A Capital Affair

Every adventure story needs an epilogue to tie up the loose ends. At least, that's what I learned while sitting on my tuches in English 101. A lot went down since my divorce and it seems to have worked out well for everybody involved, even Barry. Let's start with Dolores, my nanny. Since the divorce, she became my best friend. Frankly, I wouldn't be able to hold an executive position and raise two children if I didn't have someone like Dolores at my side. She's taken more than her share of the responsibility for the kids and the house. When I return from work, my house is clean and tidy and I get a full report on the kids' activities for the day.

After a few months of the two of us working together, I felt close enough to Dolores to ask whether Barry ever tried to put the make on her. As I suspected all along, he did try several times starting with my trip to Montreal. He even offered her money while I was in Ottawa if she would go to bed with him. She says she refused every time, of course, because she's a good Catholic Filipina and a married woman. She admires me and didn't want to betray me by cheating with my husband. I believed her because more than one guy told me that Filipinas are very, very hard to get into bed.

Dolores begged me to forgive her for not telling me right away what had happened in my absence. She thinks I'm such a good person that, perhaps, I would forgive Barry and fire her instead. I thanked her for her confidence in me but I had to admit that I'm not as nice and forgiving as she thinks. I spilled my guts and told her the whole story about how I discovered that Barry was having an affair and the whole sordid tale about how I had an affair of my own out of spite and revenge.

Of course I didn't say that it was an African ambassador that I bedded but still I expected the same moral outrage she used when Barry propositioned her. Such a moral Catholic would be disappointed in me, I assumed. I prepared myself for a long lecture on the sanctity of marriage. Instead she hugged me without hesitation and said:

"You did the right thing, Miss Regina. Mr. Halevy is a real momser."

Wow! Dolores not only sharpened her English by hanging around us but she picked up some naughty Yiddish words along the way. Her reaction to my confession affirmed that I made the right choice in my life. We hugged and cried and bonded more like sisters than employer/employee. Once I discovered that Dolores could be morally flexible, I wasn't surprised by what happened next. A month later when I was leaving for work on a dismal winter Monday, I noticed that Dolores was walking around in pain. I asked if she slipped on the ice on the weekend. Did I ever learn a lot about my nanny.

Apparently Dolores' husband sent a letter, e-mail or text begging her to send more money any way she could. Her son needed to go to a special needs school if he was ever to have a life. I remembered that Dolores mentioned she had an autistic son back in the Philippines. Like any good mother, she looked into getting a second job as a cleaning lady or flipping hamburgers. Her friends wisely warned her that would get her deported tout de suite thanks to Canada's Temporary Foreign Worker laws.

She knew I would give her the money if she asked me but she thought I was already too good to her by giving her time off whenever she asked. Her Filipina friends are all just as poor as she is so she didn't even bother asking them. Her only alternative she claimed was to accept $100 from a Canadian man in exchange for spending the weekend with him. It seems she made $100 last weekend but now she hurts "down there".

A good mother should do anything to help her child but what was Dolores thinking? How could a good Filipina Catholic commit adultery, especially after telling me how she turned down Barry's proposition? That must be how she got the idea to turn her body into ready cash but I was still shaking my head. My first concern was for Dolores' health so I took her right away to my gynecologist. Dr. Goldstein goes to the same shul as me so I could ask him as a favour to see her on an emergency basis. After the examination, he determined that there was bruising around the entrance of Dolores' vagina but no permanent injuries. Finally, my fellow congregant gave Dolores a pregnancy tester, a prescription for birth control pills and a stern lecture on the hazards of promiscuity in Canada.

My advice to Dolores was not to go back to her benefactor until she felt better. That bought me time to find out what sort of a man she had hooked up with. Was he just a total loser who had to pay to get a woman? Or could he be sexual predator, a pimp setting her up for a position in his human trafficking organization or just an ordinary woman abuser? I decided to text Damien to ask if his security guys could find out who and what Dolores' lover was. To motivate Damien, I suggested that this man could pose a security threat as Dolores knew exactly the times when he came to my house for a conjugal visit.

