I had been on the job for a month when she started. We filed into the small meeting room at our disposal one hour Monday mornings and Ben said, “Okay, peons…”

“Pee off on the peon crap,” said Harriet.

“Yeah, you make, what? 55 cents more an hour than we do, so don’t get above yourself, friend,” said Fiona.

“You tell’im, Miss Mtotwa,” Harriet joined in, and she and Fiona high fived.

“No, you forget, I’m an engineer, you’re…what are you gonna be again, a PE teacher?”

“Physical therapist, Benny Boy.”

Harriet piped in, “And you’re not an engineer yet…and you’ll only stay an engineer long enough for your first bridge to collapse.”

We all finished laughing and Ben continued, “Okay, okay, it’s all fun and games until you hurt someone. Then it’s just fun. Now, allow me to introduce our newest shelver, Callie Baker.”

The stunning black woman sitting next to him in the high collar and sweater stood up. “Pleased to meet all of you.”

“What do you study?” asked Fiona.

“Accounting.”

“Do you do taxes? Like, international taxes, you know, for people who don’t have PhDs in advanced math?”

“No. Would I be working in a library if I did?”

Harriet chortled happily as Fiona slapped the table laughing; the rest of us laughed and shook our heads.

We went around the table introducing ourselves, the six of us, though I found it hard to speak naturally when I looked into her eyes. She smiled warmly at each of us, and I was surprised to find myself jealous of each of the others getting the same smile I did. She was assigned to shadow Harriet, which left me despondent, and the two of them wandered off after we all had a quick cup of caffeinated mud from the lounge, Harriet saying, “You know, you don’t have to dress like a librarian just because you work in a library.”

“If I had tattoos like yours I might dress like you, but I don’t.”

“I can set you up.”

“No thanks, not my style.”

“Ah, come on, you don’t want a Celtic cross and harp on your arm?” she teased.

Callie smiled as they walked off down the hall, “I’m afraid my skin isn’t as suitable a canvas as yours for such art.”

They then turned the corner and their voices faded away.

Monday was one of my six-hour days, so at lunch I ate two sandwiches as Ben slammed down something spicy and disgusting he said he had made up in the kitchen, though I suspected “scraped off the floor” was more accurate. Callie went off to eat with Harriet and Fiona and I sat there trying to convince myself she wasn’t all that. However, when I saw her again that afternoon I decided she was.

The next two days passed uneventfully. On Thursday morning I had just left the lounge and was walking down the corridor at a fairly fast clip. Something to my left caught my eye, and I glanced that way just as I passed a side corridor that Callie was just then exiting. My right elbow sank into her left breast. I looked down and backed away quickly, bringing my elbows to my side. As I blushed furiously, my ears ringing, I said, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking!”

She smiled sweetly and said, “Don’t worry about it. I should have been more careful.”

“No, really, I am so sorry.”

“It was an accident. We should both just be more careful in the future.”

Certain I was marked out as a pervert in her eyes for the rest of time, I said, “Listen, I should let you get to work.”

“Actually, I was looking for you. I’m shadowing you today.”

“Tired of shelving?”

“Not really, but I need to learn about the file keeping.”

“Well, come this way then.” We walked down the corridor between the bookcases towards my little cubbyhole behind a desk.

“So what do you study?”

I sighed, “Not library science, thank god.”

She chuckled and said, “Wasn’t it Russian studies?”

“Slavic, but yes.”

“We’ll be able to keep our own secrets and makes jokes about everyone else then.”

“Ah, vy govorite?”

“Da.”

“Skol’ko vremeni?”

“Tri goda.”

“Excellent. But why?”

“Curiosity.”

I goggled. “Good for you then!” She smiled.

When we got to my little office I said, “Okay, so all the books come here for this floor and we scan them in. We have to go to this screen here. That’s to indicate they’re back here in case anyone can’t find one when they’re looking. They often can’t because grad students are assholes and hide the books they need for research one or two shelves over so no one else will check them out. Then we put them on the carts in order. When each one is scanned, you have to do this, click this, and check the message here. And that’s it.”

