the gym shorts inside out and showed them to me. "Looks like you
dripped some love juice inside the shorts, boy, heheh. I know how it can be
for a buck your age. Hell, that sometimes even happens to old white guys
like me. You should've just excused yourself and beat your meat, heheh."
That fake laugh he kept interjecting was creepy. Then, as if it was an
afterthought, he added, "Maybe I would've even joined you for a good
jack-off session. You ever do it together with school buddies? All boys
do. I know my sons are all-man and they did it with buddies when they were
back in school."

I told him I had to get home for supper and ran out of there. It was then
that I started to have serious suspicions about our neighbor. But I
couldn't say anything to anyone. If I said the former white town sheriff
was perving on my black teen ass, who would believe me? Besides, anything I
could've pointed to and said he was doing wrong, could've been interpreted
as him joking around and being friendly.

By the next day I did my best to convince myself that it had all been in my
imagination and I was just overreacting. Most weekends after that, the
Captain seemed to have some work for me to do, and I was glad to earn the
extra money.

Sometimes he would work alongside me, but more frequently he would make
himself comfortable in a rattan chair and sip his spiked ice tea as he
watched me work. Although I tried to dismiss his suggestive talk, he kept
steering the conversation toward things like my muscle development or my
sexual experience, and I'd do my best to change the subject. One time he
kept encouraging me to talk to him about how I "took care of my needs" Ñ
the old pervert wanted details on my jerk-off habits!

He would also find excuses for me to work shirtless. I tried to be
philosophical: I figured I should be complimented if this racist old creep
liked watching my hard black muscles on display. But I'd still break out in
gooseflesh when I saw that smirk on his face and the glisten in his
eyes. At least I managed to keep my pants on.

He told me the history of the town and the Civil War spots that were
nearby; and of course he elaborated on all his family forebears and what
they had done in the Civil War. He also told me about his experiences in
the military. I had originally thought that calling him Captain was one of
those made-up Southern titles, but it turns out he was a Captain in the
Army. He signed up before he even graduated from high school, served for 20
years, and then came home to serve as town sheriff for another 20, till his
retirement two years earlier.

He spoke often about how a wise man looks below the surface of what people
claim to be Ñ something I didn't expect from a man of his background. He
invited me to sit down and have a beer with him one evening as he said, "If
you and me was at a house and there was an expensive watch missing, the
cops would look and see a teenage black boy and pin the crime on you. You
know what I call that?"

"Racism?" I asked helpfully.

He shook his head without comment on my reply and said, "Sloppy police
work. Too many supposedly respectable citizens can get away with too much
crap because nobody would suspect them, heheh."

The old man laughed raucously as he told me about the church deacon who was
a kleptomaniac and the highly-respected chamber of commerce member who wore
ladies' underwear. His words were slurring and I knew he was already drunk
at the start of our talk. But I didn't mind. I was enjoying this more
informal chat and his revelations. In a secretive voice he told me a story:
"There was some unsavory goings-on in the park and I went out there to
investigate and I find this upstanding citizen, this high school teacher
who's all man Ñ you ain't gonna believe this, but Ñ he was suckin'
some black boy's dick in the park."

"What happened to him, sir?"

"Well, I could've ruined his life right then and there if I'd taken him
in. Man like that with all those children and a respected teacher Ñ
arrest like that on morals charges I wouldn't have been surprised if he
ended up killing himself. So I wasn't gonna arrest him. I took him for a
walk deeper into the park and I beat the crap out of him to teach him a
lesson. Then I told him to go down to Birmingham if he wants to do queer
shit like that. You understand what I'm saying, boy? He was out there in
the park where anybody could've found him with a black boy's cock in his
mouth Ñ maybe some dad walking his son could'a come across that nasty
sex scene. Would'a been different if he was behind closed doors. People got
rights to do as they please if they own property and they're behind their
own closed doors. But if he couldn't be discreet, he should'a took it to
the big city."

