tagInterracial LoveA Chicago Love Story: Impressions

A Chicago Love Story: Impressions


Next in the ACLS series and follow up to 'The Meeting'. No real sexual content in this part sorry, but it is necessary for the story overall.


Chapter 1

"I don't even know what that entails Mike.' I state rather aggressively into the enclosed space of my full sized sedan attempting to explain the frustrating circumstances of my current situation to my childhood friend Michael Delgado driving with the traffic inbound on the Kennedy Expressway heading toward my workplace in the West Loop.

"That is exactly why I didn't want to get into this with her.' The she of this conversation is my one time fiancée; who due to events in the past year has gone from the love of my life to a constant reminder of the new blackness of my soul.

"I'm not even going there kid, but whatever man I got some time to figure that one out.' I respond to Mike's suggestion of a temporary return to the old me for dealing with the hurtful and disrespectful actions of my former lover.

"Not sure yet, but I hope so,' relieved that my boy steered the conversation to a more enjoyable subject; which is the impromptu meeting with the placer of the personal ad I'd responded to concerning my hopeful opportunity at a change of address from my extremely uncomfortable current one.

Damn, just the thought of that sexy ass white woman is causing my dick to swell in my loose slacks.

"Nah son, you won't believe it was a chick, an older white chick at that. No dude not that old, just a lil' bit, maybe forty or so. Yo, ole girl was bad though kid. Yes sir!' I reveal my pleasant early morning surprise of a couple days before to my oldest and best friend as he fires disbelief back my way.

"Alright, whatever man, but yo I'll hit you up later, I gotta go; okay be good bro, One." Ending the call, I remove the Bluetooth ear piece from my right ear and toss it onto the passenger seat as I pull into the parking garage of the CME Center on Wacker Drive where I work at the young and independent Corporation Davis & Sloan: Principles of Solutions.

With a few minutes before my shift begins I pull the five year old black Chevy Impala into a desired parking space and kill the engine and lean my head against the headrest allowing my mind to drift back to the unintentionally and unexpectedly arousing encounter with the enticing Ms. Sheering.

Goddamn, that woman's body should be registered a health hazard. I am still in mild shock that the entire interaction took place with her in apparently nothing but a short, sexy and slightly damp bath robe.

I take my left hand from off of the steering wheel and place it on my now completely hardened shaft in my suddenly constricting pants and give it a firm squeeze as I close my eyes picturing the way her firm and sleek legs led up to wonderfully thick and athletic looking thighs.

I have not seen a body like that since.....not going there right now.

I hardly believe my actions as I began a rough stroking motion of my thick member through the smooth material of my dress slacks in an effort to relieve the present ache in my groin area caused by my mind's recalling of the visual image of the exaggerated flare of her wide child-bearing hips beneath the powder blue robe that curved around her waist to a round, and bubbly looking ass with a heavy low hung slope and curve.

The ass that had my dick rock hard from watching it flop up and down against the fabric of the provocatively short bath robe as she led me into her tastefully decorated den.

I release a guttural groan into the quietness of the car and squeeze my pulsing cock more firmly while remembering the seductive swish and twist of those womanly hips that tapered off dramatically rising into an unbelievably narrow waist as she sashayed toward me from behind the wet bar holding the bottles of water in dainty hands.

Those soft, and milky feminine hands still smooth from what must have been some sort of bath wash she was most likely rubbing all over her luscious form moments before I most assuredly interrupted her morning shower.

I must admit to a strangely satisfying and primal feeling of virility at the way my hand almost completely covered her much smaller and paler one as she finally introduced herself with the friendly gesture.

I was forced to still my powerful reaction at the meeting of the presumed innocent members of our bodies; the touch seeming to cause invisible sparks to burst forth from the union as well as an absolute awakening of every single function of my Central Nervous System.

I have never felt more alive then I did at that moment as I imperceptibly caressed the back of her hand with my dexterous fingers, not wanting to ever release her hand for fear of losing my new found life force.

