Poetic Wine

Soon to be Published and Released Fictional Drama written by Ty Foard

Trace The Game- by Ty Foard

Trace Kingdom attorney at law has it all, a successful career, a house, the cars, and unquestionable good looks and charm. The only thing missing is a committed relationship and that can be hard to obtain when he has women in and out of his life like a revolving door. 

Not ready to end the game that he and his friends are involved in, Trace finds himself after the biggest catch ever. An unexpected person finds out the secrets and rules of the game and all hell breaks out. Trace is now faced with more women than even he has ever had to handle. No longer running the game, Trace finds himself the object of the game. Now instead of having fun Trace is racing against a deadline to save his career and his life without a friend in the world who understands the rules of the game.

A Quick Peek into the Story...

...Five minutes had passed since I had reached over to the nightstand on her side of the bed to grab my IPhone. I was checking the text messages I had missed over the last past hour or two. Six minutes had passed since I heard her tell me I had the best…well I’ll let you fill in the blank. Eight minutes had passed since I heard her moan, “I love you for this baby.” Nine minutes had passed since we both were reaching a simultaneous orgasmic moment together. Ten minutes had passed since while making love I looked in her eyes and heard the sound of a cash register opening.

At the eleven in a half minute we both laid there in silence. I could hear my heart slowing down from the rapid rate it had been in since the orgasm. I could hear her heavy breathing slowing down to almost normal breathing. But for the moment there were no words being spoken. So to break the silence that now covered the entire room I asked her, “Baby, what did you say the biggest problem all those other guys had when it came down to getting with you?” She looked me in my dark brown eyes as I stared her down and said, “Their biggest problem would be getting me in bed.” Exactly one hour and thirty-nine minutes had passed since we were falling onto her bed as we both were passionately kissing and ripping each other clothes off. After saying that she drifted back to sleep. Her head was resting on my chest while laying one arm across my abdomen area. Her hair smelled so good. She had a comforting smile painted on her peaceful sleeping face. I gently removed the designer sheets that covered our bodies as we laid there in her king size bed. From where I was laying I could see the rose tattoo on her ankle. I still had visions of holding her body against mine hours earlier. Her caramel skin shined with the slight coat of sweat produced from our lovemaking session. I could hear the echoes of her sweet voice as she called me baby in moaning fashion. She was an ex-military sergeant so she had a nice cadence in her voice. At that moment I was thinking how she was probably one of the best I had been with in my life.

I met her two weeks earlier at a dinner party hosted by one of my friends who had just been elected to a county judge seat. We exchanged information but didn’t have any contact until two days ago. We ran into each other at the grocery store both of us were looking at melons. I mention something to the nature that she was probably a better judge of melons than I could ever be since she had to walk around with a nice pair every day. It was just my luck that she thought my bluntness was funny and twenty minutes later we were still standing there making jokes about fruits and vegetables. She then invited me to dinner. So here we were last night and it ended up with me not only feeling her melons but also experiencing how sweet they were. I would tell you I didn’t even know her last name but the bellhop to her apartment building mentioned it when I showed up for dinner. She was expecting me.

 I thought about what she said about the difficulty of getting her in bed. I laid there with a mischievous grin on my face for a moment and then I slid out of her bed and quietly put on my clothes. I kissed her on the forehead and walked my self out of her apartment, never to see or hear from her again.

       I didn’t think she expected to hear from me again either. All I know is, that moment when she looked in my eyes she saw the truth. The truth set her free from the fantasy she had with me. That moment she realized that I never could love her the way she may have wanted me to. What had been a problem to most men was simply putty in my hand. It had nothing to do with playing or running game on her. She got from me what she wanted, a good time feeling and a fantastic night of passionate sex. I knew that deep down she wanted someone to treat her like a queen and then establish a healthy successful relationship. In the end we both got out of it what we put into it. For her it was the fantasy evening with a guy she didn’t mind keeping a mental image of. For me it was sex. Well it was good sex…damn good.

       She was only one of many women that I shared that same experience with. I was pretty sure she would not be the last. Some were good and some were not so good. Unlike her very few were damn good. None had been so great that I would consider settling down.

