This story is copyrighted to the author. It may not be reposted 
without permission. Take a look at some of my other stuff at 
www.asstr.org/~Secret_DC_Guy. If you are still with me I hope 
you enjoy it and would love to hear feedback at 
secretdcguy@hotmail.com.


My Seven Sins
Chapter 4: Pride
(MF, intr)


	After a quick shower and a light breakfast, I stood next to 
my convertible, looking across the parking lot to where Heather 
Long had been parked about an hour before. At first I had a 
warm feeling, what could have been an angry and awkward 
reunion had actually been kind of sweet. However, it suddenly 
occurred to me that over a period of four days, I had relived all 
the relationships of my youth. I had not known what I had been 
looking for before I left home, so I had not considered restarting 
anything with any of the women I had met. In theory, I should 
not have been disappointed with whatever happened.

	What had never occurred to me, though, was the doors 
might be closed that I had never intended to open. Though she 
had given me one evening to show me what I had missed, my 
high school girlfriend, Carly Johnson, who I had left behind simply 
because I wanted more out of life that our hometown could give 
me, was happily married. I was welcome to see her in my 
hometown anytime I liked, but there would be no relationship. My 
first college girlfriend, Elizabeth Franchini, was married to her 
work. I was not even sure if she realized that for the time I dated 
her, I was only with her because she was beautiful and good in 
bed. I had doubts as to whether she would ever have a 
relationship with anyone. Heather had been a drunk girl who I 
fucked through part of college, plying her with alcohol anytime I 
wanted sex. Now, she was sober and had given me a night of 
passion better than anything we had had those times she lay 
drunk on her back. However, though she wanted to stay in touch 
as well, she had also told me that I was from a toxic part of her 
life.

	On Monday I left home not knowing what I wanted for the 
next part of my life. Now it was Friday, and I had essentially 
relived my youth. Standing in the parking lot, I realize that in a 
sense it had been wasted. I had had three women in my life, who 
had all found something they wanted. Whether it was in spite of 
or because of me did not matter. They were in places where they 
were comfortable. I had no right to disrupt that, so I had to leave 
them behind, as I had left my childhood behind many years 
before.

	Sometimes you do not realize that episodes of life parallel 
each other until the repetition slaps you in the face. However, as 
I drove through northern Ohio on the way to my next destination, 
I realized that I was on the exact same route, which I had taken 
when I drove from Pittsburgh to Chicago after my senior year in 
college. At that time, I had everything I wanted in life, a job with 
a large tech firm, a brand-new Mustang, and an apartment 
waiting for me in one of the young adult oriented parts of the 
coolest city in the Midwest. And if for some reason that did not 
work out, I had a family to fall back on.

	There is a saying, "the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh 
away." And after just a little time in Chicago, that was what 
happened to me. While I enjoyed working for the company that 
had hired me back when I was in college, working at their 
headquarters was not a good fit. Though I was a good 
programmer, I was not a stereotypical tech geek. When I would 
suggest to the coworkers around my age that we get a beer or go 
to a baseball game after work or on the weekend, I would get a 
counter invitation to do some computer gaming with them. For a 
few weeks, it was a lot of fun. But in those days, there were 
almost no women working in high-tech, so, eventually, I started 
to feel lonely. I desperately wanted female companionship, but 
did not know how to get it.

	After about two months, I was so depressed that I was 
ready to leave. My parents had been able to retire young and had 
moved south to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Apparently, 
during my freshman year in college, they had gone there for a 
long weekend. They fell in love with the place and had moved 
down a year later. I did not know what my job prospects would 
be there, but I figured that it might at least be a good waypoint.

	Unfortunately that did not happen, though. As I sat alone in 
my apartment one night a call came in from the North Carolina 
state police. My parents had been driving home from dinner, 
when a car full of teenagers down for a summer weekend plowed 
straight into them. All of the kids had been drunk, but had 
remarkably survived. However, the impact was so hard their SUV 
jumped onto the roof of my parents' car. The only close family 
that had was crushed under the weight of teenage foolishness. A 
week later, I had scattered their ashes into the waves of the 
Atlantic Ocean and hired a local lawyer to settle the estate. Then 
I went back to Chicago alone.

	Word traveled around the company quickly. While in some 
offices people may have seen it as an opportunity to advance by 
stepping over the man who had just lost his family, my coworkers 
all tried to support me the best that they could. One time, some 
of the other programmers tried to take me to a dance club. It 
took about half an hour before we all realized it was not our 
scene. My supervisor even invited me to have dinner with his 
family, on occasion.

	The person who was most successful in picking me up was 
one of the secretaries. Shanika Washington did not look like the 
stereotypical black woman. Instead of being curvy with a little 
extra padding, she was slim and athletic. Apparently, she had 
been a track star at one of the city high schools, but was not 
really college material. So instead of trying to do something she 
probably would not have been able to, she took a job as a 
secretary and trained with the local track club. So now, even two 
years out of college, she was short and petite with the chest just 
short of average. 