"So you beat him up, Captain?"

"Hadda teach him a lesson, didn't I, boy? Also, I'll confess to you that I
stuck my dick in his mouth and went for a little ride. Fuck, he was willing
to do it for some young black buck, he might as well take mine, heheh."

I blushed and felt awkward. The Captain was sitting next to me, his leg
touching mine. I tried to pull away but he shifted and his leg pressed into
mine again.

"Now, here's the lesson, boy. If you was to tell somebody that the Captain
told you that he let a man suck his dick, who would believe you? Think
about it, you're a black teenager here in Alabama, and I'm the retired
sheriff. Nobody gonna take your word for shit, boy."

I started to stand up. I was feeling nervous and queasy and wanted to get
out of there. But the Captain grabbed me and pulled me back down beside
him. "If you was to tell anybody that the Captain offered you twenty bucks
to suck your dick, Tyrone, who would believe you?"

"Captain, sir, are you offering me twenty dollars to...?"

He laughed drunkenly, "That's not what I said, boy. I said if you was to
tell anybody that I offered you..."

With that the large man slid off the couch and came to rest between my
legs. I was wearing track pants with white briefs underneath. His big hands
tugged down my pants and briefs with one pull. Then he put his lips around
the tip of my cock. It was totally stiff as soon as his warm wet mouth made
contact.

I was too shocked to say anything, but almost immediately his mouth was all
the way down on my thick 8-inch dick. His nose was rubbing in my curly
black pubes. The little goatee on his chin was tickling my balls, and he
seemed to be savoring my meat. I was pushing with my hips, so turned on and
so horny it was like I was trying to stuff my balls in his mouth as well.

I'd fucked a few girls during my time in high school, and a few of them had
put their lips on my cock. But none of them really sucked me off. They
thought that a blowjob just meant tonguing my dick for a minute or
less. And each of those times I had been so eager to fuck pussy that I
didn't care about the half-hearted sucking.

But now I was getting a real deep-throated blowjob. And it made my body go
crazy wanting to ram my boner in harder and deeper with each thrust. But
then the Captain pulled back and was teasing my dick. He licked and sucked
on my balls, then commanded, "I want you to get naked, boy."

I sat there looking down at him and don't even know what kind of expression
was on my face. This was all so strange. Even as he sucked my cock, I was
trying to figure out what the hell was going on. His words didn't seem very
commanding as he sat on the ground, his face in my crotch. But then he
looked up at me meeting my eyes and ordered, "I want you to stand up and
strip down naked. DO AS YOU'RE FUCKING TOLD, BOY."

I jumped to my feet mumbling, "Yes sir," and pulled off my shirt, kicked
off my sneakers and pushed down my track pants and briefs. I stood on
display, bare naked with my black dick sticking up fully stiff in front of
me. Meanwhile the pervy old white man was touching me up everyplace. He
fingered my nipples and even pinched them as his lips went back to work
sucking me off.

Once again he had his nose in my curly pubes and was deep throating me. Of
course I never would have guessed this retired white sheriff would suck me
off, but I was amazed that he was able to take my thick 8 inches down to
the root. His hands caressed my smooth thighs then moved up to my ass
cheeks. His fingers were moving toward the trench between my cheeks. I felt
his fingertips there and tensed up. I grabbed his hand and said, "No, not
there."

My cock dropped from his mouth as he smacked my ass hard, then smacked it
another three times. "Ow, please, that hurts, sir."

His anger flared as he looked up at me and grunted, "Are you gonna be a
good boy, Tyrone?" I gulped and nodded my head. The tone he used wasn't
that of a neighbor or a cocksucker, but of a Southern sheriff talking to a
black teenage boy.