As I pointed all this out to her, she stood next to me so close that my elbow nearly sank into her breast again. Ordinarily this would have appealed to me, but after accidentally groping her it made me nervous as hell, and when I looked over at her, she looked back at me with a simple expression. I shifted a little away from her and said, “Boring, I know. When we get a cart full, someone will come to get it to shelve. Books come in three times a day, so apart from that it’s just trouble-shooting. If people are sick, then we shelve the ones near the station, but otherwise we just do routine work and have time to read coursework maybe two hours a shift.”

I let her practice scanning in a few, then I scanned in a few, and showed her the rest of the job as tasks came and went. After a while we had time to chat, so she and I sat in my cubbyhole as I watched the desk.

“So what does Callie stand for?”

“Callimastia,” she said with a small smile.

I coughed slightly and stared nowhere but her eyes, and certainly not down. “I will take your word for that.”

She laughed and said, “No, it’s short for Calinda.”

“Oh, like Delius!”

She goggled a little at that and said, “Yes, exactly. My parents’ favorite.”

“That is quite a surprise.”

She gave a mock frown and said, “Oh really. And why is that?”

“They’re Americans, right? Not British?”

She laughed, “Yes, well, they’re great Anglophiles. When they retire they’re going to find some impecunious noble and buy his title.” After a second she said, “I’m just shitting you. It’s Callista, like you’d expect.”

We laughed and chatted easily for the rest of the morning. When we went to clock out at one, she asked, “What are you doing for lunch?”

“No real plans.”

“Oh.”

I gathered up my courage and said, “Allow me to buy you lunch. To…make up for earlier.”

She smiled, “Okay, I’d like that.”

After that the ice was broken and we ate lunch together every day after that. Two Mondays later when work ended, I walked her out of the library, and when we got outside I asked, “What are you doing tonight?”

She looked up at the sky and over at the trees and back at me and said, “I was going to wash my hair and clip my toenails. Why?”

“Oh, well, if you have such a packed schedule, I guess no reason, really.”

“Where did you want to take me?”

I resisted the urge to say Against the wall to start and smiled, “Dinner and a walk in the park.”

“That sounds perfect.” She smiled and said, “Where shall we meet?”

We made arrangements and each went to our separate classes.

I was at the restaurant a few minutes early, and she was right on time. Fortunately, we had dressed about the same, me in slacks, long-sleeve dress shirt, and sweater, her in a black skirt, green satin blouse, and light sweater.

“You look beautiful tonight,” I said.

“Thank you, kind sir. You look quite presentable for a grad student.”

I gave her a mock bow and after we chatted without much purpose while surveying the menu, we gave our orders and then I asked her, “So, what are you reading these days?”

“Oh, I probably shouldn’t tell you.”

“Ah, well then, you probably shouldn’t.”

“Oh, but I know you’re eager now to hear.”

“No, not if I shouldn’t hear.”

In mock frustration she said, “What are you reading then?”

“I certainly shouldn’t tell you that!”

“Now you have to,” she grinned.

“Bryusov.”

“The interesting stuff or the naughty stuff?”

“Both at the same time.”

“Oh, well, if you’re reading that, what I’m reading is nothing then.”

“Well, if it’s nothing, then we should just let it pass.”

She gave a mock squeal of frustration and said, “I should let you decide for yourself then since you’re so contrary.”

“Or not.”

We laughed and she said, “Okay. So, I found out a friend of mine has a blog, and she was writing about a number of things that…I had no idea she was like that.”

“Such as?”

“Well, the big surprise was…she has more than one lover. And they know about each other. It sounds quite tame, really, nothing wild, but still.” She spoke lightly but seemed to be watching my reaction.

“Well, some people are like that.”

“It made me start thinking…not that I’m interested in it, but would I be able to do that?”

“Yes. I suppose for many people the jealousy would ruin it.”