     To be honest, I had not noticed Shanika until my parents 
died. While she did say hello to me every morning, as she did for 
everyone else, I would usually just grunt back. Because I tended 
to work late, she would be gone before I walked out the door. 
Essentially, she was little more than a combination between an 
answering machine and furniture.
     
     However, in early October, after just about everyone else 
had tried to bring me out of my depression, Shanika came by my 
desk. At first I thought she had a message for me, but instead, 
she mentioned to me that she knew how it felt to lose your 
parents. She also said that she was a good listener. If I needed to 
get anything off my chest, I could talk to her. When I looked up 
to reply, I noticed sadness in her dark brown eyes. There was 
also something inviting, though, as if they were welcoming me to 
join some club of people who had had such a tragedy.
     
     At first, I simply said thank you, but said I would be fine. 
However, a few days later as I found myself sitting at my desk 
about to cry, I decided that talking to the secretary might be 
better than not talking to anybody at all. When I asked if she had 
a few minutes, she transferred her phones to one of the other 
secretaries and led me into a stairwell. Sitting shoulder to 
shoulder, we talked, trying to keep our voices low to prevent an 
echo. She did not say anything, but only listened, as I talked 
about how I felt. I could tell she sympathized though.
     
     I also felt something more. In the past, I had found only 
white women attractive. However, now with this beautiful athletic 
woman who wore some kind of perfume that smelled like spices 
sitting next to me, I felt warmth growing inside of me. When 
Shanika would accidentally rub her arm against mine, I almost 
lost my breath. It had been a while since I had been with 
Heather, but I could tell it was not just the excitement that comes 
after not feeling a woman's touch in a long time. There was 
something about her that made me want to be with her more.
     
     The conversation only lasted for about 15 minutes before we 
both had to get back to work. However, Shanika suggested that 
we get lunch the next Friday. It would most likely be a quiet day 
around the office, so we could easily sneak out. She wanted to 
learn more about me, and she could tell me about losing her 
parents. The conversation in the stairs had gone so well, I 
immediately accepted.
     
     Hence, several days later, I were sitting in a surprisingly 
quiet downtown lunch cafeteria listening to Shanika share her 
story. Initially, she had been raised by her mother, as her father 
was involved with a local street gang. Unfortunately, when she 
was still in elementary school, the crack epidemic struck. 
Mercifully, her mother succumbed quickly and did not overdose at 
home. After that she went to live with her father. He did not use 
drugs, but did sell them, and after living with him for about a 
year, he was killed in a drive-by shooting. Rather than going into 
the foster system, Shanika went to live with her mother's 
parents. They were a traditional African-American family that 
went to church for three hours every Sunday and always hoped 
they could give their community a better life. For a while, her life 
was more stable. However, her grandmother had smoked and 
eaten comfort food for most of her life. She died of diabetes when 
Shanika was in high school. Luckily, her grandfather was still in 
good health, and she visited him frequently. After listening to the 
story, it seemed she might be one of the people who understood 
the most about losing family members.
     
     I was surprised at exactly how serene Shanika could be 
when she talked about losing one parent to crack in the other to 
violence. It was as if she had somehow come to accept that death 
is just something that happens in life, and no matter how much 
you prepare. It is always a shock when it happens. In her 
strength, I began to find some of my own.
     
     Over the next few weeks we continued to have our Friday 
lunches. Then in mid-November as the Chicago weather was 
beginning to turn truly cold, Shanika did not come in to work on a 
day we were supposed to meet up. I was about to make other 
plans, when my phone rang. The beautiful secretary was on the 
other end of the line telling me to meet her at our normal place. 
When I got there, she was not dressed for work. Instead, she 
wore an outfit that seemed like it would be good for walking 
around in the cold and had a backpack draped over her shoulder. 
After we finished, she looked at me gently and smiled. For the 
first time I noticed she had deep dimples on her cheeks, making 
her face look almost girl like. It made me want to touch her, to 
see what her skin felt like under my hand.
     
     I must have gotten caught in thoughts of her beauty, 
because she had to snap her fingers in my face to get my 
attention. When I came back to reality, she suggested that I blow 
off work for the afternoon. According to her, I had not seen the 
real Chicago, and today she would show me at least part of it. I 
was usually a responsible worker, but for some reason today it 
sounded like a good idea. After a quick call to my boss from the 
payphone we were walking down the street arm in arm.
     
     Over the next few hours, we hit various historic sites, riding 
the 'L to as many destinations as we could. Surprisingly, I had 
never realized how many places you could get using public 
transportation. We ended up walking with our arms intertwined 
along the Gold Coast and as the sun began to set and lights of 
the office buildings came on. Shanika was an excellent tour 
guide, able to produce nuggets of Chicago facts and history that 
most people would not remember. She told them in ways that 
kept me enraptured making me feel like Chicago was the greatest 
city in the world. She was also the perfect companion. Any time I 
began to lament about what had happened in my life, she 
listened sympathetically, but was always able to talk me out of 
the dark places.
     
