The First Date

 

Melissa Andersson was a good Jewish girl, notwithstanding that her mother had married a Swede who thought religion was silly. Her mother wasn't exactly extreme in her beliefs either, but to keep peace with her family, who thought otherwise, saw to it she went through the proper rituals of life in the Reformed wing of New York's Jewish community.

She did her best to take it at least somewhat seriously, but her father's amused comments throughout her life often made her question the validity of much of what she was taught. Nevertheless, she embraced the idea of being Jewish, despite the irritating habit of people she met to state her most disliked phrase.

"You don't look Jewish."

What exactly was a Jew supposed to look like, she wondered. Was she supposed to have a particular kind of face or nose, like the caricatures in the media over the centuries? Her facial features, though, tended to come from her father, while she inherited her mother's eyes and high cheekbones and breasts.

She was quite grateful for both of these, just as she was that the DNA from her father's thin blonde hair had fought it out with her mother's dark curly haired DNA and reached the compromise of thick, rich, soft dark brown hair she loved so much, and which spilled down well past her shoulders like a fall of silk.

Her mother and her family stressed the need for education, and so that had always been extremely important to her. Happily, she was able to apply herself at a series of elite private schools, and got straight-As.

That, in turn, translated into her acceptance at Harvard University this summer. The fact her mother, grandfather, and great-grandfather had all gone to Harvard were, of course, also a consideration.

There wasn't much doubt about what she would take there, either. Her mother and father were both lawyers. So she applied for pre-law.

When she moved into her dorm room last week she had brought with her a number of things which reminded her of home, including a variety of small stuffed animals, as many clothes as she could fit in her small dorm closet and dresser, her parents' advice, and an air of societal responsibility.

Her parents were both very liberal, and they believed in equality, feminism, inclusiveness, and the need for people of good will to fight against poverty, sexism and racism. In fact, she had attended her first demonstration when she was four years old, brought along by her mom to an anti-nuke protest.

Over the years her parents had attended pro-choice demonstrations, demonstrations against racism, demonstrations against global warming, and, of course, against corporate greed and globalism. They felt it was their duty as parents to bring her along, to see to it she embraced their ideals of good citizenship, and recognized what harm their patriarchal, sexist and racist society had done to others in the past.

It was no surprise, then, that given the constant efforts of her parents, and their constant companionship (helicopter parents probably described them well) that her political and social beliefs now mirrored theirs. Fortunately, such beliefs were welcome and widespread at Harvard, so she felt quite at home.

She threw herself wholeheartedly into her studies from the first, but despite the time she spent on reading and studying, she found herself feeling oddly adrift. Her parents had been quite attentive all her life, after all. She wasn't used to being alone, or to making her own decisions.

It was her mother's idea, then, for her to join the appropriate clubs on campus, like the Anti-racist action committee, which worked at eliminating racism on campus, and the Safe Space Coalition, which sought 'safe spaces' where women, minorities, and disabled people could gather free of criticism, disapproval or offensive commentary from others - like white men.

It was at a meeting of the ARAC that she met DeShawn. He didn't actually attend Harvard, but he worked there, and the committee felt any minority who worked at Harvard had a legitimate interest in the subject of eliminating racism. That they weren't as economically entitled as most of the students was beside the point. In fact, it made them even more likely to be the victims of racism!

DeShawn was a tall, husky, broad shouldered young man of twenty-seven who worked as a groundskeeper. That meant he cut grass and trimmed brush and trees in the summer, and plowed snow in the winter, in addition to a variety of other handyman jobs.

That he was nine years older than her did not, of course, influence Melissa's thinking when he asked her out. She, after all, was certainly not an ageist! That he was Black, however, caused her considerable trepidation.

It was not, of course, that Melissa had any conscious racist thoughts. Although she accepted that as a white person she was entitled and thus benefited from white privilege, and in turn, was guilty of racist cultural assumptions and values.

It was, instead, her anxiety over saying or doing something improper in front of this very black man, and thus causing him offense. The thought of giving offense to a Black person was a daunting thing to Melissa, and so a date with him would be filled with stress for her.

Nevertheless, turning him down was not an option. He might think she did it because he was Black, or poor, or both!

She was so anxious about it, in fact, that for the first time ever, she didn't tell her parents about her date in advance. She knew her mother, in particular, would have a lot of advice on the subject. She had proudly told Melissa that she had dated black men when she was younger.

But Melissa was afraid things would not turn out, and then her mother would wonder if Melissa had done something to cause him offense, and be disappointed in herself for perhaps not imbuing her daughter with the proper degree of inclusive beliefs.

At the same time, Melissa was secretly just a bit anxious about the date. It wasn't like she was an innocent, of course, for she'd been on any number of dates in her life, and had sex before, with a couple of guys. They were both nice Jewish boys, though, that her mother approved of. And they were polite and well-behaved and respected her body and mind.

Melissa was, of course, completely inclusive and embracing of different cultures and beliefs, but she thought that from what she'd discerned Black men could be somewhat more... demanding, and perhaps expected more from a girl than she was used to.

There was no way she was going to be judgmental about that, naturally, but she was anxious about disappointing him, especially if he might suspect it had anything to do with him being Black! She reconciled herself to the need to allow him a little more slack if things got physical between them.