My buzzing phone brings me out of my reverie, and a glance at the digital dashboard clock reveals that I am now seventeen minutes late. I am a little disoriented as I answer the incoming call already knowing it to be my newly promoted supervisor wanting to know my ETA. I humbly apologize for my tardiness and tell Steve that I am already in the elevator on my way up to our offices on the 24th floor, before quickly ending the call.

Fuck me, just how long have I been sitting here my car in an open parking garage stroking my now rapidly softening cock with thoughts of a woman who is in all probability happily married.

But then why would she be looking for a roommate?

'She did say she would call me to discuss the proposition; well whatever time to go to work buddy.' I say to my self finally exiting the car with book bag and car keys in hand and begin walking toward the elevator I am supposed to already be on.

Chapter 2

The depressing elevator music on the ride up to the moderate sized office space my company is leasing leads my thoughts to the mess my life has become. By mess I mean her; it is amazing how I struggle to even utter her name inside my own mind.

Sheila Brown was supposed to be my salvation. She was supposed to be the one to take me away from the anger and aggression of my youth; the one to make me want to be a better man. She was supposed to make everything right in my world; instead she has become the shovel tossing dirt over the pine box containing my still living body.

I am mostly detached from the happenings around me as people get on and off of the elevator at different floors, most speaking to each other, some speaking to me even; but all seeming at least outwardly jovial to begin their work day. I wonder briefly if my problems are specific to me or if all of these people are experiencing similar trials but am just more skilled than I at disguising their pain with daily life.

I have always been an emotional guy, with my heart often ending up a little tender from rough handling from being so exposed on my sleeve.

Fist Fights and scuffles were a regular occurrence as a kid growing up in Flatbush. In school, on the playgrounds, in the pool halls, hell even outside of bodegas, it didn't matter a fight always seemed to be just around the corner, and skinny little Alex Haden seemed to be always running around that corner.

I was filled with an almost maniacal need to prove something to any and everybody while growing up poor in the projects and being abandoned by my father when I was two years old. My running mate since the third grade Mike Delgado used to always say to me "Fuck the chip nigga, you got the whole log on your shoulder."

I just did not know how to ignore any slight to my family, my toughness, my intelligence, my whatever it did not matter what it was; if someone even looked like they had negative feelings about anything to do with me, a confrontation was almost guaranteed.

By High School I was proving myself in a lot of ways, both negative and positive.

Being gifted with what my mom calls genes from my fathers' side of the family, I was a star basketball player being tall at 6'5", with great athleticism and large hands. I was no longer that skinny little kid with heart, I had bulked up and toned my body significantly and weighed in at a rugged 220 pounds

I was also apparently a sharp kid, as my seventh grade history teacher would always describe me to my mother, so I excelled in Academics as well, maintaining a 3.8 GPA throughout High School.

Those two aspects of my life garnered me all sorts of attention from nearly every Avenue.

I mean I had my pick of females who wanted to date me, and of course those who just wanted to fuck me; I sampled both kinds often enough.

Then there were the teachers who wanted me make the most a bunch of supposed opportunities available to me to achieve something more than life in the streets.

Of course I cannot forget the Colleges and Universities that wanted me to 'Join there Teams' because of my ability to play ball.

The Vultures were circling, and there I was not ready to lay down for them to feast on me; so I maintained the negativity that had surrounded me from childhood. I dabbled in distributing illegal narcotics; I carried guns, I ran from the authorities, and I still managed to get into fights that looking back could have and should have been avoided.

It was one of those fights that would change my life forever.


My boy Mike and I are at a party in Crown Heights with some friends of this chick I used to kick it with named Anita Smalls. The environment is chill, with people just drinking a little, smoking a little herb, dancing, conversing and just generally hanging out.

Not being a big drinker, I had only had a couple of Coronas when this little thick Dominican shorty whose name I never got came up to me wanting to dance. So there I am grinding up on ole girl to R. Kelly's 'Feeling on Yo Booty' coming from the speakers in the corner of the living room, my lips sucking on her neck, and my hands full of her fat ass when I hear a commotion coming from over by the front door. Taking further notice I see two Hispanic dudes one dark and one light skinned up in the face of Anita grabbing on her and talking mad aggressive.