     I was not sure how to end the evening, especially because I 
did not want it to, but it seemed that we had run out of places to 
go on our tour. If we were to stay together, the evening would 
have to become personal. I would not say that the day had been 
superficial, but other than my laments we had not really talked 
about anything deep. Wanting to stay with her at least a little bit 
longer, I decided to try to force the conversation and asked what 
was in the backpack.
     
     My question seemed to set off something in Shanika's mind 
because she quickly stepped in front of me. Stopping me by 
placing her hands on each of my arms, she nervously looked up 
at me. After hesitating for what seemed like hours, she asked me 
if I wanted to see her side of Chicago. Then she fell silent and 
awaited my answer.
     
     I had reached a moment of truth. Did I really want to see 
deep into this woman's life, a woman whose life had been about 
as different from mine as one's life could be, where the only 
experience we had in common was the death of our parents? It 
was a risk. I was afraid that in my current emotional state, her 
strength might lead me to do something that I would regret. 
However, there was something about her that made me want to 
know more. When I replied that I did want to see her side, she 
responded that I had to show her mine first.
     
     About an hour later, we were sitting in a small café near my 
apartment. Apparently, when it had opened a few years earlier, it 
had been one of the "in places" to go, which was surprising since 
it was not near downtown. However, by the time I arrived, it had 
settled down into a neighborhood favorite. However, the food was 
still on the trendy side.
     
     In one sense it was comical because it was not food that 
Shanika would normally have eaten. When she asked me 
questions about the menu, I groped for answers because there 
were only a few things that I would order. So together, a poor 
black girl and a white country boy tried to figure out a yuppie 
menu.
     
     What was not comical was the looks we got. I do not know if 
people from the neighborhood had ever noticed me before, but 
now I was very noticeable. It seemed as if everyone was looking 
at me as they whispered comments among themselves. Looking 
around, I realized Shanika was the only black person in the 
restaurant. It did not seem to faze her, but it made me very 
uncomfortable. When she noticed this, the beautiful woman in 
front of me sighed and told me she was used to it.
     
     When we finished, we walked out of the restaurant in 
silence. We did not intertwine her arms as we had earlier in the 
day, but seemed to keep a bit of distance. Awkwardly, I asked 
Shanika what we were going to do next. She smiled and told me 
that if I still wanted to see her side of Chicago, we would have to 
go back to my apartment.

	I was shocked. As beautiful as Shanika was and as good a 
time as I had had that day, I had never thought of taking her 
back to my apartment. But as I looked at her body, I began to 
feel aroused. At the same time, I was nervous. It had been over a 
year since I had been with Heather, and though I had wanted to 
have a woman in my life, wallowing in the sorrow of having lost 
my parents had been my only companion for the past few 
months. Again, though, it seemed that Shanika could sense what 
I was feeling because she rose on her tippy toes and with a soft 
kiss to the cheek told me she was not looking for sex.

	It turned out that my apartment was only for freshening up. 
Shanika said that after an afternoon of touring the city, we both 
needed showers. Doing so was a slightly awkward affair, though. 
When I had found a place to live in Chicago, I thought more 
about the neighborhood in which I wanted to live as opposed to 
what kind of apartment I should have. That coupled with the fact 
that I was still in a college mindset when I was looking, led me to 
rent a third-floor walk-up efficiency apartment in an old building. 
Because until that day I had not thought about having anybody 
over, it had never occurred to me that it might be cramped 
quarters. But with two people who had never seen each other in 
anything but work clothes trying to discreetly get ready, it made 
for a strange situation.

	After asking where I kept my good clothing, Shanika told me 
to shower first. Rather than getting undressed in the main room 
like I normally would have, I took a pair of shorts and a T-shirt 
into the bathroom with me. And after getting ready, I walked 
back out into the living room looking at least somewhat modest.

	Shanika had picked out a very interesting outfit for me. It 
was the more casual of the two suits I owned, with a button-
down shirt and tie that I never would have thought to match. 
However, it seemed that she had very good fashion sense 
because the outfit worked. I did not know where we were going, 
but I knew I would look good when we got there.

	As Shanika showered, I got dressed. I respected her privacy 
and did not open the door, though I was very tempted to do so. 
On the other side was a very attractive woman who from my 
perspective was very exotic. I wanted to see her body, to drink in 
the differences from anybody I had seen before. For the first 
time, I wanted to touch her for more than just to feel what her 
skin felt like. I wanted to run my hands along her skin, to touch 
her breasts, and to feel everything that was different. I hope that 
at some point I would.

	Eventually, Shanika came out of the bathroom wearing a 
black and gold dress. It was tight on the bottom and only came 
halfway down her thighs. The top looked strangely loose, until I 
realized that it was partly unzipped in the back. Turning away 
from me, Shanika asked if I would do it. As I delicately pulled the 
zipper up to the clasp on top, I noticed she was not wearing a 
bra. I was tempted to pull the zipper the other way and slide her 
dress down her legs and onto the floor. As much as I wanted to 
touch her, though, I would respect her boundaries, and only said 
that she looked beautiful.

