The Crush

The debate had been fierce. My opponent brought everything she had to it, and, honestly, I was afraid that when the dust settled, I'd be "former Mayor Rory O'Grady." The points I had made played to people's legitimate fears about crime, and my opponent's hairbrained scheme to dramatically cut police budgets to fund social programs.

I wasn't exactly a law-and-order candidate. I had been as critical of the police department as anyone, and my term in office had seen significant reforms in police practice. But I wasn't crazy, which on this subject, my opponent seemed to be.

But my opponent, Chantel Blackman-Smith had two advantages in this election that I couldn't hope to match. She was black, as was the majority of my city's population, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. I could lay claim to neither.

My political advisers had urged me to go after her. She had weaknesses -- her family were significant owners of rental properties, for instance. The term "slumlord" had been bandied about in some of our strategy sessions. She had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Her family owned what could only be described as a mansion in the Highlands section of the city. She was also utterly devoid of experience.

By contrast, I was a "man of the people" I grew up in a neighborhood that even then was a pretty tough place. My record on the thing that mattered most to our citizens was solid. Violent crime was down by a third at the end of my first term. Property values had stabilized. My resume was chock full of experience -- I had been deputy mayor for years before I ran on my own.

But I would only hint about her inexperience in our debates. I insisted that we run a positive campaign. There was a commercial with me sitting on the stoop at my parents' home -- they still lived there -- where I talked about my roots in the city. There was another campaign ad that showed a great photo of me arm-in-arm with Jesse Jackson at some protest when I was in my 20s. I was passionate about my city and I told my staff that would have to do. We would stay positive until the end.

The truth was more complicated. I counted her mom and dad among my best friends in the world, and, frankly, their friendship meant more to me than being mayor. But I also had a wicked crush on Chantel. It was, to my knowledge, unrequited. I had known her since she was about 14 years old, awkward and coltish. I lost track of her for years -- she went away to college and then worked out of town for a while. When I saw her again just before she announced she was a candidate, I was smitten.

The years away had been kind to her. Gone was the awkwardness, the coltishness. It was replaced by good looks and an ease with people that belied her age. I have to admit, too, that her perfect body, great ass and perfect breasts left me speechless.

"You can't be Leon Blackman's daughter, can you? I remember you in braces," I said when I spotted her ran into her at a charity event.

"I am her, in the flesh", she said, flashing me a huge smile.

"I'm Rory..."

Another smile. "I remember you very well, Mr. Mayor. Of course, you weren't mayor then. I remember you and my father sitting up late in his den, talking and arguing about the issues and drinking bourbon. That's what sparked my interest in politics. And bourbon, for that matter." She had a great laugh. It was just one of the things I found attractive in her.

That was six months ago. Today, we were in the final throes of the campaign. The debate was just six days before the election. I was still ahead in the polls, but my margin was slim.

"Good job tonight, Chantel," I said with a smile, once it was done, shaking hands with her.

"Thank you Mayor O'Grady," she said. "Coming from you, that means a lot."

"Are your folks here tonight?" I asked. "I'd like to say hi to your Dad."

Her father had been a political ally of mine for many years. He was sitting this one out, he told me early on in the election season, for obvious reasons. I respected his position and wanted to say hello and shake his hand.

"They're here," she said. "Right over there."

I started that way, when she said, "He's a big fan of yours' you know."

I turned back to her. "And I'm a big fan of his. You know, we've been friends for a long time."

"I remember you at our house when I was a kid, working with him on campaigns," she said. "I admit to a little hero worship."

I laughed. "Well you seem to have grown out of that, as you should."

She gave me an enigmatic little smile and reached over, putting her hand on my arm. "You might be surprised."

I was slightly taken aback by that comment, but I recovered soon enough.

"Chantel, I hope whatever happens next Tuesday, we can emerge from this as friends."

"Me too."

Chantel's father's Barbadian accent was musical.

"Good evening, Rory. You were kind to my little girl tonight," he said, as he shook my hand.

"Leon, it's not about being kind. I'm committed to running a positive campaign."

Leon raised his eyebrows just a bit to show his skepticism. "Since when, my friend?"

