[Sometime in the near future]
It began when a terrorist group no one had ever heard of -- the "New Aryan Order" -- killed two powerful POC's.
Two days later, another terror group -- the "African Liberation Front" -- countered by killing eight powerful white men.
Two days later, the New Aryan Order struck back, killing two more powerful POC's and causing a panic among the populace. Everyone called for the group to be destroyed, along with the ALF.
Three days after that... well, you get the point, right?
It took the FBI six weeks to track down and arrest the members of both groups. By that time racial tensions were insane.
Which posed a problem for me. See, I was the only white scholarship player on my college basketball team ten years ago. All the other guys were black. And because we were teammates, we became good friends, a feeling that lasted long after we had played together on a basketball court for the final time.
I decided to go over and hang out with two of the boys who lived a mile from me, in the black part of town. Maybe we could find a fourth and get up a game of two-on-two, for old times' sake. I walked over towards Khalil's house and encountered a barricade five blocks from it. Two young black men had blocked off the street and were standing there with rifles.
"What do you want, honkey?"
"Just want to chill with an old friend, maybe get up a game."
"Right." I could feel the sarcasm dripping from the young man's voice. "And who might your so-called friend be?"
"You know who Khalil Jones is? He lives a few blocks that way."
"You sit right there, honkey. If you're lying..."
The safety clicked off on the gun, which was now pointed directly at my chest. The twelve minutes and twenty-seven seconds I waited with the gun pointed at me were the longest of my life.
"Let him in. That's my old pal Joe."
I'd never been happier to hear Khalil's voice in my life.
"Can't be too careful these days. Okay, white boy. Move it."
I understood the young man's feelings. But I wasn't one of the racists. "Maybe I should get a pass or something," I said as I got to my feet and walked over to Khalil. "To let me have entry into this area without going through this."
"I have a better idea," Khalil replied. "The house next to me got foreclosed on a few weeks before all this shit started. Go to the bank and buy it."
I'd been living not only frugally but in a minimalist fashion since my six-year NBA career ended. I needed to make sure the money I had made lasted the rest of my life. The idea of buying a house very cheaply so I would never have to pay rent again appealed to me.
Two weeks later, I was living next to Khalil. We played ball in the driveway when we couldn't get a game up on the nearby court at the park.
And a week after that, his older sister showed up. The company she had been working for for the past 15 years had fired her, and though there was no definitive proof, everyone knew it was because she was the only black person working there. They didn't give a reason -- thanks to stupid "at-will" employment laws, they didn't have to -- but as the old saying goes, it don't take a genius to spot a goat in a flock of sheep.
"Do me a solid," Khalil said. "Neither of our houses is big, but I got my wife and my daughter in mine. You just got you. Can you take in Denisha?"
"Sure."
Up until then, I had still been viewed with suspicion by the rest of the neighborhood. They hadn't said anything, because Khalil was a respected figure, but I had gotten looks that clearly conveyed, "what is this whitey doing with us homies?"
But now, those looks vanished. I was viewed, in fact, with the same sort of respect Khalil got. It was nice.
Remember when I mentioned I was a minimalist? That meant I had very little stuff. I had the usual home electronic center in the living room -- and two chairs. No couch. A small table to eat at. The second bedroom held several bookshelves with my books -- and that was it. The master bedroom had a king-sized bed and one dresser. The only thing well stocked was the kitchen. I had to cook well, since I followed a regimen to stay in tip-top shape. A habit left over from my time in the league.
Denisha didn't have a lot of stuff, and by giving her most of the closet in the master bedroom and the entire closet in the second bedroom, she had enough space for her clothing. I allocated her some dresser space for things like underwear, which can't really hang in a closet. And of course, I had about six items in the bathroom, so there was tons of space for her assortment.
"We'll have to share the bed," I told her, "unless you want to sleep on the floor."
"As long as you don't try to do anything to me while I'm asleep."
"That's a promise."
"Thanks for taking me in, Joe."
"You're welcome, Denisha. You really should be thanking Khalil for suggesting I buy this place and for asking me to take you in."
That night, I slept on the right side of the bed, and Denisha slept on the left side of the bed, leaving about a four-to-five foot gap between us.
When we woke up, and after we did our morning routine, we lay on opposite sides of the bed and rotated so we were looking at each other.
"Khalil didn't tell me much about you. Where were you working?"
Denisha explained that she had clawed her way into college by getting an academic scholarship given to the valedictorian of her high school -- and one that needed a 3.0 GPA or higher in college to be maintained. After graduating with a 3.6 GPA, she got an offer from the largest company in the state as a low-level paper pusher. She'd worked her way into middle management and had never had a negative thing said about her in the whole time she'd been there -- and then the NAO and ALF popped up and racial lines seemed to be drawn throughout the country. She was fired five weeks after the attack on the justices. And when it became obvious she wouldn't be able to get a new job, because of the racial tensions throughout the state and the country, she contacted Khalil and came over to this neighborhood.