His culture didn't necessarily have the same rules of behavior as hers, and it would be oppressive of her to expect him to abide by the values and culture of a Eurocentric society.

She usually preferred to wear a nice blouse, knee-length skirt, and cardigan at school. This made excellent sense to her since it allowed for different temperatures in different buildings and classrooms, and she could remove the cardigan if it got too warm.

She didn't think this was appropriate for a date with DeShawn. He didn't have much money, and would probably take her to someplace that wasn't very dressy. She wore jeans, instead (carefully pressed and pre-faded, of course), and sleeveless cream silk blouse under a nearly see-through, green button-down shirt.

The green shirt was basically see-through except over the breast pockets, which, of course, were over her breasts. The silk blouse underneath would provide the modesty, but to the casual view it would look like she was wearing the shirt without anything beneath. She thought that would look very sexy.

DeShawn was to pick her up in front of her dorm at seven-thirty. Her dates were usually prompt, which was the way Melissa liked it. DeShawn, however, was not. She told herself not to be impatient, even after ten minutes waiting, and wished she'd researched Black culture better. Perhaps they, like many African cultures, had a different concept of time-keeping.

Maybe she should take a course in African culture? That would please her mother!

DeShawn drove up in front of her fifteen minutes late, and honked his horn. Taken slightly aback, Melissa fixed a smile on her face and hurried over, then opened the passenger door of the Ford Escort and got inside. She was pleased to see he was wearing just a black t-shirt and black jeans, so she'd guessed right about her wardrobe.

"Hi!" she exclaimed.

"Hey, babe," he said, in his low, throaty voice.

And then, startling her, his big hand swept around behind her neck and he pulled her in closer as he leaned towards her, kissing her on the lips! It wasn't a gentle kiss, either! Her eyes widened and she did little to respond, mostly too startled to think straight. By the time she did he had released her and was sitting back.

"Thought I'd get that over right at the start, save us feeling awkward later," he said with a grin.

Melissa laughed awkwardly, feeling a little tightness in her chest. The kiss had been... not rough exactly, but very... thorough! And she wasn't used to being manhandled like that! But on the other hand, she wasn't used to being kissed by men as large as DeShawn either.

He probably didn't even know his own strength!

He put the car in drive and accelerated away from the curb and Melissa squeaked and quickly did up her seat belt.

"You don't have your seat belt on," she said.

He turned and grinned at her. "I like to strap my girls down, baby, not get strapped down myself."

Melissa was a bit confused about this remark, at first, but then blushed as she sort of realized what he'd said. She gave a little laugh to cover her embarrassment as she felt a rising sense of uncertainty. She was pretty sure he was talking about some kind of kinky sex stuff! He didn't really do that sort of thing, did he?

Most likely he was just kidding, she thought.

"Nice shirt," he said, giving her a grin.

"Thank you," she said. "The color goes with my hair."

"I like your hair. It's nice and long."

He reached out his hand combed his big fingers through it, startling her again.

"A man likes hair he can hang onto," he said before drawing his hand back.

Melissa frowned at that, not sure what he meant.

"Gonna be hot where we're going," he said, turning to eye her again. "You didn't need to wear two shirts."

"Uhm, oh, well... the uh, inside one is just silk," she said.

"You don't need that," he said, leering. "The outside one is fine."

"It's practically see-through!" she exclaimed.

"Naw, it covers what got to be covered."

"Not well enough!"

"Well enough for me," he said.

She snorted. "I'm not about to go around in a see-through blouse in a public place!"

"Maybe I'll take you somewhere private then," he said suggestively.

Melissa blushed again.

"I bet you'd look pretty sexy in that shirt with nothing underneath."

"DeShawn!" she protested, blushing.

"What? I can't say what a hot looking babe you are and what a fine body you got?"

He looked at her and made an appreciative sound, which made her blush again.

Melissa was finding herself on uneven ground with him. She would have thought his open ogling of her body pretty rude coming from most boys. But then again he was older and Black. And he wasn't well-educated and so hadn't been taught about the proper respect a man should show a woman. And she reminded herself not to judge him by her elitist values.

At the same time it brought a different kind of flush to her cheeks, because DeShawn was a big, powerful and very, very male guy, with his broad shoulders and powerful chest. Melissa had never dated athletes, nor thought much of jocks, since they tended, in her mind, to be egotistical. She generally preferred intellectual men.

She wasn't used to being with a guy who was so powerfully built, much less one which showed such rude open interest in her body! She would generally have had some pretty cutting remarks for one who did, but somehow DeShawn being Black made it all right. That was, he didn't realize he was being rude, she thought, so his unintentional rudeness was easily forgiven.

Black men tended to be more upfront in that way, she thought. She'd heard that. They were more direct, which could be said to be more honest, when you thought about it.

And then when they were stopped at a red light that big hand swept up and behind her neck, closed on it, and turned her around, pulling her forward as he kissed her again! This time the kiss was longer, and though she was startled at first, and a part of her thought it awfully inappropriate for him to be kissing her without even asking, she found herself kissing back.

They way he'd pulled her towards him made the seat belt press in sharply between her breasts, and then dig into the side of her right breast as his tongue slipped into her mouth. Melissa felt her breast throbbing, and felt her nipples tightening inside the cups of her bra.

DeShawn let her go and she fell back with a gasp.