I was saved from answering that question when Chantel's mom -- a stunning woman in her own right -- came over and gave me a big hug.

"Rory, I cannot believe that the day is coming when we'll have to choose between our own daughter and our best friend."

"Lolita, there's no choice to make. Chantel deserves your loyalty," I said.

"She has our loyalty, but will she get our vote? That's the question," she said, with a bit of a laugh.

I could remember visiting their home while Chantel was a teen, remarking even then about her beauty. I will admit to a bit of a sinking feeling when she announced she was a candidate to relieve me of my job. But her folks had been gracious throughout. If I didn't win the election, I'd be fine. I'd figure out what I needed to do to make a living and pick up the pieces of my life. If I won, but in the process trashed the reputation of Chantel, losing her and her parents' friendship, it wouldn't be much of a victory.

Six days later, I emerged victorious. I'd won by a substantial margin of about 6 percentage points. By our city's standards, it was a landslide. Chantel called me on election night to concede.

"Congratulations, Rory. You ran a positive campaign and won by a lot. You deserve a lot of credit."

"Thank you Chantel. I like you and respect you too much to have done anything else. And that doesn't even take into account your father's feelings. His friendship means the world to me."

"You do remember your promise?"

"What's that?"

"That we'd be friends after the election."

"Oh, yes, I do remember that. Are we?"

"Of course we are. But let's get to know each other better. What are you doing for lunch tomorrow?"

"Eating a nice lunch and having a glass of wine with you, I hope."

We named a place where we both were well-known and agreed to meet at noon.

"I'll get a reservation first thing."

"I'll see you there."

I arrived a little early to the restaurant the next day and got a table by the windows, so I was able to watch Chantel come down the street toward me. She was a picture of feminine glamour. Skin-tight jeans, a chic and sexy camisole top, which emphasized her breasts, the sunshine glittering in her shiny hair, sunglasses and a big smile for everyone she met.

She'd made a gracious concession speech the night before, urging her followers to support me and help me and my team improve the future of our city. She talked about the influence that I'd had on her as a child and quoted her dad's endorsement of me. It was generous and kind and unselfish. When I saw the videotape on the 11 p.m. news, my heart melted for this girl who was almost certainly out of reach for me.

I stood when she entered the restaurant and saw me, gave me a little wave and came over to our table. I started to reach out to shake her hand, but she closed the distance and put her arms around me.

"I think we know each other well enough for a hug, don't you?" I didn't argue.

We talked for two hours, until the lunch crowd had vanished, and we were virtually alone in the dining room - watched by an impatient waiter who, I'm sure, wanted to go home.

"I wish I could say that I have an actual plan for my future," she confided to me. "All I know is that I want to do work that makes the world a better place... and I know that sounds corny. One thing this campaign has taught me is that a thing can be worth doing, even if you're not 100 percent successful. I've had a great time, met hundreds of people and, to be honest, I feel like I know you better, which is a plus."

At that last line, she reached over and squeezed my hand. It was just a small gesture, but the adolescent in me was thrilled.

"So where do you start?"

"My dad said I should ask you for a job, but I'll bet there are people on your team that wouldn't be thrilled by that."

"That's probably true," I laughed. "But don't let that stop you, if that's what you really want. I'm not sure what the job would be, but we might be able to find something."

"That's very kind of you, but no thanks. I mean, someday, maybe... but that would be really odd right now."

I looked at my watch. I had to be back in City Hall in about 10 minutes.

"I'm going to need to go, as I have a meeting at 2," I said. "Thanks, though, for suggesting lunch. This has been fun."

We figured out that we were parked in the same municipal lot down the street and walked that way together.

"You know, I need to thank you," Chantel said as we walked.

"For what?"

"I know that you were holding back. My dad has told me how you've always been a believer in the power of negative advertising in political campaigns. You didn't use them in this election, though, and I'm grateful."

"There was no need," I said. "And you didn't go negative, either."

"I probably had less to work with. My staff kept telling me to play the race card, but I didn't want to win that way. And no one has a better record on race relations than you do."

"If we're being honest, that's one of two things that worried me," I said. "I mean I wouldn't blame the voters of this city if they wanted to elect someone who looks more like they do."

