Message-ID: <60769asstr$1289625006@assm.asstr.org>
From: Secret DC Guy <secretdcguy@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Descent of John Marx
Lines: 623
Date: Sat, 13 Nov 2010 00:10:06 -0500
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

FF student/teacher
<1st attachment, "John Marx 01.doc" begin>

	The humid air of late April hung over Georgetown University. 
The air was a warm blanket folded around John Marx, tucked gently
around him.  Keeping him safe from what cold, but suffocating him
while it protected him.  The soft pink streetlights gave a
ghastly to the older man standing in front of him.  Glowing like
a demon that had finally appeared to steal what was left of his
soul, taking it to the underworld as an offering for his life or
at least for the bad parts.
There was fear in the hollow of his stomach yes there was plenty
of fear.  But besides the fear there was a certain satisfaction
that John Marx had for this moment finally arriving. In truth he
had wanted it to come for years. It never came when he was a
graduate student, and it had not come before he got tenure.
Secretly he fantasized about it happening. Sometimes he even
seemed to invite it. 
Now standing on a quite part of the quad, he stared at this
priest wanting his life to finally take that step he publicly
never asked for but longed for in his heart. His heart began to
race as the other man reached out to him. Gently he softly placed
his and on John Marx's left shoulder. Their eyes met, and a
moment of understanding and tenderness flashed between them. It
was like a sudden burst of heat lightening on a humid summer
evening it appears with no warning and is gone instantly. Timidly
John Marx closed his eyes waiting for what he knew would happen
next. His breathing became shallow, his face felt flush, he mind
raced through every sexual experience of his life, he began to
sweat. The world seemed to stop as the older man began to speak.
"John, I can't cover for you forever," the priest said. "I might
be an avowed religious, but I also get tempted from time to time.
But I never act! It's ok to fantasize. Just don't do anything
about it. Go to a bar, go see some strippers, get yourself an
escort. God! For heaven's sake though stop sleeping with your
students."
"Hey, Mark, that isn't fair. You know I haven't had her in two
years."
"So what is the dean telling me about you being seen leaving
campus with her last Friday."
"I mean I haven't had her in class in two years."
"What a lousy detail," the priest stammered. "You need to make a
better argument than that. She is a senior in your department.
You were even her freshman advisor. There is no way you can
justify this relationship as being anything other than a
professor dating a student."
Fr. Mark Heidiger continued, "John, you're a phenomenal
researcher. You're one of our best instructor; and of course a
friend. But how many times can I tell the dean that I'm going to
take care of this. The university counsel keeps saying it's only
a matter of time until you slip up and get a sexual harassment
suit slapped on this department. If that happens you're gone,
there's nothing I can do about that. What I can help is making
sure that you don't lose your job before that. I want you here
you know that. You've just got to help me a bit. If you're going
to keep it up with this girl PLEASE wait until she graduates.
It's only about a month."
"Don't you think she'll slap that suit if I dump her," John Marx
countered.
"Well I can't figure that one out," Fr. Mark replied. "You're
going to have to talk to her."
"I'll see what I can do," the younger professor replied.
"That's the best we can ask of you I guess..."
"I'll take care of it Mark."
"At least couldn't you have made it someone with some sense of
discretion," the Jesuit laughed.
"I guess there's no accounting for taste," John Marx chuckled
back.
"No there isn't John. Take care of yourself Professor Marx,"
"I will. Have a good night Professor Heidiger"
"I too will. You sure you don't need a ride?"
"Yep, I'll just take a cab. I need to make some stops on the way
home."
"Very well have a good one," the priest's hand dropped from John
Marx's shoulder. It stayed extended between the two men. The
professor grabbed it. Clutching each other firmly they shook
hands. Parted another round of salutations and parted way. 
John Marx took two steps towards the border of campus and turned
around to look back as if he expected more from the chairman of
his department. He had escaped a bullet at least one of the
secretaries in the department was sure he was going to get fired.
But he felt cheated. Not even a formal warning. Just a stern
lecture from the other academic he trusted most. He watched as
his dear friend walked around the building and head off in the
direction of the Jesuit monastery. As Heidiger left, so did the
problem. He was free to keep meeting students whenever he wanted
to, just as long as they exercised more discretion. 