	Shanika smiled, and again giving me a kiss on the cheek, 
she said thank you. Then taking me by the hand, she led me out 
the door, down the steps, and into the street. We hailed a cab, 
and she gave the name of a neighborhood that I had never heard 
of. The driver, a black man, obviously knew where we were 
going. At first I felt discombobulated, outside the small confines 
of the neighborhoods where I lived and worked, I did not know 
much of the city. Eventually, though, I realized we were heading 
to the South side. Soon we were driving through neighborhoods 
that personified urban decay. Buildings were boarded up and 
junkies lay on the sidewalks. I had never seen anything so 
depressing.

	As I looked at Shanika I could tell that she knew this place 
well. When I asked whether this is where she lived, she shook her 
head. She had grown up here, but she was not from here 
anymore. She pointed out a boarded up building and said that 
she thought that is where her mother had overdosed. A little 
while later she pointed to a street corner with low-level drug 
dealers waiting for their customers to drive by. That is where her 
father had been shot. As I looked at her with pity, she slid over 
next to me. Taking my hand, she said that it can get better, 
things can always get better.

	True to Shanika's word, it did get better. After we crossed a 
bridge, we were in a much more pleasant area. It was not rich or 
even middle-class, but it was a nice working-class neighborhood. 
There were not people on the streets, but you could see through 
the lighted windows of the townhouses that there was life. As 
Shanika relaxed her hand, I could tell she felt more comfortable 
here. This was where her life was now.

	In a few minutes, we were standing at the side of the street 
outside a jazz bar. When we entered, it seemed that the staff 
knew Shanika well. As we walked through looking for an open 
table, she got hugs from both men and women. Without asking 
questions, most of the men shook my hand too. I seem to be the 
only white person there, but it did not seem as if anyone cared. I 
was with somebody that they obviously respected, here to listen 
to music they loved.

	I did not know jazz music well, but I liked it from the start. 
The music was slow and sultry, with the saxophone inviting our 
ears to listen and bodies to get up and dance. Shanika and I did 
not talk, but just sat next to each other shoulder to shoulder, 
sipping our drinks as we listened to the music. Eventually, our 
bodies pressed closer to each other. As I felt heat build between 
us, I felt compelled to put my hand on Shanika's leg. Starting at 
the upper thigh, I ran my hand down to just above her knee. Her 
legs were smooth, apparently shaved earlier in the day. The 
beautiful woman next to me responded by first intertwining my 
arm with hers. She did not move my hand, but adjusted herself 
so I had a better angle. Eventually, though, she whispered in my 
ear she wanted to dance.

	I did not say a word as Shanika led me by the hand onto the 
dance floor. There did not seem to be any particular way that 
people were dancing, only that couples dance slowly, pressed 
tightly against each other. At first, my date hung her arms 
around my neck. I put one on her shoulder and one on her back, 
and pulled her close to me. At first we gently swayed to the 
music, but in a few minutes Shanika was sliding her body against 
mine, obviously trying to get a reaction from mine. When it did 
react, she took one hand from my neck and took the hand on my 
hip, and pressing hard ran it down the side of her body. As she 
crossed her hips and onto her legs, I could feel that she was not 
wearing any panties.

     I quickly inhaled, gasping for breath. As I realized she was 
wearing nothing under the dress. I had obviously gotten the 
message Shanika was giving off. Pulling my head down, she 
whispered into my ear, "Do you want this tonight?" When I 
nodded my head, she took me by the hand and led me out of the 
club.
     
     It took a while to find a cab in the neighborhood, but while 
we waited we kissed deeply on a street corner in the cold 
November night. Instead of deadening my excitement, the 
warmth between our bodies excited me even more. When we 
finally climbed into a cab, I did not even realize that Shanika had 
directed the driver back to my apartment. I do not know whether 
the driver was uncomfortable only because of our kissing or 
because one of us was black and one was white, but he tried to 
ignore us as he drove up town.
     
     Back in my apartment, Shanika asked if she could put a CD 
on my stereo. When jazz started coming out of the speakers, she 
told me that was John Coltrane, her favorite. We had never 
turned on the lights, so the beautiful black woman that had come 
home with me danced slowly in the moonlight. Her body slinked 
back and forth tempting me.
     
     Then she came across the room. Still dancing, she undid my 
tie, and holding both ends pulled me close to her. Then kissing 
me again, she pushed my jacket off. As it fell to the floor, her 
mouth went to my neck. As her lips and tongue danced across my 
skin, she started to unbutton my shirt. As each button was 
undone, she kissed her way down my chest. Finally, she pulled 
the bottom of the shirt out of my pants and silently signaled for 
me to take it off.
     
     As she kissed back and forth across my stomach, Shanika 
untied my shoes and slid them off. Then my socks were off too. 
Finally, she unbuckled my belt, and let my pants fall to the floor. 
As I stepped out of them, she started to kiss me through my 
boxers. She teased me with her tongue rather than simply taking 
me into her mouth. Then suddenly, my boxers were on the floor.
     
