Chapter 15

Dinner was old-fashioned pot roast, probably warmed-over in my honor, but delicious. "You must have had some kitchen duty at the convent," I said, pushing back my chair and pouring another glass of iced tea for each of us.

"Nope. Learned to cook at home, from my mother -- right here in this kitchen," she said.

"Your momma taught you well."

"My mother and father were very loving parents -- in their way," Alice said, "but I think they steered me into the religious life too fast, and with too much pressure. It was a loving act, as they saw it, but it was a huge mistake, for me. I think I knew it, right from the start, but... you know how it is. You don't want to disappoint your parents."

"You stayed with it for an awfully long time," I said.

"Well, the nurses' training was something I really liked. And I was socially inept, even at that early time, so I didn't perceive myself as missing out on anything, during that time in training. Nursing school was amazing, and I really took to it. It occupied all my energy and interest. It wasn't until after the education, when I was working as a nurse full time, that I began to feel that something was wrong."

"But you liked the work?"

"Very much. But I worked in a situation where not all the nurses were members of the Order. There was, even back then, a great shortage of women who wanted to join the convent. And there was a nurses' shortage, generally. So our hospital ended up with a majority of its nursing staff being... secular women -- even a few male nurses, too."

"Non-nuns?" I said, trying, I guess, to get a smile.

Alice did smile. "That's right. Non-nuns. Most of them were, I think, good Catholic girls, but they were true civilians, and the lives they lived -- the glimpses I got of their off-duty lives -- made me realize that my... personal attitudes weren't entirely appropriate for being a nun."

"You envied those other women?"

"Sometimes, yes. I mean, in many cases, they were just young women with what were often messy and unenviable relationships with young men. It wasn't all sweetness and light. It wasn't like I was always just seeing the good side of the secular life. But I... well, I noticed the men, and, to me -- comparing my own way of life to those young women -- it seemed that I was really missing something."

"But you stayed with it, all those year?"

"Yes. And even after I left the Order. Even after I made the choice of a new way of living, nothing much has changed."

"Do you ever... regret leaving?"

"No. Not at all. And I don't feel any guilt about it, either. Choosing to leave the convent and the Church were the first real choices I'd ever made, entirely for myself. Making those choices made me feel... strong."

"I'm glad. I'm glad you decided to do it, and that you're happy with your decision."

"But. I expected to meet someone like you, much sooner," she said, shyly.

"What? A big Black baseball player?"

Alice laughed. "No. In fact, I rather pictured you as a skinny, balding little ex-priest. Somebody who, like me, had decided, after some years in the Church, to make some fundamental changes."

"A skinny, balding ex-priest?... I can do that!" I said.

"Sure you could... In another life, maybe."

"That's a funny image you had -- of the man that you would allow into your life."

"Not when you think about it. I knew about a few men and women who'd left the church. I even knew about a specific couple who had married: He was a former priest, almost fifty years old; she had been a nun, and was around forty. It seemed that it would likely be the most realistic possibility for me, too -- meeting a man like him."

"A new kind of networking," I said.

"I don't think I understand," Alice said.

"Forget it. It's just my idea of topical humor," I told her. "But you've gotta admit, we're an odd couple, you and I. I mean, when you envisioned your first post-convent date, you weren't thinking of a black jock, I'll bet."

"I don't think of you, even now, as a jock," Alice said. "You don't act like a jock is supposed to act. And -- forgive me -- I don't think of you as being black, either. I mean, I'm conscious of your race, but you... you wouldn't even be considered black, in some cultures."

"But I am black," I said, "in this culture. And you may find that, occasionally, it makes a difference. When I'm away from the celebrity-jock limelight, it can get downright awkward. Humiliating, even."

"It doesn't seem awkward. Not to me," she said, "and I cannot imagine anyone having the power to... to humiliate someone as... as formidable as you."

"Humiliation can be subtle," I said. "Sometimes, it's so subtle that I would hesitate to call attention to it by responding; by reacting. But I know it when I see it, all the same."

"I hope it's something that you only experience rarely," she said.

"More and more rarely," I agreed. "Almost never, in fact. But the fact that it's rare just means that, when it does occur, it's all the more shocking."

"Let's go into the living room," Alice said.

We took our same places on the couch -- where Alice's imaginary Dad could see our shoulders, should he choose to sneak down the steps behind us and check up on our behavior.

"Zeke, I don't want to do these... these practice things we've been doing. I understand what you saw yourself doing. You were trying to ease me into... things. But let's don't play pretend games anymore, Zeke. Please."

"We won't pretend," I told her. "But let's don't hurry, either, Sweetie. Let me stay the night. I won't sleep in the guest room; I'll sleep with you. But we won't hurry... OK? Tonight will only be a beginning."

I followed Alice upstairs and, for the first time, we went into her little bedroom together and closed the door behind us. The room was low-ceilinged and crowded; the furnishings, and the bed, were old-fashioned. Possibly, I thought, that had been her parents' marriage bed.

In the dim light of a single small table lamp, I began slowly removing Alice's clothing. She stood before me, neither helping nor resisting. As I untied the neck strap of the sundress, her bare breasts were revealed as the dress first fell to her waist, and then to the floor.

I took off my own shirt as well, and my slacks.

She stepped out of her shoes on her own, and she wore no stockings. I admired her strong, well-toned body, now clad only in panties.

I stood and looked at her. Surprisingly, she displayed no shred of false modesty. She continued to stand tall and straight, and her bare breasts were lovely, and surprisingly heavy. They didn't protrude, like the breasts of a young girl; they sagged a little. They were the breasts of an adult woman: a lovely, unspoiled adult woman.

I felt an overwhelming need for gentleness. She was trusting me to help her through what must seem a terrifying experience. Thrilling, perhaps. Welcome. But terrifying, all the same.

She stood, waiting, with her panties still on while I stripped off my own underwear. My penis was erect: Rampant? Is that the word? She looked at it with an expression of frank interest, and, perhaps, a tinge of fear. With her panties still covering her sex, I kissed her again, this time with my bare penis crushed against our bodies. Her return kiss was very responsive. She was giving me permission to go on.

"Lie down," I told her, my voice as gentle and undemanding as I could make it.

She did. I drank in the sight of her there. She was more lovely, even, than I had anticipated. I had become interested in this woman without her initial appeal being physical in nature. I had known, had sensed, that she was attractive. Now I was learning she was far more than merely attractive. She was stunning.

And I felt responsible for her. For her happiness. For her welfare. I felt myself praying that I could make this night good for her. I wanted it to be a moment in her life that she would remember with pleasure. One she would want to repeat.