"Well, they obviously didn't think that was important," she said. "What was the second thing?"

"That they would be swayed by your beauty, to be honest."

I thought I saw Chantel blush, as she absorbed the compliment. She looked up at me and smiled.

"Thank you for saying that, it's very kind."

"I told your dad when you were about 15 that you were going to grow up to be a real beauty. And it's clearly come true."

"Oh really?" she said, smiling now. "And what did Leon say to that?"

"He told me how much he worried about you. Worried that you'd get pregnant, and ruin your life, or attach yourself to some romantic loser. None of which seems to have come true."

"Well, I'm sure momma didn't tell him, but she took care of the pregnancy worry. And I've never had much use for losers."

We walked some more in silence.

"It's funny how times have changed," she said. "Daddy's chief worry now is that I'll never marry and give him grandchildren." She laughed and shook her head.

"No prospects, then?"

"Oh, God no. I was really serious with a guy about three years ago when I lived in Chicago, but it didn't work. He was way too involved with himself. It took me a while to figure that out."

We arrived at the lot and came to her car first. She took my right hand in both of hers. I looked down at her long, slender fingers and was thinking that even her hands are beautiful, when she surprised me.

"Could we do this again?" she asked. "Maybe dinner? I'd love to cook for you. Are you free Saturday?" She seemed unsure of herself for the first time since I'd known her as an adult.

"I'd like that a lot," I said, maybe a little bit too quickly. "Like you, I don't have anyone taking up time on my schedule."

She looked relieved. "Thank you. Six o'clock? You know where I live, don't you?"

"I do. I'm looking forward to it."

She hugged me again, longer and closer this time, and ended the hug with a kiss -- more than a peck, but less than I wanted.

"Thank you for not treating me like a child," she said. "I've been worried that would still see me as Leon's daughter and not for the adult I am."

"As much as I liked you as a child, I'm pretty sure I like the adult version of you even better."

She flashed me a big smile, kissed my cheek and climbed into her car. She rolled down the window.

"See you Saturday!" and took off, leaving me wondering just where this was going.

I was buried in work the rest of the week. Everyone wanted a piece of me. Now that I was in the driver's seat for another four years, lots of people with axes to grind wanted to confirm they still had a seat at the table.

In my few down moments, my mind went back to that last encounter with Chantel, how her body felt against me when she hugged me, her scent as she kissed me. That electric buzz I felt when she took my hand in hers.

Am I just an avuncular figure to her? I wasn't twice her age, but it was close enough that were something to happen between us, there would be a few eyebrows raised. I was about 26 when she was 15, and at the time 11 years was the difference between childhood and adolescence. Today, she was 26 and I was 37. Still a big difference, but less of a barrier, perhaps. And where would her father be on that? He was almost like a father figure to me, a bigger than life character in my early career, guiding me, warning me of pitfalls. Helping me up when I stumbled.

If it had been another lunch together, I wouldn't have had these thoughts. Dinner at her place meant something different, I think. It felt like a date, unless I was reading something into it that wasn't there.

I was soon back to work, giving a speech at the Italian-American Civic Association's luncheon the next day, working with planners for a new minor-league stadium in our city, cutting the ribbon at a new business. All those things were the stuff of my job that I loved. I loved interacting with folks and planning my community's future.

What I didn't like -- I mean who does? -- is the inevitable conflict that was always brewing just below the surface. The conflict du jour was with our Fire Chief, who said something impolitic at a gathering of folks that included some LGBTQ advocates. The advocates interpreted it loosely to mean that the fire department wouldn't hire candidates that were LGBTQ.

"Chief somehow, you've got to make nice with this group and smooth things over. They want your head. I don't want to give it to them, but as you know, there are elements on City Council who would happily do that."

The chief was a crusty old bastard who, to be fair, was more in his element fighting fires than he was in a roomful of sensitive people. He swore too much, told too many off color jokes, and generally was a throwback to a less tolerant time. But if my house was on fire, Clarence is the guy I'd want to be in charge.

"Rory, you know all I care about is somebody's ability to do the job. If you can pass the agility and strength tests, I don't care who you sleep with."