     Shanika grasped me and started stroking gently. Looking at 
it, she seemed impressed, perhaps even surprised. Then looking 
up at me with a big smile, she took me into her mouth. Her 
tongue gently worked its way around the head until I was harder 
than I could ever remember. She began to work her head slowly 
up and down, eventually taking me all the way in. At one point 
she gagged slightly, as if she was not used to one this big, but 
she still managed to bring me close several times, but she never 
let me cum.
     
     After she had teased me long enough, Shanika stood back 
up. Reaching behind her neck, she unclasped her dress. When 
she turned with her back to me, I knew she wanted to me to 
unzip it. As I did, I savored every millimeter of skin I could see. 
When I had finished, she slipped the dress to the floor and turned 
around to face me. Even in the near darkness, I could see her 
impressive physique. Though her breasts were not very big, a 
perfectly flat stomach and trim sides to made them look ample. 
She did have some curves around the hip, but it did not appear 
as if there was an ounce of fat her body. Very noticeable, was her 
hair down below. Instead of a Bush like the other women with 
which I had been, she was well-groomed, the sides shaved and 
only a triangle of hair above the place where I desperately 
wanted to be.
     
     Shanika began to dance once more, drawing my attention to 
different parts of her body with her hands. When she asked me if 
I wanted it, I smiled like a wide-eyed teenager and nodded. 
Dancing backwards to my bed, she lay down and told me to come 
have her.
     
     I did not bother with foreplay; we were both turned on 
enough. Instead I got between her legs, position myself, and slid 
myself inside of her. Immediately, a smile came to Shanika's 
face. I could not help but run the back of my hand across the side 
of her fact and feel her dimples as I began to slowly thrust in and 
out of her. As our bodies move together, I could tell Shanika did 
not like it hard. Instead, we made love as if dancing to the music 
on the stereo. Instead of straightforward thrusting, I worked my 
hips around to different angles. Shanika adjusted herself into 
different positions so that we had a multitude of different 
feelings. Eventually, I was thrusting hard, though slowly, into her 
as she wrapped one leg around my in with the other one bent, 
thrust herself up into me. Soon enough, we were pulling our 
bodies against each other as she orgasmed while I came inside of 
her.
     
     There is a shot that woman can have that stops her 
ovulation for several months. It is good that Shanika was on that 
because by Sunday evening she would have definitely been 
pregnant. We spent two days rotating between sex and sleeping. 
By the time she had to leave, our bodies ached from the exertion. 
The only distraction came just before she left, when after a 
serious discussion we decided that we needed to keep our 
relationship secret. After a humongous kiss, she left. Within a few 
minutes I was passed out from exhaustion.
     
     Over the next few months, we kept our relationship a secret 
from the office, but spent as much time together as we could. 
Luckily, my workmates had mostly given up on trying to bring me 
out of my funk. So when I was out of contact every weekend, 
they figured I was just wallowing in sorrow. In reality, though, 
Shanika and I were making love in every moment we could.
     
     For a long time, our relationship was uncomplicated, as we 
kept it to ourselves. Even holidays worked out, as Shanika took 
her grandfather to visit relatives in St. Louis. For Christmas, one 
of my college friends who knew about my parents passing invited 
me to come back to Pittsburgh to celebrate with his family. 
Unfortunately, by the time spring came around, we both felt that 
in addition to the great sex we needed to get out.
     
     When we went to Shanika's places, I felt out of place, but 
generally comfortable. On the other hand, when we would go to 
restaurants in my neighborhood people would make comments to 
each other, and sometimes to us. Though my girlfriend was 
correct that I would get use to people not liking the interracial 
couple, there was something else that began to weigh on me 
even more. In general, we were at very different places in our 
lives.
     
     It is something I had not really thought about until a chance 
meeting with one of my coworkers in a restaurant. We did not 
usually go to new restaurants, but for some reason it seemed to 
be more interesting than others. When we were finally able to get 
a reservation, it turned out that the people at the table next to us 
were one of the other programmers and his boyfriend. After he 
gave me a strange look, he proceeded to ignore the rest of their 
meal. 
     
     When I got to the office the next Monday, I thought it would 
be mutually assured destruction. He would not make any 
comments about me being out with a black woman, because he 
was out with another man. However, it turned out that my office 
was progressive about two things: homosexuality and interracial 
dating. Unfortunately, it did not seem that my coworkers 
tolerated people of different social classes dating. I knew that 
there would be trouble when one of my colleagues came to my 
desk and said, "The secretary?"
     
     And so over the next few months, comments were made. 
People would ask me why I was slumming it, and accused 
Shanika of being "uppity". Though we tried to persevere, our lives 
turned back upon each other. We spent weekends in my 
apartment, though it was not just for sex anymore. We rented 
countless DVDs and watched boring television, with little 
inclination to go anywhere. 
     