I quickly separate from lil mama and immediately begin to make my way to the scene to see what was good; though somewhere inside me, I know that here I am running around that old corner looking for trouble again.

By the time I reached the three I could hear what was being discussed among them. Apparently the bigger and darker of the two chicos was upset that Anita was throwing a party when she owed him money. Telling myself that I couldn't let a lady get threatened in her own home, but really just wanted to knock this motherfucker out, I step in the middle of Anita and her accuser, removing his grip from her arm.

"What's good cuz, something I can help you wit'? Is my opening statement to what I figure is my next victim.

"This ain't got nothing to do wit' you son, so I suggest you run back over there and stay outta grown folks business." Is his expected response in a thick Spanish accent, and just like that the chip floats to the floor.

"Oh yeah, well SON, this here is a good friend of mine, so if you got problems wit' her, you gotta know you got problems wit' me kid." I retort back subconsciously readying my body for battle as I push a complaining Anita further behind me and I flex my forearms, ball my hands into fists at my sides and raise up slightly on my the balls of my feet.

Yet instead of throwing a punch like I had anticipated, the leader of the two nods his head at the man at his left and dude slips what looks like a chrome Beretta 8k Cougar from his waist for me to see.

"Mirar,' he says moving a half a step closer to me and leaning in close to my face.

"Trust me, you don't want none of these problems papi; so I gonna tell you for the last time and then Manny over here is gonna put that barrel in yo mouth; step the fuck off!!!" He says menacingly before shifting to my right and reaching out to grab Anita again by the arm.

"Stop Pablo, you don't have to do this, Alex just let me deal with this okay." Anita pleads from her position behind me, but it is too late, the gauntlet has already been thrown.

Before I can stop myself my left arm is swinging toward Pablo's' head. As my fist connects solidly against his temple I witness almost in slow motion Mike come from Manny's right and grab the hand holding the pistol that is now pointing right at me.

Me and pretty much everyone else in the small living room dropped to the floor as the first shot rang out from the pistol. I hear the bullet pierce the wood picture frame on the wall over my left shoulder, and instantly realize that bullet had my name all over it.

Getting back to my feet my attention quickly returns to where Mike is struggling with this Manny character for the gun as people begin to flee the house party in a wild and raucous stampede. Pablo has regained his bearings and charges toward me.

As Pablo and I exchange some pretty heavy blows in an obvious attempt to knock the other out, I hear a second gunshot echo throughout the confined space at the same time I hear Anita scream out and a body hits the floor hard.

Pablo then shoves me into a nearby end table and retreats away from me, and as I am gathering myself I hear what must be Pablo yelling to Manny that they need to leave in Spanish. Finally on my feet I turn toward the door just in time to see the two Latin thugs following the last of the party goers out the front door of the house. It is also at this time that I hear the distinct sound of Police sirens approaching fast, and my eyes come to rest on my best friend lying in the arms of a crying Anita holding his shoulder as blood seeps out around his hand.

Mike was rushed to St. Mary's on Prospect, and Anita and I spent the next four hours at the 71st precinct playing twenty stupid questions with New York's Finest.

After getting next to no information on who had the gun that shot Mike from any of the rounded up party attendees, nor myself or Anita, the boys in blue decided to let us go with the usual threats that they would be in touch and would get to the bottom of the matter. They didn't even charge twenty three year old Anita with distributing alcohol to miners. I honestly didn't know what they were up to, but my only thought was I had to get to the hospital to see about my boy Mike D.

Mike was going to be okay according to the doctor who informed his mother that the bullet had gone straight through Mike's right shoulder narrowly missing his collar bone, but messing up some muscle and tissues, requiring minor surgery to repair the damage and stop the hemorrhaging. Mike would have to wear a sling for a few months.

It was in that ER waiting room seated a couple of chairs down from Mike's mother Priscilla that I saw her for the first time.