“True, but lots of people have done that without a problem. And not just crazy Russian intellectuals.”

We laughed and I said, “Yes, but we only know about the Russian intellectuals who could handle it. The ones who couldn’t killed each other.”

We laughed again and she said, “It made me wonder is all.”

“I suppose it would depend on the situation. And the people.”

She smiled, “Yes. It would take special people.”

“True, but too, how would you schedule it? Put up a list of chores on the refrigerator?”

She laughed happily and said, “And for each one you do you get a quarter.”

“Well, no, you’d want to make the payment depend on how well it was done.”

“True. —So, tell me about the Bryusov you read.”

“Today was a story about…well, the person in the mirror. From her point of view, trying to get back out.”

“Ooh. Nice. Tell me more.”

Dinner went swimmingly, and after I settled up we walked to the park. Once we got inside, she allowed me to hold her hand and we walked down one of the lighted paths until we got to a branch. “So, which way, sir?”

“That way is lit, but that way is more interesting.”

She rounded her lips and said, “Ooh, show me then.”

We started down the dark path, which was lit somewhat by patches of moonlight and soon reached a small grassy area surrounded by trees. I said, “Care to sit?”

She walked ahead of me to the grass near the trees and sat down. I sat next to her and she faced me. “Are the trees thick around here?”

“Somewhat. There’s a band of forest about fifteen yards across, then the path again.”

“Is it impassable?”

“There’s a path, but it’s a bit hemmed in.”

“Shall we explore?”

In surprise I said, “Certainly.” I stood up and helped her up, and I pointed out the path and she walked ahead of me. After about five yards she stopped and said, “Quiet. Like no one is around at all for twenty miles.”

“Yes.”

She found a moonlit spot and leaned against a tree and looked at me. I looked back at her and moved to her side. She looked up at me unblinkingly in the moonlight and then closed her eyes as I leaned in. Her lips were full and soft and inviting, and soon she was kissing me deeply. She raised one arm around my neck, and the other soon snuck around my waist. She leaned hard against me, pressing her body against mine, clearly undisturbed by the prominence of my erection pressed against her belly, but when I raised my left hand from my waist toward her breasts, she shook her head and whispered, “No. You already felt it, remember?” I laughed and nodded and she added, “Slowly, slowly. It’s more fun that way.”

We kissed for another hour, by the end of it like two teenagers worn to a frazzle but refusing to go further, and I said, “Shall I walk you somewhere? Would you like something to drink?”

“I would love a beer before I go home.”

“Well then.” I held my arm out for her, and she followed me back to the grassy clearing. We then walked arm in arm to a small pub, where we had a beer each and chatted a little more.

When we left, she said, “The park was lovely this time of night.”

“The moonlight was delightful.”

“Shall I walk you to your place?”

“No,” she said simply. “No, I’d rather not.”

I said nothing, and when we reached an intersection, she said, “We separate here.” She kissed me sweetly and whispered, “Remember, trust is everything with me.”

I said, “I understand.”

“And do you agree?”

“Yes.”

She smiled and watched me as I walked on my way, and after I was some distance away waved goodbye and went on her way. I went to bed as soon as I got home and woke up at three when my climax flooded the sheets. I wiped up and went back to sleep, shaking my head at the state I was in.

The next three nights we met for short walks after dinner that always ended up in darkened spots ideal for leaning against each other as we kissed. Friday night we walked along the creek near campus, and after we had kissed for fifteen minutes, she whispered, “I think it’s been long enough since the last time you felt me up.” I chuckled and she smiled and said, “Just on the outside.”

I leaned in and kissed her deeply as my left hand slowly moved up her side from her hip. She trembled as it passed over her blouse, her sweater now wrapped around her shoulders, and sucked on my tongue as my fingers moved along the bra to the swell of her right breast. I caressed it tenderly as she sucked more firmly on my tongue, and when I finally cupped her breast she moaned quietly and pushed her breast into my hand.