He turned his attention back to my dick, but now he was teasing me more
than sucking me. He licked at the head, played with his tongue on my sweaty
balls, nuzzled my cock with his face. At the same time both of his hands
were on my ass cheeks. He was spreading them apart, grunting, "Sweet firm
little ass you got there, boy. Some of you caramel skin boys got real
pretty curved butts."

Given the nasty things he was saying and how scared I was right then, I
don't know how I managed to stay so hard. All I can say is that the old
white man knew how to use his tongue and lips on a black cock. The
Captain's finger was pushing into my butthole. I didn't dare protest, but I
whimpered. He suddenly shoved a finger all the way into my hole and then my
cock started spurting down his throat. He swallowed just as fast as I
shot. My legs were wobbly by the time I finished. He was actually holding
me up when he slid his mouth off my long tool.

I reached for my briefs, but he slapped my hand away and said, "You ain't
done, black boy."

He stood up next to me, unzipped his tan slacks and took my right hand. He
put my hand into his fly and placed my fingers around his hard cock. I felt
his boxer shorts; his cock was sticking through the fly. His hand was over
mine, so I couldn't pull my fingers away. "Least you can do is give me a
hand job, Tyrone."

I tried to regain my composure as I said, "I n-n-never did anything g-g-gay
before..."

"Fuck, boy, I don't want no gay boy touching my dick. Now, take it out of
my pants."

I did as he ordered and looked down at the exposed white erection. He was
uncut like I was, and it was dripping at the tip. "You know how to give a
hand job, boy. All boys your age are experts at handjobs, heheheh."

Obediently, I looked down at his cock and stroked it. I tried to jerk it
quickly, wanting this to be over. But he put his hand on mine and indicated
for me to go slower. Then he started to feel me up again, as if he was
exploring and examining my body with his hands. He brushed one finger over
my lips and sighed, "Such nice soft lips, boy. You ever suck a dick?"

"No sir, never. I never did nothing like that, sir, really."

He grinned at me and then did maybe the most shocking thing of all. His big
hand grabbed me behind the head and pulled me toward his face. He kissed me
right on the lips. Then he forced his tongue in my mouth. I could taste the
bourbon and cigars and the flavor of my own sperm, and I felt
nauseated. This fat old white man was tongue kissing me! How gross!

But he must have loved it because his cock was creaming as he kissed me. It
leaked all over my hand and some of it even shot on my chest. I pulled away
from him looking for something to wipe my cummy fingers on. But he pulled
me back into his embrace. He ran his thick fingers over my chest. I could
see his cream dripping from his fingers as he brought them to my lips.

I turned my face away and grunted, "No, please, I can't..."

He stuffed his fingers in my mouth and I tasted the old man's spunk. When
he pulled his fingers out they were clean. I wiped my mouth with the back
of my hand, but saw the way he was looking at me. I didn't dare spit it
out. I swallowed, even though it nearly choked me to do so. Then I picked
up my clothes from the floor. But he grabbed away the white briefs and
said, "I'm keeping these, boy." He tossed a twenty-dollar bill at me. Then
he took out another five and tossed it so it landed on the floor. "This is
for the tighty whities." I swear that nasty old man was licking and
sniffing at my dirty underpants.

I pulled on the rest of my clothes, grabbed up the money, and ran back to
my house. I got something from the refrigerator and told my mom I didn't
feel well and was just gonna go up to my room. I didn't want to face my mom
after what had just happened. I curled up fully dressed and wondered if I
was now a boy prostitute? After all, the old man gave me $20 for our
awkward sexual encounter, with an extra $5 for my soiled white briefs.

I knew right then that I couldn't be alone with Captain Worthing anymore. I
had to steer clear, but wasn't sure how I would navigate that Ñ after
all, my mom expected me to do chores for the old man. And I couldn't bear
for her to know about the Captain's latest plans for me to earn money. I
also wondered whether the old guy would be satisfied to just suck my dick
in the future, or if he would want to do other stuff, or make me do other
stuff? My cheeks tensed as I remembered the way he had fingered my behind.