     Things finally came to a head in June. I had been at 
headquarters for a year, and was eligible to move to a different 
office. The higher-ups were impressed with my work, so I was 
encouraged to go somewhere else and begin to work my way up. 
Many of these things were said in front of Shanika. I am not sure 
whether it was because people did not notice her, or because 
they wanted to hurt her. But I knew it weighed on her.
     
     As we were sitting in my apartment on a Friday night, 
Shanika pulled a number of packets out of her backpack and 
started looking through them. She told me that she was thinking 
about giving college a try. Every place to which the company 
would move me had a good community college system. Denver 
was the only place she thought might be harder. It suddenly 
struck me that if I were going to move on, Shanika expected me 
to take her along.
     
     Remembering that Shanika had described herself as a bad 
student, I asked her if she thought that would be a good idea. 
After explaining that she never really cared about anything other 
than sports in high school, she promised that she would be 
serious about school and do well enough that she could at least 
get a better job. Then she broke down, and for the first time 
since I met her, she began to cry. Through the tears, she told me 
that she knew people thought I was too good for her. She was 
afraid that I did too, and would leave her.
     
     As I thought about it, I realized that she was right. I did 
think I was too good for her. I was an up-and-coming 
programmer, possibly management material. Shanika on the 
other hand, was going nowhere. She was a secretary in her early 
20s, and would probably remain a secretary up to the day she 
stopped working. Even if we found the most tolerant city on the 
planet, people would still see that difference. That, combined with 
the fact that I did not think I was ready to make a commitment, I 
decided that I would enjoy being with her for the next few 
months, then would move away alone.
     
     I thought the best course of action would be to explain to 
Shanika about the direction I thought each of us should take in 
life. However, she could tell what I was doing and stormed out of 
my apartment. For the first time since the fall, I spent the 
weekend alone.
     
     In a way, work became unbearable. News of our breakup 
spread quickly, and Shanika took the brunt of it. Whereas I got 
congratulations for coming to my senses and breaking up with 
her, people quietly ridiculed her for thinking she could date 
somebody that far above her. After a week, she refused to come 
back to work until something changed. 
     
     That is when Human Resources got involved. That Friday, I 
was called into my manager's office. With the Director of Human 
Resources sitting to the side, I was handed a plane ticket. I was 
to report to the Denver office first thing Monday morning. When I 
protested about needing time to pack and make arrangements to 
move, the Director told me that they would arrange everything. 
Somebody would meet me at the airport to give me a key to a 
corporate apartment.
     
     By noon on Saturday, I was flying over the Great Plains, 
seeing the Rocky Mountains rising to the West.
     
*               *               *
     
     Unfortunately, between the normal drive time in the stop for 
lunch in northern Indiana, I ended up trying to navigate the 
Chicago freeways at rush hour. To say the least, I was frustrated. 
After about eight hours of driving, I was ready to get to the club 
at which I was staying and nap off the day. Shanika's profile was 
private, so even though I was able to send her a message. I had 
absolutely no idea what was going on in her life. She had only 
asked where I was staying and then made plans to meet me at 
my club late in the evening. 
     
     When I checked in at the club's office, the manager said the 
strangest thing. He said that Doctor Washington had called and 
left a message that she was running late. Stunned that he was 
referring to a woman I had known as a secretary as "doctor", I 
asked if he was referring to Shanika Washington. He assured me 
that he was, and that she was a member of the club as well. I 
should wait for her in the club room, and put anything I wanted 
on her tab.
     
     And so it was, that about quarter after seven I was nursing a 
second beer when I heard a voice behind me say, "Spencer?" 
Turning around, I saw her. Though she looked a little older, with 
a tired look in her eye, she was still slim and athletic. Her hair 
was pulled back tightly in a bun, as if she needed it out of the 
way for something. Strangely, she was dressed in what looked 
like an expensive tracksuit, but not one in which somebody would 
actually go running. Instead, it looked like the kind that a doctor 
would wear before they put on their scrubs.
     
     Just as we were exchanging greetings, the bartender walked 
over and yelled a thank you to Shanika, saying that the exercises 
she had given him had really helped. She welcomed his gratitude, 
but scolding that he had not made a follow-up appointment yet. 
He chuckled and said he would do it first thing in the morning.
     
     When I asked if we should get a table, Shanika said she had 
a better idea. After signing off on my check, she took me by the 
hand, led me into the street, and hailed a cab. The street she 
gave to the driver was familiar. It was, not in the neighborhood 
where she used to live. Rather, it was in mine.
     
     As we cruised through the Chicago evening, we did not 
speak much. Instead, she intertwined our arms and leaned 
against my shoulder like we had done many years before. When I 
tried to start conversation, she would shush me and say we could 
talk over dinner. I could not tell whether she was hiding 
something, or whether she was just enjoying the moment. 
Perhaps it was a combination of both. But I felt like there was 
something very different about this woman as compared to the 
one I had left behind under bad circumstances.
     