Security couriered a disk the very next day. My nanny's sugar daddy was Ramsey Goodwood, a local businessman, single and unattached. They found all his personal information, which included a partnership in a medium sized accounting firm, a North York condo near Dolores' apartment, a Muskoka cottage, a healthy bank account and a sizeable stock portfolio. He had no police record or any discernible social life other than an eldership in his church. Ramsey was exactly the kind of guy I would like to have as my lover if I didn't have a great one already.

Having approved of Dolores' lover, I had to help them work out their problem the best way I could. In a few days, her bruises healed and the STD and pregnancy tests were all negative so we went shopping together at the neighbourhood love shop. Our first stop was the dildo rack. After Dolores uncovered her eyes, she pointed to one that that looked like her new lover's shlong. I immediately knew what the problem was between these two. Mr. Goodwood seems to be quite well-hung and Dolores buys her clothes off the petite rack. By now I consider myself an expert in large shlong so I knew how to help Dolores. I bought the dildo and some lubricant.

As a precaution, I gave Dolores a Xanax to take before we tried penetration so she could relax and not clench up. In the privacy of my bedroom, I demonstrated how to take in big shlong, using my Sean Michaels dildo as an example, a liberal application of lubricant and bringing up my legs to get the right angle. I made Dolores do the same with her Ramsey-sized dildo and it she took it in like a Manila street hooker. OK, that was weird, two semi-naked women in bed with their legs in the air playing with our dildos but I needed to know that Dolores and Ramsey could fit together.

Before I sent her off to Ramsey with a supply of Xanax and lubricant, I had to get her out of the shmates she was wearing and into some nice clothes and sexy panties underneath. She had to look more feminine to keep Ramsey's wallet wide open. Of course, I got Dolores the clothes wholesale on my account at Nerdstorm's. Only the goyim pay full MSRP.

Despite the kinky moments in our growing relationship, you can't disagree with me that I've done a mitzvah for Dolores and her autistic son. Every Monday, Dolores comes to work with a well-laid smile on her face. She takes better care of her appearance and we talk a lot about the kinds of clothes she should wear for a better appearance. She doesn't talk much about her sex life except for one Monday when she showed up tired, complaining about how many times they did it on the weekend. That doesn't happen if a couple isn't into each other. Is this a love story in the making? My only concern is what happens when her contract is up and she needs to return to her husband in the Philippines.

Technically, Dolores and Ramsey meet all the criteria of a prostitute and a john. But, I'm not about to judge either one of them, given my own sexual rap sheet. I'm sure that only the love of a mother for her child could make Dolores do what she did. Unless you've been in the same desperate situation, needing to get help for your child, don't judge Dolores. If you've ever exchanged as little as a box of chocolates for a roll in the bed, you're no better than Dolores and Ramsey and you're both quite cheap by comparison.

Helping Dolores to help her son by imparting my more extensive experience and knowledge of sexual technology was a mitzvah. Still, it's difficult to get my head around the fact that my children are now being raised by two adulteresses, one of them being a part time escort. Dolores cheats on her husband and is just as immoral as me. But you must give her credit for chutzpah and enterprise.

My idea about African clothing worked out for a lot of people including my employer. African-themed fashions caught on and became a big seller. I let my boss and the CEO take all the credit because I really didn't want anyone inquiring about my deep connections to Xxxxxxx. Nerdstorm USA noticed the Canadian subsidiary's increase in sales just at the time they needed a new fashion line to replace Ivanka Trump's. Nerdstorm USA promoted African fashions in the American stores big time with the result that Nerdstorm's became very popular with trendy, prosperous Afro-American women who previously would never have thought about shopping there.

As a result, my CEO was promoted to the U. S. Head Office and my boss became the Canadian CEO. Fashionable clothing became a big foreign exchange earner for Xxxxxxx, which did not go unnoticed by their government. Damien let Lubumble take the credit for the idea because he prefers that nobody discovers that the idea originated with his mistress. Lubumble was happy enough to play along because Xxxxxxx transferred him to Washington as their U.S. Trade Commissioner where they never heard of his penchant for amateurishly hacking into computers.