Her nipple was erect and easily tweaked through her thin blouse and lacy bra, and as I kissed down her jaw to her neck and up to her right ear, her rasping breath sounded heavily in my ears. I moved my left hand back to her back and brought my right hand to her left breast, and she chuckled, “I do hope they’re the right size. I don’t offer refunds or exchanges, you know.”

“I don’t know, they might be a little too large. I guess I’ll just have to put up with that, won’t I?”

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, sir.”

We chuckled and I sucked quietly on her neck as she started falling to pieces under my right hand and lips. Five minutes later I had both hands on her breasts and her tongue down my throat, and with a sudden groan her thighs twisted against each other and she moaned into my mouth. She breathed more slowly after a minute and said, “Thank you,” though whether for helping her or not pressing further was unclear, probably both.

I looked at her and she looked at me, and as she made no move to do anything I smiled and kissed her. “Buy me a beer?” she asked.

“I’d say you need one after that.”

“Yes,” she said simply. I held my arm out for her and she glanced down significantly and asked, “You’re sure you can walk?”

We laughed and I said, “Yes.”

She took my arm and leaned against me as we walked, her sweat drying, and she shivered and put her sweater back on. We went to our usual watering hole and had our usual beer, and when we separated she said, “I’m going to visit my family tomorrow morning. I’ll be back Monday. I hope you won’t be lonely.”

“I will be, but I can manage.”

She cupped my cheek and kissed me, and as she turned, she brushed her hip against my cock. She smiled back in mock surprise and said, “Oh, sir!” She waved as I stood there in surprise, and I watched her for a minute to make sure she made it to the next lit street, then turned and went home. I read for a couple of hours, and then went to sleep, interrupted for the fifth time that week by a wet dream. I cleaned up and decided she was worth the frustration.

Monday we both worked shelving in the same part of the library. We finished quickly as stood in a small side aisle. I asked her about her trip and she said, “Oh, I go home often enough. A fine dinner and happy family, it’s good in school.”

“I missed you.”

She smiled at me without apprehension and said, “I missed you too. I really enjoyed Friday night.”

“So did I.”

“Not as much as I did.”

“Most likely.”

She laughed brightly and said, “Where will we go tonight?”

“Where would you like to go?”

“The park again after dinner?”

“Yes.”

She came over next to me and reached up for a book on the top shelf with her left hand, and her right hand brushed against my crotch, then gripped me tightly for half a minute. She pulled away to open a book on…I peeked over her shoulder, the literary art of Alexander Pope, and she smiled and put it back. “Never could stand that guy.”

I paused and finally found my voice. “Not to my tastes so much either.”

“The things some people put you through at school. But sometimes it pays off in the end.” She smiled up at me from under her eyelashes and pushed her hip against me quickly as she reached up to adjust the book on the top shelf. She then said, “Let’s go get a couple of cups of mud.”

“My treat.”

“Big spender.”

“You ain’t seen nuthin’.”

She smiled over her shoulder and winked. “I’m sure I’ll find out tonight.”

I blinked and pondered it for a second, and she whispered, “The dirty joke was intended. You can laugh at my wit now.”

I chuckled, smiled, and shook my head, and a few minutes later we sipped our coffee as Ben looked over paperwork and said, “Cripes, you slackers, finish your coffee and go shelve the medieval stuff.”

That evening we ate a leisurely dinner, talking about everything except the upcoming walk, and soon enough, though it felt like hours later, we were walking quietly along the lit path. We came to the branch and she pulled me into the dark path without a word, and when we got to the clearance she looked up at me happily and walked before me into the path into the woods. A short way inside she leaned against a tree and looked at me expectantly. I kissed her and she kissed back enthusiastically, and soon I had my arms tight around her as I sucked on her neck and ears. As I hardened she pushed against me, and when my hands sought her breasts she whispered, “Yes, you play with them so well.” I cupped and cradled them and soon had her erect nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, and she sucked on my tongue as she began rubbing against me. Soon she climaxed, rubbing herself against my thigh.