     Soon enough, we were sitting in a vegetarian restaurant 
nestled into the space of the one where Shanika and I had eaten 
on our first night together. There was a stark difference in the 
clientele. While when I lived there, it was almost exclusively 
white, it was now homogenous by age, but quite diverse by 
everything else. Most of the people were around our age or just a 
little bit younger, but there were people of every race, including 
interracial and same-sex couples. Nobody looked strangely at a 
black woman and white man walking in together.
     
     That was not to say that we did not attract attention. 
Rather, it seemed everybody had to say hello to Shanika. She got 
some "thank yous" from people she had helped with different 
kinds of injuries. And some more general hellos from people with 
whom it seemed she would occasionally have dinner. It was 
obvious that people knew Shanika, and that they respected her.
     
     Because of the minimalistic decor, including cinderblock 
walls and bare concrete floor, the restaurant was loud. Though 
we had to lean close to talk to each other, the noise muted our 
conversation to everybody else. So as we sat at a candlelit table 
for two. We could say anything we wanted to.
     
     As we caught up, I learned that Shanika was indeed a 
doctor. When we broke up and I was shipped out to Denver, she 
had only survived a few more months with the company. People 
who liked me blamed her for me being forced out, so the 
comments and degradation did not stop. Sometime in July, she 
quit even though she did not have another job lined up. Almost 
immediately, she started to drink a lot, but luckily, her 
grandfather had remembered how quickly drugs took so many 
people when Shanika had been a child. So somehow, he managed 
to convince her to try a little bit of college to see if she liked it.
     
     A few weeks later, she signed up for a class at the 
community college. Somehow, after a few years out of school, 
something was different. She actually enjoyed learning. The next 
spring, she took a full course load. Then after a full summer 
schedule, she transferred to one of the state universities. Three 
years later, she finished near the top of her class, even though 
she was taking pre-med courses.
     
     After graduating a top 10 medical school and doing her 
residency at one of the top rehabilitation hospitals in the country, 
she returned to Chicago and joined a prestigious practice. Now, 
she had her own office, with a high-profile clientele. She was 
even the team doctor for one of the professional sports teams, 
though she would not tell me which one.
     
     To say that I was stunned was an understatement. This was 
a woman that I had broken up with for no reason other than I 
thought that I was better than her. However, though I was 
probably wealthier than she was, in a lot of ways, she was much 
more important and well known that I. She was a prestigious 
doctor, while I was just another computer geek who got lucky.
     
     Then the conversation turned towards my life. It seemed 
almost as if Shanika's heart was broken when I told her about my 
wife dying. She reached across the table and taking my hand, she 
reminded me that she knew what it was like to lose people you 
love. She also said that she remembered how devastated I was 
by losing my parents; she could only imagine how much worse it 
was this time.
     
     I appreciated Shanika's sympathy, including her gently 
taking my hand. However, it briefly made me feel uncomfortable. 
With her warm palm and fingers embracing my hand, I felt an old 
spark rekindled. I was intimidated by the woman in front of me, 
so I did not want to let on what I was feeling. However, as we 
both felt the silence, I looked into Shanika's eyes and could tell 
she was feeling something too.
     
     Nothing needed to be said, so after we had finished eating 
and Shanika had graciously allowed me to pay, we left the 
restaurant hand in hand. A few minutes later, we were standing 
in front of my old building while Shanika typed the entrance code 
into the keypad. Though the outside of the building she led me to 
was familiar, the inside was completely different. The small 
apartments had been replaced by condos that took up at least 
half the floor. Instead of a walk up, there was now a very nice 
elevator.
     
     Her place was the entire top floor, the penthouse, so to say. 
From the front window, you could look out and see most of the 
neighborhood below. People walked the sidewalks, while cars 
wove through the streets. It seemed that even the rooftops of 
townhouses were now busy with people sitting on rooftop decks. 
It was a far cry from the early gentrification I had remembered.
     
     After giving me a tour of the place including a spacious 
exercise room and a bathroom with a full Jacuzzi, we returned to 
the living room that featured a well-stocked bar. While we talked 
about the old times, Shanika mixed us martinis. It made me 
happy that she seemed to remember the good times, most 
clearly. She even seemed grateful for the way things ended 
because she noted that if it had not been for our breakup, she 
never would have gotten to where she was in life. It was ironic, 
that she told me I had been right that she had not been thinking 
about where she was going in life.
     
     I do not know how she made the martinis, but they were not 
as harsh as they sometimes can be. Be it vodka or gin, martinis 
are still mostly alcohol, which can make them hard to drink. Even 
a good one can only be sipped. A bad one tastes like stale 
kerosene. However, the one Shanika made for me was smooth 
with a vague sweetness hidden underneath the crisp snap of cold 
gin. It was different than any I had mixed for myself or been 
given in a bar. The drink was almost otherworldly, as if it was for 
this apartment only, and for no other place.
     
     We sat on opposite ends of the couch facing each other. I 
sat with my back to the arm, with one leg sitting normally and 
the other bent on the couch cushion in front of me. Shanika sat 
on the opposite side, with both knees on the couch and her feet 
curled underneath her. As we talked, she gently stroked the rim 
of her glass. Though we tried to talk about various things, it 
seemed that neither of us could focus on the conversation. We 
both had something else in mind.
     