I was a young man in high demand and I was having fun. I decided to play the game until I stopped having fun. This particular time in my life the game had grown in popularity. Women often wonder what guys talk about when they were not around. As for my crew, we talked about getting women and getting even more women.

My friends gave me the nickname “The Getter.” I gained that name because we would always send each other out to get with some woman and place bets on the success or failure. I got to the point where failure was not an option and success was certain on whatever I wanted it to be. It was a game, a game I mastered but I soon became bigger than the game. I played the game to win. If there were no challenges, then there was no need to play. I was more than just a player, I was becoming the game.

Now so that you don’t get the wrong idea, I would like to clear up one thing; for me this thing was bigger than sex. Those who played the game for sex or companionship normally were the ones that lost. I remember I told you failure was not an option so I never lost. So my goal and or reward was about first having control and then winning. My goal was simply to “get her.”

 Get whom, you may be asking right now? What kind of women falls into the trap of a man like me? What kind of a person does not recognize “game”? What cheesy pick up line could I be creating to lure these women in? How about you ask that person who sits in the same cubicle as you. Try asking your boyfriend as he tries to sleep beside you while you read this story. If you have a close “girlfriend” relationship with your mother call her and ask before you go on with the rest of the story. Avoid asking your “BFF” or “bestie” because they may have already fallen for my kind without even knowing it. I promise the answers won’t be the same. Everyone has an answer and everyone is right while every one is wrong. What you see as a weakness someone else may see as strength.

I was a rare breed of men. I was good at what I did. So when I wanted to get someone I ALWAYS got them…always.

Now most of you are likely labeling me as a womanizer or the classic slang term of a “dog”. I know perception weighs heavy so I will not argue with you but I would like to take a moment to prove my case on why I’m neither.

Most dogs don’t really have rules or a game plan. Most dogs get caught and will sniff any butt, piss on any tree, and hump a leg and find some type of weird satisfaction from it. I would never be caught with any of those habits. Plus I was very picky about who, where, and how I did someone. Sex was an art form and I could be labeled as the Michelangelo of lovemaking. How you may be wondering to yourself? Well if I told you then the rest of story wouldn't matter to you.

Allow me a moment to break down the qualifications of my targets and what they had to posses. I wanted to get the woman that everyone found difficult. I wanted the woman who would say that I couldn’t have her. I wanted the one that everyone wanted but none could get. I wanted the “independent sister” that swore in front of her girlfriends that she didn’t need a man to complete her. I wanted the white woman that had a thing for African American men, but would not publicly date one because of the fear of what white America would think. I wanted the women from “other” ethnic backgrounds that did not believe in interracial dating. I wanted the woman that, due to bad experiences with men, decided that the only person that could make her happy was another woman. I wanted all of these “difficult” women but most of all I wanted the bitter woman that hated men so much, that in her eyes every man was a dog.

Was I a dog? Well let me just say a little about that question. Dogs sleep with dogs. They may hunch anything from your leg, a tree, or a chair but they can only sleep with another dog. So if a man is a dog and he gets you that just mean that you are a dog too. Ladies, if you have ever slept with a man and afterwards called him a dog, keep in mind what I just said. To the men out there, remember if you ever get played, remember that Lady played the Tramp in the cartoon. Women are dogs too. If you can’t accept the notion that you may be a dog then look up dog and man in an encyclopedia. A dog and a man look so different that if you saw one you should be able to identify one.  Now ask yourself one question… “If he was a dog and I’m not, why didn’t I notice the dog?”

Why does this subject or my story even matter? Why do I get to tell you my doggish account? Maybe, you will learn or confirm how and why the game is played the way it is. Hopefully, somewhere in this juicy confession a lesson will emerge for both of our gain. It could end up being something you and all of your girlfriends gather up and talk about one Friday night. Someone may see themselves in this story. Someone out there may even take the time to complain about the contents. If all else fails it may just end up being deviously entertaining. So…Let’s cut the small talk and get straight to the “meat” of the story…