She looked up at me and said, “I think it’s time to give you what you need.” She reached down and unzipped me slowly, and then reached inside to free me. I breathed in as she rubbed me lightly, and in amazement I watched her watching my face avidly. She stroked my lightly for a minute, glancing down on occasion, and then she gripped me tightly and said, “I like it. It’s a good size.” She continued stroking, and when I got close she said, “Show me.” I nodded and gasped as her stroking sped up even more, and when I said, “I’m coming,” she looked down and watched avidly as stream after stream was torn out of me.

She kissed me and didn’t let go. “You’ve waited a long time. I’ll do it as many times as you need,” and she proceeded to do so. After my fourth climax I said, “I’m drained.”

“Good, my arms are about to fall off.”

I kissed her and reached my hand to her waist. When I slid it toward her crotch, however, she shook her head and said, “No, not yet.”

We kissed a little more and she said, “Let me buy you a beer. I think you have something to celebrate.”

I nodded and tweaked her nipple as I kissed her again. She finally pushed my hand away and said, “Let’s go.”

As we walked back, she said, “You never have shown me your place.”

“It’s nothing special.”

“It has you, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Well then.”

“And yours?”

“No, not yet. My roommates are intolerable. You’d bid me farewell and never come back.”

“Surely they’re not that bad.”

“They are,” she smiled coyly, and I said, “Well, my place is yours.”

“As long as you remember your place, that’s what matters.”

I nodded and she winked. After our beer, we walked to our usual intersection, and she kissed me and whispered, “It is a good size. I liked playing with it.”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

“I assure you it wasn’t.”

“Yes, that’s true…”

“And not just in that way.” She smiled and kissed me again and whispered, “It was worth waiting for, wasn’t it?” She then walked away and waved as she reached the next corner. I turned and walked on my way and for the first time in quite a while had a sound sleep untroubled by nocturnal floodings of my sheets.

The next night was had a quick dinner and walked to my apartment, and she looked around as I showed her the layout, and then she sat on the edge of the bed and said, “This is ever so much more comfortable than a tree.”

I sat down next to her and took her eagerly into my arms. She kissed me passionately and soon pulled me down to lie atop her. I kissed deep into her mouth as she rolled passionately underneath me, and when I grasped her breasts she bit lightly down on my tongue and moaned, “Yes.”

After a few minutes she sat up long enough to help me undo her blouse, and soon her bra followed it. She sat before me and said, “Do you like them?”

“I love them.”

“Well, don’t just stare. That’s rude.”

“But they’re so beautiful.”

She laughed, “You can look, but touch too, damn it.”

She pulled my mouth to her neck as I caressed them, hefting them and feeling her nipples between my fingers, and she ran her hands over my torso as I worked my lips down to her breasts. Soon I was sucking on her nipples as she ground her hips up against me, and when I squeezed them together to suck on both nipples at the same time she groaned and climaxed hard and long underneath me.

When she was somewhat restful again, she smiled up at me and said, “It’s your turn. Lie back.”

I did, and she pulled my pants and underwear to my ankles and rose until my cock was between her breasts. I’m glad you liked my hands so much. Let’s see what other fun we can have.”

She stroked me lightly as I reached down to fondle her breasts, and she watched me smiling as I stared at her breasts, and she wrapped me tightly in her cleavage and said, “Show me how much you love them.” Her sweating face, full breasts, and eager smile pushed me quickly over the edge, and she watched in concentration as I spurted uncontrollably over my belly and chest.

She released me from her breasts, but only long enough to take hold of me in her hand, and like the night before stroked me to another two orgasms. Finally she curled up next to me and said, “You came a lot. Good. I liked watching you.”

“You’re incredible.”

“Yes, I think I am.”

I kissed her and she handed me my shirt and said, “Wipe up. You’re drying.”

I did so and returned to kissing her. I sucked on her breasts and soon had her hips trembling again, and when I lowered my hand to her crotch, she whispered, “Yes, but only outside. I don’t know you that well yet.” I rubbed her quietly to tease her, and after fifteen minutes she finally thrust up hard against my hand and lay back exhausted.