She was standing at the Triage nurses' station leaning casually over the counter reading a patients chart. I have never seen scrubs worn quite like that. Allowing my eyes to travel over her voluptuous form, I found myself sporting a ragging chubby as I took in the fat, juicy ass sticking out in the hall that was pushing the seems of those thin pants to their absolute limits.

From my view of her profile, she appeared to have small breasts, but she was tall maybe 5'10" and thick, my goodness was she thick. Her rounded hips sloped down to some incredibly thick thighs. She had this narrow little waist that just made her hips and ass seem almost ridiculously proportioned.

Baby girl was built like a brick house.

She finally straightened up and gathered a couple of clipboards before turning toward the waiting room area and gifting me a brief look at those beautiful almond shaped green eyes deep set in her long and narrow Mocha complexion face. Those gorgeous eyes caught and locked on mine for a long moment before she finished her turn and proceeded to walk past where I was seated and down a corridor, hips swaying a little harder in my biased opinion, and long black curly ponytail with blonde streaks bouncing atop her perfect head.

My pursuit of her was persistent but confident and within three days I had learned her name, work schedule and phone number. I was infatuated for the first time in life and also for the first time I wasn't just looking for a piece of ass.

End Flashback

Chapter 3

A glance at the time in bottom right hand corner of my computer screens' desktop informs that my day is two thirds over. Having worked through lunch due to my tardiness, I was able to catch up on some the emails sitting in my inbox. I have been on the phone all day walking Executives at different East Coast Corporations through trouble shooting issues with their computer system mainframes.

My eyes are a little sensitive from staring at the dual 30" computer screens for nearly seven hours uninterrupted. The wireless headset resting on my head and over my right ear feels like it weighs a ton. My wrist is sore from the constant typing and mouse rotating.

Simply put I am exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I have not been sleeping well lately haunted by night terrors of a life that I will never lead, memories that I will never recall, experiences I could never hope to relish.

Switching my voicemail on for incoming calls I remove the headset from my head and lay it on the desk before I swivel in my chair and rise from my seat and head to the restroom.

Splashing cool water on my face I slowly raise my head and stare with red rimmed eyes into the large mirror above the Formica counter in the dimly lit men's restroom.

I had no idea this kind of pain could be felt by a human being. Even with all of the violence and hurt I had witnessed or inflicted in my life, my youth was littered with hospital visits, funerals, and tears; yet the ocean of anguish I am currently drowning in daily is threatening to devour me whole; I fear I may not be strong enough to live with this.

"Dimp, I ha...have been tr...tr...trying to figure out how t...to tell you this" I can hear the sadness with a hint of fear in her stuttering voice.

"What did you do La La, tell me what?" I say pleadingly with a desperate tone that I am sure I have never used before.

"Oohh Alex I'm sorry, I'm soo sorry...." The dam breaks as she collapses into my arms with tears pouring down her angelic face. I hold her in the loosest of embraces as I feel my spirit shatter and my soul grow cold in a subconscious recognition of a truth lost, a faith broken and an innocence I was not even aware I possessed stripped away.

The walk by to my work station is sluggish after my near meltdown in the restroom from thoughts of possibly the worst moment of my life. My weariness is bone deep and I am completely disinterested as the headset settles in place on my head and I begin to review my messages.

Fifteen minutes later after a couple of quick fixes on calls from regular clients I am pleasantly surprised to hear a soft and purely feminine voice fill my ears via the ear piece of the headset. It is Catherine Sheering, and she is informing me with a nervous lilt in her voice that she would be available to meet for lunch anytime this week to discuss her ad that I had responded to.

My mood lightens somewhat and I manage a small smile imagining her fidgeting with those soft little hands while making the call. Thinking on how she had probably prepared exactly what she would say to me only to became a little startled at having to talk to my pre programmed office voicemail instead.

She really appeared to a lovely woman, though now she mostly just represented a possible and probable futile effort to escape from the misery surrounding my life at the present.

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