"Very sorry that happened to you. You probably are really pissed at corporate America right now."
"That would be an understatement."
"As far as I'm concerned, you can stay here for the rest of your life and never bother going back to work. I'm retired and need nothing."
"Khalil said you were in the NBA for a while."
"Yeah, and I have enough to support us both indefinitely if we live on a modest scale."
"That's a wonderful offer. I accept."
"Let's eat. I'm hungry."
Denisha changed in the bathroom while I got dressed, and we headed for the kitchen. I asked if she wanted anything specific, and she said no. So I cooked some French toast, "carbo loading" in anticipation of the game Khalil and I had scheduled at the park later.
Denisha tagged along for the game. Khalil and I managed to get four other guys to join us. In the game of 3-on-3 full-court, played to 21, all baskets 1 point each, Khalil and I each scored 10 baskets for our respective teams. His teammates were slightly better than mine this time, and after 67 exhausting minutes, his team won 21-19.
Denisha walked back with me to the house. After I showered up, I cooked lunch -- ham, cheese and mushroom omelettes, with steamed broccoli on the side.
"Your cooking is different than mine," she observed after inhaling her omelette and working her way through the broccoli. "Quite good, though."
I stared at her empty plate. "I can see you liked it." I quickly finished what was on mine and cleared the table. "What do you usually cook?"
"Soul food -- you know, cornbread, ribs, cooked greens, lots of kale, stuff like that."
"If you'd like me to buy that stuff so you can be comfortable --"
"No, no. This is much better for me. But I do love me some ribs."
"I like ribs, too. I'll cook up a mess of 'em about once a week and usually have leftovers."
"If you want leftovers, you'd better buy twice the amount you usually do."
I laughed and promised her there would be plenty of ribs when I cooked 'em. Three days later, I was ready to. I asked if there was a specific type of barbecue sauce she preferred.
"The brand you have is fine."
She was right about liking the ribs. She polished off about ten of them. Then she got up -- I was still eating -- and walked over to me. She was as tall standing up as I was sitting down (my position was power forward in the league, and I'm six-foot-eight.) She kissed me on the cheek, making me blush, and said, "those were excellent."
"Thanks," I grunted. For the first time, I actually looked at Denisha's body. She was about five-foot-three, with a decent chest and a very pretty face. Even though she was pushing 40, she could easily pass for college-age. Black women always age really well. She noticed me admiring her and slowly turned around. The yoga pants she was wearing showed every curve. Her ass, as always seems to be the case with black women, was round, curvy and perfect.
She turned back around. "Like what you see?"
I blushed again. "Um... yes, you look quite nice."
"Keep feeding me those ribs and you may just get to see more of me." She winked and grinned.
"So the way to your heart is through your stomach?"
"Perhaps."
We spent a lot of the next few weeks in the bed just talking. I got Denisha to open up about what her childhood was like, how she felt about Khalil's success (she was a bit envious, but also happy her kid brother was doing well for himself), and about her family. (Her grandmother, who had passed away 6 years back, apparently made the best soul food on the planet, including doing things with okra that transformed it into the food of the gods.)
I continued to make ribs once a week and tried my best to include Denisha in the cooking process -- as a teacher. I wanted to learn what else made her happy enough to consider advancing our relationship. She wanted to learn how I cooked healthful "white person" food and made it tasty, and I was happy to share what the team nutritionist while I was in the league had taught me about cooking.
We also started doing "couple-type" things, like watching movies together. We'd put the two chairs next to each other and hold hands. I took her along on trips to the store to resupply the food. She'd come watch me play basketball, even if Khalil wasn't there with me.
And after about two and a half months of this, Denisha came up to me after dinner as I was cleaning the pots and pans.
"You've been very patient and not tried to pressure me into anything. And you've taken the time to get to know me and displayed true interest in me. I'm ready to get physical with you in bed."
"Okay, Denisha. Since I don't know what you like done to your body, I'll let you lead."
"Sounds good. When you're done, strip and join me. I'll be waiting for you... naked."
I finished cleaning the pots and pans, used the restroom, then headed for the bedroom and removed my clothes. Denisha, as promised, was lying naked on top of the covers.
She ran her eyes over my toned body and one of her hands slipped between her legs. I joined her on the bed.
"I never have actual penetrative sex during the first bedroom session," Denisha informed me. "Why don't you start by kissing me, and then afterwards sucking my nipples?"
"Sure, babe," I grinned.
Denisha slid her body upwards so that her lips could interface with mine. I gave her a soft kiss, and she tried to put her arms around me. They couldn't quite reach. Mine easily enveloped her, and I held her securely. We kissed again, this time twining tongues.
"Mmmmm," she purred. "That was a nice kiss."
