My name is Michael Davis and I met my future wife while attending evening classes at The University of Tennessee in criminal justice. I was a patrolman for the Knoxville Police Department and had obtained a permit from campus police to carry my off duty .357. I was so glad for that the night I exited class and heard a woman's screams across the half empty commuter lot I was parked in. I dropped my book bag, pulled my gun from the shoulder rig I wore it in, and ran as fast as I could across the lot. When I saw the two men trying to force a woman into the backseat of a Cadillac Fleetwood, I yelled stop and police at the top of my lungs. The man closest to me turned and pointed a gun at me at which point I had no choice but to shoot him, killing him with a perfect and lucky shot to the head. The second man managed to wound me in the thigh of my left leg with the bullet breaking my femur. I managed to wound the other man before blacking out. The woman ran away during the gun fight and I would have been in serious trouble if she hadn't come back and told the investigating officers what had happened. I was in the OR at that point with the doctors working hard to save my leg.
I was still groggy the next day when the most beautiful black woman dressed in nurse's clothing came into my room.
"Hi, I'm Latesha Hollings and I wanted to come by and thank you for saving me from Jackson and his cousin Jamal last night. I work in this hospital as a nurse's assistant and will be checking in on you while you're here."
"I'm Michael Davis. Probably won't remember. Out of it."
Latesha visited me every day for the five days I was in the hospital. She was in the room when the doctor said he would discharge me to go home if I had someone to care for me there. When I told him I was an only child whose parents had both been killed in a boating accident when I was eighteen and had no one at home to care for me, Latesha decided that she would nurse me back to health. I protested but to no avail. That was when I found out that Latesha wouldn't take no for an answer when she had set her mind to something. She moved into my house and slept in my guest bedroom during the nine month rehabilitation process I had to endure to regain full mobility in my leg. I was determined to resume my career as a police officer.
The investigating detective came and talked to me about the incident that had left one black man dead and two others, one white and the other black, wounded. I was going to be cleared and the shooting was going to be declared a justifiable shoot. The two black men were from Detroit and were Jackson Jones, the one that survived, and Jamal Jones, the one who died, his cousin. Jackson was a pimp and a drug dealer and I wouldn't find out until months later why they were trying to force Latesha into the car.
After two months of my questioning, Latesha told me about her past. She was afraid to tell it to me because it wasn't very pretty. Latisha's parents had divorced when she was twelve and her mother had taken her back to Detroit where her mother's family was. Latesha's mom had become a crack addict a couple of years after her return to Detroit. She gave Latesha to Jackson Jones when she didn't have the money for the crack he had supplied her. Jackson broke Latesha and turned her out as an underage hooker. From the description of herself back then, I could see why Jackson wanted her in his stable. Latesha told me she was already 6' tall at fourteen and her 36DD breasts were fully developed. She described herself as being curvy and unintentionally sexy. Men wanted her for either her breasts or her perfectly symmetrical bubble butt. She was addicted to cocaine by Jackson and was his "special" girl for six months before her dad rescued her. She spent 90 days in drug rehab and was still seeing a therapist when we met.
I stood at 6"4", weighed 280 pounds, and gotten back most of my former fitness. Latesha stood at 6'2" tall, weighed 200 pounds, still curvy, and sexy. Maybe it was the damsel in distress and the hero that saved her syndrome or maybe it was true love, but somehow a pasty assed white man and the most beautiful black woman he ever met fell in love with each other. Latesha cared for me during my recovery and brought me my assignments from my professors at school. We would talk for hours about everything and became friends. Latesha accepted my offer to continue living in my house after I was cleared by the doctors. She insisted on paying rent so I had her give me fifty dollars a week. It was another two months before I could get her to go on a date with me. We were already friends so we didn't have any of those first date nerves or awkwardness. We went to dinner at a nice restaurant and when I asked her what she wanted to do afterwards, she said she wanted to go dancing. I almost backed out at that moment because I wasn't a good dancer. I told Latesha that I wasn't a good dancer and she told me not to worry about it, she'd take care of me. It was a surreal moment for me when I realized I was the only white man in the club Latesha directed me to. I saw a handful of white women which kept me from being the only white person in the club. Latesha helped me on some dance moves for the fast songs, but we seemed to fit together seamlessly on the slow songs. There was one tense moment when a large black man tried to cut in on one of the slow dances and I wouldn't let him. Latesha took my hand and led me to our table before the situation got out of hand. Imagine my surprise when she sat in my lap instead of in the chair next to me. She began kissing me with a passion I hadn't seen in her before. Everyone in the club saw what she was doing to me. When she led me back onto the dance floor, my erection was noticeable to anyone who looked. I was embarrassed by my condition to say the least, but relaxed when Latesha pulled me close to whisper in my ear.