When Heidiger's head disappeared down a set of stairs, John Marx
turned and started walking across the quad, through the gates,
and onto 37th street. Coeds walked about on the sidewalks some
quietly and studiously carrying books to the classrooms and study
halls of campus; some, more animated, noisily roamed towards the
bars and restaurants along M street in downtown Georgetown. He
noticed the girls. Most specifically he noticed the ones that
were wearing the half shirts and crop tops, the short skirts and
the tight pants. He wondered if they knew the effect that they
had upon men if the attention was the purpose of their outfits.
"They must," he thought to himself. 
He noticed the men too. Laughing and joking, they seemed so
confident that they would have the time of their lives that
night.  They smiled and as they lumbered along the street in
their large groups all dressed in the same version of jeans and
button down shirts worn open with t-shirts underneath. It
reminded him of his days as an undergraduate. Eleven years ago
that had been him. The university was different; the clothing was
different the; the times were different. But the basic premise
was the same. A bunch of guys go out. They start drinking. The
winner was whoever left with a woman first. In reality, anyone
who left with a woman before he was vomiting down a storm drain
did well enough. Remembering the lectures from administration
officials about combating promiscuity, pregnancy and AIDS on
campus, John Marx concluded that the times indeed were not
changing. 
He walked along Dumbarton Street east toward Wisconsin Avenue
where he knew he could find a cab. This time of night on a
Thursday he could have probably found one closer to campus that
was dropping off someone coming home from a downtown or
congressional internship. He could definitely have caught one at
the university's hospital. However, there was a part of him that
felt that if he was not walking through the street where he knew
people were bustling around him that he was missing something in
life.
Missing life was a feeling to which John Marx was particularly
susceptible. It had persisted ever since at least high school.
His father had either left or gone to jail when he was very young
his mother gave a different account than the kids who picked on
him at school. This was particularly hard on his mother. Not only
was she a single mother of twins, a boy and a girl, but she was
also far from her family. She had come to Washington to go to
school a small women's' college that had since been taken over by
one of the larger universities. While there she met some military
guy. When she married him she stayed in DC near his home base.
Then some how he was gone. With a government job that paid
relatively well, moving back to Pennsylvania was not an option.
So she stayed.
In the few years after his father left, John Marx's mother would
go out on dates. Sometimes John and his sister Diane would be
invited to go, but these times were rare. More often then not,
they would be left with a string of baby sitters. That ended
though when his mother, feeling sick on a date, had come home
early to find a co-worker's daughter passed out high and the
girl's boyfriend molesting her children. 
The dates stopped and Mrs. Marx became increasingly protective.
John and Diane were given less and less freedom. As early as
their teen years Diane had rebelled and would sneak out to go
drinking or to have sex with any one of a number of boyfriends,
friends, and even the father of one of her high school friends.
John on the other hand became the man of the house, thus the
responsible one. He would stay in every weekend even though he
was invited to all the top parties. Occasionally he would be
allowed to go on dates, but only if his mother had met the girl
several times and there was a group of people going. And then
there was the curfew. Every night, even Friday and Saturday, he
had to be at home by ten o'clock. With football, wrestling and
track practice on school nights this left little time for a
social life. As an obedient son there was not much time to break
the rules. 
He did not necessarily like these rules but he obeyed them out of
a sense of responsibility. He would sit at home on weekend nights
listening to his mother tell him how he was the only man in her
life as she slowly descended into an alcoholic maelstrom. After
she had passed out for the night he would read and study until
his sister came home. Then he would sometimes fight of some guy
trying to get her horizontal, hold back her hair while she was
vomiting up a night of drinking, or just sit with her on the
front porch and talk about how much they wished their lives were
different and how powerless they felt over life. This continued
until they left for college. John was accepted at The George
Washington University downtown with a full scholarship. The best
Diane could manage was a state school in Bloomsburg,
Pennsylvania. John made sure his scholarship stipulated that he
would live in the dorms, so he could have more freedom. 
The freedom was that much more though. Still in the same city as
his mother, he was subject to calls in the middle of the night
with his mother complaining about her life. He spent many
weekends home with her, especially as her health began to
deteriorate. The only time he had to see women was on weeknights.