     Eventually, as if someone had given us a cue, we 
simultaneously put our glasses on the table. Then half sliding and 
half pouncing, my ex-girlfriend came across the couch. With one 
hand behind my head and one around my far shoulder, she 
kissed me. Gently holding on, she rolled onto her back. We 
continued to kiss with her prone on my lap and my entire body 
embracing her.
     
     It was impossible for me to tell how long we kissed, but 
after a span that seemed too short and too long at the same 
time, Shanika rolled off my lap. Then intertwining our arms, she 
silently walked me to her bedroom. While it was not Spartan, it 
was definitely minimalist in its decor. Obviously, nothing other 
than the necessities of a bedroom, such as a bed and dressers, 
were there. Everything else, it seemed was in another room. In 
fact, the room barely looked lived in. The only amount of 
personalization was a picture of Shanika with her grandfather on 
one of the dressers.
     
     As she was still wearing the tracksuit, Shanika's clothing 
came off easily, and she deftly she worked mine off as well. We 
stood there naked, our bodies pressed against each other, 
desperately kissing and allowing our hands to get reacquainted 
with each other's bodies. As I pulled her tight with one hand, the 
other one explored from her breasts up to her neck and the side 
of her face. For her part, she held the back of my head with one 
hand, while the other gently worked my cock to erection.
     
     Eventually, we ended up on the bed with her on her back. 
She had one leg straight and one knee bent off to the side, but 
with them spread, leaving herself open to me. When I touched 
her there, I could feel that she was already wet. With no need for 
further foreplay, I slid inside of her, making her gasp and say 
that I was bigger than she remembered. We continued to kiss as 
I slowly thrust in and out of her. The sex was neither passionate 
nor playful, neither desperate nor sad. Instead, it was two people 
happily enjoying each other's bodies and the way they made each 
other feel.
     
     It was almost unspoken that we would make it last. When 
one of us got close to a climax, we would gently ask the other to 
slow down. It was not teasing, just two people trying to elongate 
the night as much is possible. When I finally shot deep inside of 
her, Shanika smiled, and with two hands pulled my head down, 
so we were nose to nose. She kissed me, and then whispered, 
"thank you." Then she kissed me again.
     
     We had only cuddled together for a few minutes, when 
Shanika's mobile phone rang. When she saw the number, she 
sighed and told me she would take it in the other room. I do not 
know whether or not. It was intentional, but she did not close the 
door all the way when she left. Though I could not make out most 
of the conversation, I could tell it was with somebody she knew 
well, somebody about which she cared deeply. I realized the 
person it was when she ended the call by saying, "I love you too, 
good night."
     
     When Shanika did not come directly back into the room, I 
took it as an opportunity to relieve myself. When I came back 
into the bedroom, though, Shanika was there wearing a pair of 
panties and a T-shirt. My clothing was laid out neatly on the bed. 
It was her silent way of telling me to get dressed because I was 
no longer welcome in her bed. It did not appear as if she 
regretted anything that happened. Rather, it seemed as if she 
was reluctantly returning to the real-world.
     
     A few minutes later, we were back on the couch, this time 
with no drinks in hand. Shanika explained to me that she was 
dating a professional athlete. He was out of town at a training 
facility getting ready for his final season. By this time next year, 
he would be retired and they would probably be married. He was 
a good man, and she respected him. She loved him in a way, 
though not in the way she had loved me. But she was passed the 
point in her life where she could run the risk of a toxic 
relationship. He did not drink; he did not smoke; he did not use 
drugs; and he did not run around on her. In a word, he was 
stable.
     
     Of the women I had met up with that my trip, Shanika is the 
only one where it seemed as if things had fallen back into a good 
place. Though I had never actively thought about it, she could 
have convinced me to try things again. However, it seemed as if 
the reality was that we were not destined to be together. It was 
good that neither of us had gotten our hopes up.
     
     We kissed at her doorway, and I walked down the stairs 
alone. Though I could have taken the elevator, the stairs seem to 
be the only thing in the building that had not changed. They were 
comforting. My subconscious told me that I should get away from 
the building as quickly as possible. So, though I probably could 
have waited for a cab in front of it, I walked up the street and 
around the block to a main road. Though I kept telling myself it 
was so that I could get a taxi more easily, in reality I knew it was 
because I did not want to look at the building anymore. For the 
first time, I felt like a door that I might have wanted to stay open 
had been slammed shut.
     
     I had hoped to feel better when I got into the familiarity of 
the city club. Though it was not mine, the type of place really was 
not that different, no matter where you went. However, the place 
seemed dull and lifeless. The only sound was a young man at the 
overnight concierge's desk shuffling through some papers. After 
calling me over to check to make sure I was not a trespasser, he 
asked me if I was just staying one night. I replied that I would be 
leaving first thing in the morning.