"I know that, but I think it's going to take more than that."

"Like what?"

"I think you're going to need to come up with a plan to recruit some trans employees."

"How the hell do I do that? Go to drag nite?"

I laughed, but I shook my head too."

"You can't say that shit, Clarence. Turn it around on them. Tell them you need their help recruiting. They'll bring some candidates to you. If they don't, you're off the hook."

"Jesus..."

"Listen, Clarence," I said, "I know I've told you this before. It's not enough to be open-minded in hiring. You have to sound like you're open-minded. It's just the way it is."

On Friday I had my weekly meeting with my deputy mayor, a young Turk named Bill -- never Billy -- Johnson. Bill was not quite gunning for my job, at least not yet.

"You seem distracted Rory," Bill said as we finished up the meeting and talked about our plans for weekend. "What's up?"

"I'm having dinner tomorrow with a young woman and it feels a little ambiguous."

"How so?"

"Well, I'm not quite sure where I stand. Are we friends, or is this more like a first date, that kind of thing."

"Where's the dinner? I mean if it's at Arbys, you're just friends," he laughed. Bill was also single, so this was somewhat familiar ground for us.

"It's at her place," I said.

"Dude, that's a date. No two ways around it. Who's the lucky girl?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Saturday came around eventually, and I spent most of the day thinking about Chantel, wondering what the evening would bring. I fretted some about what to wear but settled on jeans and a polo shirt.

I was like a kid asking a girl to the prom by the time I got to her place, filled equally with dread and anticipation. But she put me at ease the minute she opened the door.

"Rory, come in," she said, enveloping me in a big hug the minute I was in the door. She turned away from me and took a step in, but I caught her hand, and she turned back, smiled, put her arms around my neck this time and kissed me, mouth open, as I crushed her to me.

She pulled back a little, looking at me from inches away. "I've wanted to do that since I was 15 years old," she said and we both laughed.

"If I told you I've wanted to do that since you were 15, you'd report me to the authorities," I quipped, and pulled her close again. "But we do have some time to make up for." We stood there, kissing, for the longest time and finally, Chantel broke away.

"We need wine," she said. "And we need to talk."

She brought two glasses of the red I had come with over to the sofa and sat next to me.

"I have to admit, I glad we did this on so many levels," she said. "I've been tortured all week about just exactly what our relationship is. Are we friends? Dating? Or are you just my dad's friend and this is platonic."

"I'm not feeling especially platonic," I said.

She leaned closer, kissed me and said "Me, neither."

I put my arm around her and she cuddled into my shoulder.

"I want this, but we have to talk about what this means to my dad."

"What do you think it means?"

"I'm just not sure. The only thing I know for sure is that I don't want him to find out from someone else. I'm hoping that he'll be accepting of it, but what happens if he's not?"

"You've put some thought into this."

Big smile now. "Pretty much since I was 15."

"Not really?"

"Yes, literally." she smiled when she said it. "Of course I didn't see you for like 7 or eight years. But literally since the day I met you when I got back to town, I've thought of little else."

"Do you think your dad has any idea you feel like this?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But he often knows things long before I tell him."

"Well, right now, we don't really have anything to tell him. I mean we've kissed a few times."

She gave me a funny look.

"You don't want to sleep with me?"

I didn't answer. I pulled her to me and ran my hand up under her T shirt as we kissed. We broke for a minute, and I started pulling her T shirt over her head, then unclasped her bra and took it off her. I leaned over and took the nipple of her left breast into my mouth and sucked, then kissed her breasts all over.

"What else do I need to do to convince you?" I asked.

She stood, grabbed my hand and pulled me up off the sofa. I immediately went back to her breast, kneading one with one hand while I sucked on the other. I learned, to my delight, that her breasts were very sensitive when she gasped in pleasure and threw her head back.

"Come," she said, again taking me by the hand as she led me back to her bedroom. Once there, she set her wine on the dresser and dropped to her knees, working my belt and zipper and finally the clasp on my jeans, sliding them and my boxers over my hips. When she took me into her mouth, I sighed and put my hands on her silky hair. When I felt like I was getting close, I grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up, bringing her close again. We kissed some more.