I was hard again and she said, “My arms are exhausted. If you have something oily, use my breasts again, but then I have to go.”

I found a tube of lube and lubed up, and she looked up at me in near-exhaustion as I lubed myself and thrust between her breasts. I lasted five minutes, and at the end groaned and let my lust show as I fucked hard into them, their brown skin slick under the lube, and we both stared at the purple tip of my cock poking out from between them draining its load into the valley of her chest and neck.

She looked up at me and smiled, “You really do like them, don’t you?”

“They’re the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”

“They’re yours to play with now.”

I kissed and sucked them goodnight, and after she wiped them clean and dressed, she said, “You’re very patient. Thanks.”

I walked her to our intersection and kissed her good night.

The next three nights passed the same way, and then when she left Friday she said, “We’re going to an opera tomorrow. My treat. You do have a proper outfit? A presentable suit?”

“Yes.”

“Dinner at six, opera at eight. Susannah, know it?”

Her mood was quite different Saturday. She appeared in a dark green satin dress that accentuated her curves, her hair done up beautifully though somewhat shorter than before, and as she looked me over appraisingly I seemed to fall short for her. She looked into my eyes and said, “Hello.”

“Good evening.” I leaned in to kiss her and she allowed me a short peck on the lips. No usual smile was forthcoming and she seemed watchful as I talked. After we had eaten she seemed more at ease, and we had time for a cup of coffee before the show.

She asked, “So, do you like opera much?”

“Some, though I’m not a great opera lover. I prefer concert music. As you probably suspected.”

She nodded and said, “It’s a good production tonight. One of the few American operas worth a damn.”

“I’ve heard some of the arias.”

“Of course. What else allows you to sing in a Southern accent?”

We smiled and she added, “Thank god for a music school. An opera like this would cost through the roof in a city, and free recitals and everything for the asking.”

“You never said you went to the concerts here much?”

“It depends on my mood.”

That really left little more to say on that topic, so I asked, “You seem tired. We don’t have to see it…”

She breathed in and smiled a little, “No, it’s just…I’m a little tense.”

“Can I help?”

“Just enjoy the opera with me. That will help.”

The performance was excellent, though the casting raised eyebrows. During intermission we stood in a quiet corner and chatted. “I thought casting a black singer as the lead was a brilliant touch.”

“But it changes the opera a bit, don’t you think? The whole dynamic?”

She glared at me. “How so?”

“It’s set in the South well over half a century ago. It makes the entire story completely unbelievable, doesn’t it, her driving everyone off her land at the end with a gun? A white Susannah could get away with that, but not her.”

She pondered and smiled, “Okay, your point is well taken. Very well taken.”

Her relief was evident, so I asked, “What were you afraid I’d say?”

“Something about how it wasn’t an authentic decision. Political claptrap. Like how people get so upset when people like me sing in Mozart.”

“You sing Mozart?”

She laughed, “Only very badly. But all that talk about historic authenticity.”

“They do have a point, don’t they?”

“A bit of one, but then they turn right around and have blonde Jesus. They haven’t a leg to stand on.”

I laughed and she continued glaring at someone only she could see. “It’s culture that belongs to anyone who loves it. Including me. Whether they like it or not, I’m part of western culture too. I’m just not the default. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“The default.”

“Yes, like the love stories always have a white man and white woman, and that’s unexceptional. Make one of them black and it’s a political statement. Or you have to give it special social significance, or play around with it and box the characters into little stereotypes. Why shouldn’t I be the default too?”

I grinned, “You’re my default.”

She looked at me with a clever smile and said, “I think that came out extraordinarily badly.”

We laughed and the bell rang. She put her arm through mine and said, “Let’s take our seats.” We were seated in the back, and the crowd had dwindled precipitously after intermission, as it did for most operas not by Mozart, and we had the row pretty much to ourselves. We held our coats in our laps, and she whispered, “Do you have a handkerchief?”