With studying that meant only a few hours a night. That was too
little time to really hit it off with anyone. 
As things got worse for his mother, things actually got better
for him. When she began to slowly die from cirrhosis, an aunt
came down from Pennsylvania to help out. This was supposed to be
so he could concentrate on his studies. However his natural
intelligence had kept his GPA quite high. So as his third year
started, his mother lay in bed, her hair completely gray and her
brown spotted skin wrinkled around her skeleton, looking like a
ghoul restrained by some strange spell. That was when true
freedom began. He would visit his mother for a few hours on a
Friday or Saturday night then he would go out drink and chase
women. His looks and his reputation for intelligence meant that
he caught many. 
This continued for nearly three years. Then in his first year of
graduate school, still in the city but this time by choice, his
mother died. There were few assets, but that really wasn't a
problem. He was fully supported by his school full tuition, room
and board and a generous stipend. His sister was already at the
police academy, so he did not have to worry about her. He set up
his apartment as his home base he was able to keep the company he
wished.
So John Marx walked along the first block of Dumbarton Street of
campus making sure that whatever he might miss in life was seen
and seized. Since it was the end of the end of the school day and
the practical start of the weekend. He waded in a river of
undergraduates sprinkled with an occasional local as it ran
through a canyon of town houses, some painted blue, some white
and some the natural red brick. The current carried him off
campus. He was a man set adrift for this moment. Looking at
students he had instructed, students he had worked with and
students he never knew existed, he fixated on some of the young
women. Barely adults they had an innocent appeal. A vision of
vessel virgins attending to him as he lay on pillows set upon the
balcony of a Roman villa. They were dressed in the traditional
white, which contrasted starkly with the green of the gardens
below. Water trickled from fountains. One of the girls approached
and poured deep red wine into a chalice set before him. Its gold
was set with rubies. He grasped the cup before him and lifted it
towards his lips. His mouth wet with anticipation. As the vessel
rose closer to his face he could smell the strong but sweet
bouquet of the wine. His hand stopped just before he took a sip.
He looked at his chased harem. "To Bacchus!" he declared. The
virgins responded, "To..."
"...The Tombs, Professor Marx," a voice finished.
Snapping back to reality, John Marx was confronted by a rather
tall Asian woman. She had full straight black hair the flowed
back on her head and down past her shoulders. Her eyes were deep
brown, almost black. Her skin was dark olive, browned by the sun.
Slim but muscular, her body was obviously athletic. There were
not really notable curves except for a slight bulge at the hips.
Her chest was not large, probably an "A" cup maybe a "B". She
wore a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans that seemed almost glued
to her body. 
"Did you hear me Dr. Marx?" the woman questioned.
"No I didn't Joy," John Marx responded. He was shaken. Not
noticing a student was not rare. However, not noticing his senior
research assistant was a different matter. For the past four
years he had worked with Janet Kim, whom he always knew as Joy.
When she had started her graduate studies, she was a shy and
sheltered twenty-two year old from northern New Jersey. She
attended Rutgers, but had lived at home the entire time.
Washington life had been a major adjustment, but he had helped
her as if she was a niece or a friend's child. Now Joy Kim was a
confident woman and a budding psychologist. John Marx had never
seen her as anything other than that. She was actualizing the
potential he had seen years ago. 
"You did seem as if you were somewhere else maybe down some
undergraduate's pants?" she coyly joked.
"A little decorum on the street," John Marx shot back. He knew
that there were rumors about him that floated amongst the
students, but he did not want someone close to him to bring them
to public view. "And please Joy, call me John."
"Not when some of your little ones might be in earshot," she sung
back. "Anyway I was asking if you wanted to accompany me to the
tombs for a beer. I'm meeting someone, but you know how easy it
can be for one of them to get cold feet."
"Ah yes. At that age they still don't know what they want... Most
of the time."
"But we love it when they do."
"Don't we!"
They joked like bachelor friends off on a fishing trip for a
while, using couched terms to refer to the undergraduates they
both occasionally dated. It was assumed that that was not
something to advertise. After a few minutes and a little
convincing John Marx assented.
