Marie is a scrumptious, mature woman with whom I correspond. She is a delight and has even begun publishing deliciously wicked interracial stories of her own under the name MarieProvost. If you enjoy the older white woman younger black man genre you'll love her work.
This story takes a while to unfold. If you're searching for a quick beat off tale, you may want to look elsewhere.
Marie was fifty-two and wanted something that was logically out of her price range. A new car. A nice one, very nice. She didn't live in poverty or anything. She was a professional as was her husband. They'd raised two children, great kids, college educated at Mom and Dad's expense, successful in their own right now.
It was, she reasoned, her turn. She wasn't, and never had been, someone to recline on a lounge chair while others dropped grapes into her mouth. Marie was a doer, a worker, an achiever. When she wanted something she went out and earned it for herself, and that was how she found herself working on a summer project for the school district alongside a black nineteen-year-old college kid named Blaine.
She'd taught summer school years ago when her children were still at home and the family needed the income, but for the past dozen years she was used to summers off. July and August recharged her batteries and she was no longer interested in sharing those months with the students that occupied her time five-sixths of the year.
This year, the district had embarked on an effort to catalogue and enumerate all of the system's physical property from air conditioners and maintenance tools to textbooks and sports equipment. Records were kept, of course, but those got out of date quickly.
Property that no longer existed was still on the books, database descriptions didn't match physical inventory, items were mis-categorized, double counted, located elsewhere, weren't usable, were unwanted, or had a myriad of other identification problems that lead district leaders to make uninformed decisions.
The state issued a grant and Marie was one of the teachers kept on for the summer to complete the work. Dozens of college students were also engaged and each teacher was paired with one or more students to form teams. Marie was originally assigned three helpers, two of which never reported. The third was Blaine.
"You're Ms. Provost," Blaine said at the end of a two day orientation where roles and duties were explained and assignments handed out.
"Were you a student?" Marie asked, wracking her brain to come up with a name a decade or more dormant.
"Not in your class. In the school, though. I'm..."
"Don't tell me," Marie said quickly, assuming the role she'd played for thirty years. "...You're Blaine!"
The young black man beamed that Ms. Provost had remembered him. The truth was that he'd been very fond of the teacher everyone called Mrs. Brady behind her back because of a strong resemblance to Florence Henderson. She was so much smaller than Blaine remembered her. The discrepancy, of course, was due to an increase in him rather than a diminution of Marie.
He's that boy,
