This was the last thing we wanted to happen. And neither of us will admit to the other how we ended up here, but neither of us want to go back. At least I don't think we do. We have six weeks to figure it out.
It all started at the bar last month, just Maggie and me having a drink waiting for our table. We come to this hotel restaurant all the time, and we know everybody there, and everybody knows us.
We meet there after work, sometimes just to have a drink before going home and sometimes to have a nice dinner together.
We're both in our early 40s, lawyers with our own practice and kids in college. They were home for the summer, so we were going to stay out a little later than normal. We were still in our work attire. I wore khakis and a blue blazer. I'd taken my tie off and left it in the car. Maggie was in her navy blue power skirt, white button-down silk top and heels.
I looked like a prep. She looked awesome, long legs hanging from the barstool, blonde hair and blue eyes flashing, getting stares from every man in the bar.
I loved it.
After a couple drinks, we were feeling pretty good when a nice young waiter came up to tell us our table was ready. We'd never seen him before. A tall black man, about 25 maybe, very dark and mysterious looking more African than African-American, with a slight accent we couldn't quite pinpoint.
His name was Rakeem.
Rakeem led us to the other side of the restaurant near the outside patio. We could hear the band playing outside, so we told Rakeem to order us another round of drinks while we walked outside.
Maggie looked at Rakeem's butt as he walked away. I noticed, and she saw it too and blushed.
"Why miss Maggie, what are you looking at."
I asked, smiling with my head cocked.
We're both Southerners, born and raised, and neither of us had grown up around blacks, not in school or church or our neighborhoods or business. We were as white as white could be in that sense.
We had no black friends and none of our friends had black friends. Not that we were racists. We just didn't live in that world.
Here in Virginia, we simply didn't stray far from our own upbringing.
So to see Maggie checking out a young black man's ass was shocking to me. And to her.
"Stop it," she said. "He's just a boy."
Rakeem was soon standing by us again, taking our empty glasses and handing us each a fresh vodka tonic.
"Let me know when you're ready to order," he said. "Take your time."
He walked away and both of us looked at his ass.
I felt Maggie's elbow jab me in the ribs. I looked at her, and she rolled her eyes.
We both laughed and began to walk back inside. Rakeem was waiting at our table.
He was about 6-3, maybe 210 pounds, lean yet muscular and very athletic looking. He was wearing the white short-sleeve shirt that all the wait-staff wore, and his black pants hid what was an ample bulge in his pants that Maggie noticed as he sat her first. She looked over at me, but was completely blocked by Rakeem's hips. She was inches from his crotch when he turned toward me, leaned over slightly to pull out my chair.
"Thanks Rakeem," I said. "I've got this."
His ass was now inches from Maggie's face. When Rakeem turned and walked away, Maggie was completely flushed.
"Baby, you're red as a beet," I said.
"His cock was so close to me I swear I almost fainted," she said. "You think he meant to do that?"
"To the sexiest woman in the restaurant?" I said. "Certainly not."
We clinked our glasses and toasted the night.
"Here's to us," I said. "Here's to summertime."
We were halfway through with our drinks before Rakeem returned with the menus. We already knew what we wanted. We knew the menu, and we knew the chef.
"Rakeem," Maggie said. "We're going to split the Chateaubriand, medium rare with bleu cheese and the asparagus. Tell Carlos it's Maggie and Nick."
"Yes ma'am," Rakeem said, nodding as he backed away.
"And two more vodka tonics," I said.
"Yes, Mr. Nick," Rakeem said.
"Just call me Nick," I said, smiling at our mysterious young waiter.
A few seconds later, Carlos came to the table.
"Hello my good friends," he said. "How are we tonight?"
He's the best chef around, and his steaks are legendary. He comes out every night we dine with him, mainly to stare at Maggie.
"How is Rakeem treating you?" he asked, not taking his eyes off my wife.
"He's great," I said. "Is he new?"
"Yes," Carlos said. "He's here on a visa, studying at UVa. He's here from Mozambique."
Maggie and I looked at each other. She shrugged.
"South Africa," I said. "A former Portuguese colony."
Carlos finally looked at me.