I handed it to her without much attention as I watched the show, and soon I felt her hand creep under my coat and unzip me. My handkerchief was wrapped around my suddenly hardening cock, and she leaned her head on my shoulder as she built me to a massive orgasm.

She kissed me quietly and whispered, “Do you need another?”

“After the show.”

“No, now or never.”

“Then now,” I said in puzzlement.

I reached under her coat and rested my hand on her crotch, but she kept her thighs firmly shut and shook her head. I kissed her and she smiled and said, “Not tonight.” She stroked me to two more orgasms shortly before the opera ended and walked with me quietly out of the opera hall.

“Care for a beer?” I asked.

“Of course.”

Over beer she said, “Not many operas have three climactic scenes like that in the last half.”

I nearly coughed and said, “True.”

“I liked it.”

“Yes.”

“Tomorrow is a good recital. We can have dinner afterwards, but then I’ll have to study, so just a short walk.”

“What recital?”

“Chamber music. Friend of mine.”

“Okay.”

We talked some more, but somehow it went poorly; she seemed ill at ease and watchful. She steered the conversation twice into art, and I was too tired to say what it seemed would have satisfied her. We left after thirty minutes and when we separated, she kissed me sweetly and said, “I’ll try to be nicer tomorrow.”

We met the next day at 3:30 and took our seats shortly before the performers came out. She pointed at the violinist, a tall black man, and said, “That’s my friend. It’s a good program.”

The first piece was a thorny but very well written violin sonata, then two short pieces from different eras, and then a cellist came out for a rather modern trio. After the recital ended, she asked, “Well?”

“I liked it a lot.”

“Even the first one? A lot of people don’t.”

“The Walker? Yes, it was good.”

“I got to see it performed by him and his son. “

“That must have been great.”

“Yes. He was the first black man to win the Pulitzer in Music, you know.”

I nodded my head vigorously, “Yes, I know. I have some of his recordings. I know you haven’t looked much at my music collection, but I’m not completely out of touch.”

She smiled and said, “Sorry. I guess it was a little patronizing how I said that.”

“I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“How did you like the Kirchner?”

“Also good. About as modern as I can take my music.”

“And…”

I laughed, “Yes, I have one recording of him too.”

We left and went to a pub for a quick bite to eat before a short walk, and as we were eating our burgers, the violinist came in. As he walked by, he glanced down and said, “Well, hello…Callie.”

She glared at him quickly and said, “Hello, Leonard.”

She introduced us and said, “Join us for a few minutes?”

“Okay, just a few. I have two musicians with two pitchers of beer waiting for me, so I can’t stay long.”

I said, “I enjoyed your recital. You’re very talented.”

“Thank you. My professors agreed with you to a certain extent, but no more. Not enough expressiveness. I really need that beer.”

We then chatted happily about music, Callie watching me closely and smiling after a few minutes, and when Leonard got up, he held out his hand to shake and said, “It was a pleasure talking to you. It’s a relief hearing sensible talk about music from someone outside the music school. Want to have a beer tomorrow?” I looked across the table, and she nodded slightly, so I agreed, and we arranged to meet at the same pub at lunchtime.

After he left, she said, “Yes, I’m glad I can take you out in public.” We laughed and settled up, and she showed more warmth as we walked to the park. It was turning dark, but she said, “No, too dark,” when we approached the branch in the path. We walked on along the lit path and she pulled me into the trees and kissed me lightly, then passionately. She allowed me to expose her right breast as we kissed, and soon she unzipped me and smiled as she watched me fall apart under her hand and drain onto the ground. I rubbed her crotch under her skirt and watched as she came to a slow, lingering climax quite different from the sharp, fast orgasms she usually had. She stroked me off once more and said, “There. Now we can both work without climbing the walls.”

I kissed her and she smiled under my lips and said, “Tomorrow is an art exhibition. After work, I’ll meet you at the gallery, then we’ll have drinks and dinner and you can tell me what you and Leonard talked about. Perhaps we can go to your place, but not too long.”