The very next day mom came to me with news of another job transfer. She had
only been in the Alabama office for four months, but there was suddenly an
opening in Chicago where they really needed her Ñ somebody had died and
this was an emergency, plus it would mean a big bonus with moving and
relocation expenses.

My mom had become successful as a troubleshooter for this company, but that
meant they kept moving her where she was needed. I had been in four
different high schools because of her job transfers, and had lost so many
credits in transferring schools that I was only a high school junior at age
18. She always said she did what was best for our family, but looking back
I think she did what was best for her.

But this time I didn't begrudge her the move. I was jumping up and down for
joy. Perfect! I get away from the pervert Captain and I get out of Alabama!

But then mom told me that she didn't want me to change schools in the
middle of the semester. She told me she had spoken to Captain Worthing
about her situation and he was willing to take me in as a border so I could
stay in the same school. She said she offered to pay rent for me, but the
Captain had said he would let me work for my room and board. I felt
dizzy. My mom didn't know about the blowjob the old man gave me but my
stomach knotted up as I thought about what the Captain would want in
exchange for my room and board.

I got into a big shouting match with my mom that night. I told her that I
wouldn't stay with the Captain, that it was wrong to have me live with a
white man. She told me I was being close-minded, and that the Captain had
only been generous and gracious to both of us. I couldn't yell any more, so
I just stormed up to my room. I resolved to keep fighting until my mom
agreed to take me to Chicago with her.

The next day when I got to school, there were policemen inspecting our
lockers, along with German shepherd dogs. I didn't think anything of it. I
wasn't involved with anything bad at school, so what did I have to worry
about?

Right before lunch I was called down to the principal's office and there
was the Captain's son in his police uniform. He held a bag of marijuana and
shook his head as he looked me up and down. The principal snapped, "There's
no place in a respectable school for your drug dealing, boy."

"No, no, that's not mine, sir." Even as I said the words I remembered what
Captain Worthing had said to me. Who was going to believe a black teenage
boy in Alabama?

Officer Worthing took me to the police station and made a point of
stripping me to my boxers before putting me in a holding cell, my hands
cuffed behind my back. I just closed my eyes but I couldn't even cry. As
far as I could see, my life was over.

I don't know how long I sat in the cell before the door opened and my
mother came in. But alongside my mother was Captain Worthing. I gritted my
teeth. I just knew that old perv was the one who had framed me. But here he
was shaking his head and clicking his tongue. "Tyrone, I had such faith in
you, boy. This is such a disappointment."

"Mom, you know I never did drugs. You can test me. Test my blood. Test my
urine. I don't smoke weed."

The young cop intoned, "The smartest dealers don't use the shit themselves.
They just make money hooking some other poor kids on the stuff." (Hooking
kids on grass? What the hell was he talking about? But once again nobody
would listen to a black boy in a situation like this.)

My mom stood outside my cell with the two men. They gave her a hanky to cry
into. Captain Worthing acted like he was my savior. He told my mom and the
cop, "You can't put a boy like that in prison. He's cute, boyish, slim
body. You know what's going to happen to him there."

My mother howled with tears now. But the Captain comforted her, even
putting an arm around her as he addressed the cop. "Jefferson, what if I
take responsibility for young Tyrone? Put him on probation and send him to
live with me."

"NO!" I shouted through the bars.

"Hush up, boy!" my mom shouted even louder. "He's trying to save you from
prison."

"No, mom, you don't understand..."

The Captain shook his head and began to walk off, "Well, if the boy doesn't
even appreciate..."

"No, sir, don't say that," my mom protested. "If you take him in and let
him serve his probation under you, I promise you he'll be a good boy.
Tyrone will mind you, sir."

There was a grin on the old man's face as he turned to me and said, "You
gonna obey and do as you're told, Tyrone?"

That's when I started crying out of control.

* * * *
end of part one
continued in part two