I didn't lose out by letting my superiors take all the credit. I became Nerdstorm Canada's VP Fashion once my boss was promoted. The bad news is that my new job is more responsibility than before. I need to balance my career with my family so I make every effort to complete my work and get home before Dolores leaves. Luckily, Barry and I have joint custody of the children. That's a great help to me as they need a hands-on father while they're growing up. For all his faults as a husband, Barry takes his duties as a father seriously.

Lubumble proved to be as big a shlemazl as a Trade Commissioner as he was as a computer hacker. The American mining company he recommended to exploit Xxxxxxx's unobtanium deposits went bankrupt after the stock exchange delisted their shares. I never understood all of the details of what happened but Damien mentioned the name Ponzi several times. What an Italian has to do with an American mining company, I don't know.

Fortunately, when Lubumble called his mentor to get out of this jam, Damien asked me in turn for any advice I might have to help the President's nephew. I read in the Jewish newspapers that the Israeli company, Barad and Barack, had magnesium deposits around the Dead Sea that were running out. The company was looking for new ventures to replace the income from the Sodom facility. My advice to Damien was to have the Israelis take over the project from the Americans. As a result, Xxxxxxx broke rank with other African countries and established diplomatic relations with Israel, to their mutual advantage. Isn't that a mitzvah, to bring peace between two different countries?

To his credit, Lubumble doesn't forget his friends. He put in a good word to his uncle about how well Damien mentored him (all on my advice, of course). Now the President and Damien are really good friends. The President knows his nephew isn't smart enough to sell fashion clothing and unobtanium on his own and realizes that Damien is the source of Lubumble's and his own government's success. He wants Damien to work with him and be the first person from his tribe to join his government.

That's not such good news for me because it means Damien ultimately will need to leave me behind when he returns to Xxxxxxx. I can't leave my children or my career but, for the good of his country, I can't stand in the way of Damien from accepting the President's offer. When he joins the new government, Damien and the President working side by side will put an end to further political (read tribal) warfare. I will miss Damien terribly. My only consolation will be that it's a mitzvah if I helped bring peace to a small part of Africa.

The lovely Ms. Umfolosi took my compliments about her clothes seriously. She left government service, returned home and prospered as one of Xxxxxxx's leading couturieres. When African fashions became a North American fad, foreign money moved into Xxxxxxx to set up sweat shops that made cheap knock-off clothes. Instead, Ms. Umfolosi organized the seamstresses into co-operatives that paid fair wages, charged fair prices and shared the profits. The success of the co-ops made Ms. Umfolosi Xxxxxxx's leading advocate for women's rights and gender equality. She married her soccer star boyfriend and now they're the power couple of Xxxxxxx.

I read in the news that that Ms Umfolosi is leading a crusade to end female genital mutilation in the bush of Xxxxxxx. Apparently women in other African countries have joined her and the movement is spreading across the continent. When I asked Damien about her, he said that the President is trying to recruit Ms. Umfolosi to his government, as well as Damien. I try to encourage them both so that Xxxxxxx will have a non-tribal, non-gender government. Ms. Umfolosi is probably destined to be Xxxxxxx's first female Prime Minister. I think it counts as a mitzvah if a few kind words to another woman ended up bettering the lives of women in Africa.

Because Damien is still the ambassador to Canada thanks to Lubumble putting in a good word with his uncle, the security staff got to keep their jobs since. It's not the same kind of success as Ms. Umfolosi has but it sure beats standing in an unemployment line in Xxxxxxx City. There's really not much work for spies who've been declared redundant. I'm happy that they're still with Damien because they're really two charming guys once they remove their gun holsters and chill out. When Damien visits the Consulate in Toronto, the three of them have dinner at my house. It seems that Africans go nuts over Jewish cuisine.

Precious Okele is the older of the two and loves to chat about anything except his marriage. Whenever I ask about his wife, Chastity, I just get some perfunctory answer. It's unfortunate that he's so reticent about his personal life since I could use a few insights on African man/woman relationships to be a better lover for Damien.