I nodded, relieved she was something like her previous self, and as we walked along she said, “I’m sorry I’ve been so on edge. I’ve had a bit of a rough time, and it’s…that time.”

“That time?” After a few seconds I said, “Ah, okay. I hope you didn’t ruin your clothes back there.”

“Probably, but I feel a lot better now. I just need to soak my things in cold water and everything should be okay.”

“What else is wrong?”

“Nothing, really, just human stupidity.”

The next day at work she was still on edge and didn’t talk to me much. I asked for and received longer break for lunch and had a long chat with Leonard, who grilled me on art, then politics, then rather pointedly on my views of black women, finally saying with a grin, “So, how’s Callie?”

“She seems to be doing well.”

“No, I mean…How is she?”

“None of your damn business.”

“I’ll bet you’re getting all kinds of action.”

“I’ll bet it’s none of your damn business. Ask her if you’re so curious.”

He smiled and nodded his head in satisfaction and said, “Good, good.”

He shook my hand as we separated and said, “Don’t take it wrong. I have to look out for her, you know? She’s like my sister.”

“I’d never talk about my sister that way.”

“Or Callie either, clearly, which is good.”

After work I met her at the gallery and we walked around as she showed me the works and told me about the artist, another friend of hers. I met him at the end, a short, wiry man named Anthony, next to whom Callie looked tall and fairly light-skinned. I chatted with Anthony for a few minutes as she wandered around the gallery a last time, and he seemed to take a peculiar interest in me, plying me with questions about my life and thoughts, neither of which seemed to me at all worth the curiosity.

After we left I asked, “He’s not gay, is he?”

She laughed sharply and said, “No, he’s not. But why, would that be a problem?”

“No, but he seemed interested in me.”

“Ah, but [and here she made air quotes] you’re Callie’s friend now. That gets you extra-special attention from my friends.”

We went to a small bar and had a beer each. She asked me about Leonard and I said, “It was lunch. Food was good. Conversation was unpleasant.”

“I’m sorry,” but she didn’t seem to be.

I asked, “Are your friends always so protective?”

“What makes you think he was protective?”

“The way he acted.”

She shrugged. “Oh, I guess it could seem that way. A couple of them are.”

“Why?”

She looked at me, then looked down at my hands, put her hands next to mine, and looked up at me again.

“Ah.”

“But you’re not Russian, so they’re not too worried.”

“Huh?”

She laughed and said, “Oh, you know Russians.”

“It sounds like not really, no, as near as I can tell.”

She looked around and said quietly, “When I was a sophomore, I was with a Russian poet. Visiting fellow in, I think your department actually. He was not the soul of grace.”

“Oh?”

I took a sip of beer and then fell into a coughing fit when she replied, “Yes, the second week I was in his little extra-curricular seminar on poetry, he got me alone and said, ‘Ya khochu yebat’ tvoyu pizdu.’”

After I stopped coughing, I said, “My god! What did you do?”

She grimaced, “I agreed enthusiastically.”

“But why?”

“I was young. He was a poet. What can I say?”

“Did he say that to all the girls?”

She looked at me levelly and said, “Just the black ones.”

That cast a pall on the proceedings and we finished our beers and had a quiet dinner. By the end of it we were in a better mood and returned to my apartment. We kissed for half an hour, but when she reached down to caress me but refused my caresses, I said, “No, I wouldn’t want to be the only one tonight. It’s not right for you.”

She smiled and said, “Sorry, I’m not in the mood.”

“That’s fine. I’m out of sorts myself.”

“Because of a stupid poet?”

“Oh, the whole day. It was just, I don’t know, things didn’t click.”

She nodded and put her head on my shoulder. We kissed some more and after ten minutes she pulled my hands to her breasts; soon we were both more responsive. She climaxed from the pressure of my hand on her crotch and my mouth on her breasts, and she brought me off between her breasts and lay with me for another ten minutes, but then she had to leave. I walked her to the intersection and we kissed good night.