Thomas Ifejike is Security's computer expert. He's not your typical computer nerd or hacker. He's a real mensch, tall and fit and a fine conversationalist despite English being his second language. We've become such good buddies that Thomas finally confessed that he's never been married or even had a girlfriend. I couldn't believe the words I was hearing. The concept of a twenty-eight year old virgin boggles the mind of anybody living in Canada, especially given how good-looking and hardbodied Thomas is. I didn't think he was a closet gay because Damien told me that homosexuality is a taboo in Xxxxxxx and gays never get to work for the government. Also, I sensed that Thomas wanted a woman but I didn't know what was holding him back.

I had to get answers so the next time Damien and I got together I made sure that I gave him an extra special ride. When a man is thoroughly satisfied, he's more open and forthcoming with secrets. That's when I learned all about Thomas' hard life, how he was orphaned as a child and grew up on the streets of the toughest neighbourhoods of Xxxxxxx City and, as a result, developed serious trust issues. His distrust of the police landed him in trouble when he wouldn't "confess" on his friends so the police could "solve" some outstanding crimes.

Thomas spent his time wisely in juvenile prison, got an education and showed an aptitude for computers. He developed a reputation among his fellow inmates for breaking into the prison computers and altering prisoners' records. Instead of sending Thomas to adult prison, the prison authorities recognized his talent and recommended him to Xxxxxxx's version of CSIS or the Mossad. There, he came to the attention of Precious Okele who took Thomas under his wing, turning his life around and building his career. Damien brought them both to Canada when he was appointed ambassador. Despite his new life off the streets, Thomas still distrusts strangers, which is how he got to be a 28-year old celibate.

Listening to Thomas' story made me want to be Thomas' first woman. A mixture of Damien's and my fluids trickled down my thigh. You probably think that I just wanted to shtup another guy but my desire was far nobler than just lust. A motherly desire to heal Thomas' hurts by comforting him the way only a woman can do it came over me in addition to lust. I wanted to break through his trust barrier, show him how good it felt to be close to a woman and to touch each other intimately. Once I took Thomas inside my body, his hurts would disappear. Thomas would become a complete man because of me.

Of course, Damien would be so hurt if I bedded his employee, even if it was to give Thomas a fulfilled life. But I could accomplish the mission vicariously through the right woman. Damien was exhausted by now and looked as if he was about to roll over and sleep. Hanging around lawyers like Barry taught me to only ask questions that I already knew the answer to. When I asked Damien if there were any available women for Thomas at the Xxxxxxxian embassy, I already knew that his answer would be "No." If there were any women available, Damien wouldn't have gone looking for me. Then Damien asked the question I was really looking to get out of him: "Did I know any suitable Canadian woman who would be a good match for Thomas?"

Of course I did. Every Jewish mother has a shadchanit inside her screaming to be let free so I called Rochelle Blumfeld the next day and set a lunch meeting. Rochelle's been divorced for three years and hasn't started dating yet. Apparently, her divorce was bitter and her Yekke putz of an ex-husband neglected to sign her Get before he made aliah to Israel. That means she's not married, divorced or even eligible for a date in the Jewish community. She's probably lonely and desperately horny but, even more important for my purpose, she's a successful rehabilitation therapist, which means she has a lot of patience and empathy with broken people.

Rochelle had experience helping mend a broken body but could she help someone with a broken spirit like Thomas? I had some trepidation on my way to lunch with Rochelle about what I was about to ask her. It takes real chutzpah to ask a good friend to become a surrogate partner but it turned out to be so easy. The indirect approach always works so I started by admitting that I had a lover now that I was divorced. I described how a lover is more attentive than a husband without all those maintenance issues that a husband brings. The look on Rochelle's face was obvious that she wanted a lover as well.

Then I asked Rochelle whether she was ready to begin dating again. Yes, she had been ready for some time but she hadn't found anyone yet. I asked her then if she would consider dating a sheygets. She admitted that, in her situation, she had to look a bit further afield. Did I have anyone in mind? I said that I knew a really nice guy who was looking for a girlfriend but he had some hang-ups. Rochelle backed off, explaining that she dealt all day with people with problems and did she really need more on her own time? When I elaborated that this particular sheygets was an African, her enthusiasm returned. I assumed correctly that Rochelle is another Jewish woman intrigued by the interracial thing.