They turned and walked the block south in the direction of the
river. The tightly packed buildings of Rosslyn, Virginia the
tallest buildings near the city glared brightly on their west
sides. From the east sides long shadows fell over the river back
into the city and onto the Kennedy Center. The view from the city
into Arlington was one of John Marx's favorite views in the
entire area. While the one from Georgetown was itself
spectacular, the best was from the rear of the Lincoln Memorial.
From there late on a Friday evening, when the sun had just set
enough so that it was still light, but the glow of the sunset had
faded the view was magical. To him it was a view of promise
unfulfilled, but attainable. Something that could be seen but not
touched yet. He did not know why this was. It just was.
They descend a flight of stairs into the bar that is
quintessentially Georgetown University. Most people knew it from
"St. Elmo's Fire" and the John Parr song that accompanied the
movie. But if one attended or taught at the school on the next
block, then that person knew it differently. The bar was an
extension of the school. It was an outgrowth of the spirit and
tradition that accompanied the university. Girls would even come
from the other local colleges to try to find Georgetown
boyfriends. Both John Marx and Joy Kim liked it because it kept
them immersed in the undergraduate culture.
They positioned themselves at a corner of the bar where they
could look inconspicuous but still be able to see the room.
Though not often, they had been in this position in this bar
before. For the first year of so, John Marx was Joy's protector
acting as a father meeting the people she dated before she went
out with them. Now, when they would still drink here, it was
usually to have a beer and maybe impress some undergraduates. 
"Don't be surprised," Joy emphasized while John was ordering two
beers. "You'll know this one."
"One of my students?" he responded placing ten dollars on the
beer soaked bar.
"Yes, it is."
"Which class yours or mine?"
"I'll let you find out." Joy seemed to be in a playful and
flirtatious mood. John Marx thought that whomever she was going
out with was going to have a good time that night.
They fell into conversation about their students mostly their
other research assistants. John mentioned a new grant he was
writing and asked who would be the best students to build a team
around. Joy worked in some questions about her doctoral
dissertation. The rest of the bar disappeared and it was only
those two left drawing closer and closer in conversation. They
spoke not as teacher and pupil but as equals, as colleagues, as
friends, as compatriots. The conversation drifted into the
personal. They were two ferrets conspiring under the couch to
steal the owner's car keys or something just a playfully
annoying. They laughed at each other's stories about meeting
crazy people in bars, and they exchanged gossip about the more
exciting experiences that had started there. 
"Uh... Hi Dr. Marx. Hi Ms. Kim," a voice quietly stated.
John Marx turned to see a short redheaded student. He remembered
by the face, but the name escaped him. He looked over her body.
Her hair was straight and fell to her waist. It was the purest
red he could possibly imagine. The shade was so perfect that no
one could doubt that it was her real color. She wore a pleated
white blouse that accented her disproportionately large breasts,
and a green and blue plaid knit skirt. The outfit was completed
with dark stockings (he could not actually tell the shade) and
blocky black shoes with a buckle on the tops. Freckles were
noticeable on her light toned face. Some seemed to fall over her
chin, down her neck and below the shirt unbuttoned to the second
button. John Marx followed them down with his eyes, wanting
explore under the layers of clothing and find where the freckles
ended.
"Hi Gina," Joy responded. "Please call me Joy."
"Ok," the girl nervously replied.
"You can still call me Dr. Marx," John chimed in with a chuckle
trying to break the girl out of it.
"Ok," the girl responded, still seeming terrified by their
presence. 
There was a moment of silence as if no one could guess what to
say next, or figure out exactly what was happening. 
"Are you here alone?" Joy broke the silence.
"I came with friends," Gina responded. "But when I saw you I
waited for a few minutes and then said I wasn't feeling well and
was heading home."
"Is that why you're nervous?" 
"Well, I've never done this before!" the girl said sounding
panicked. 
John Marx realized what was going on. "And having me as an
audience isn't helping," he stated.
"No sir."
"Don't worry," he assured her. "I have enough of my own secrets
that I'm trying to keep right now. I don't need to be letting
yours out too."
Gina nervously giggled, but seemed to calm slightly. 
Joy smiled. "We can't all leave together since you have friends
here. My car is parked a block down Prospect Street. It's a blue
mustang convertible. You leave now, and we'll leave in a few
minutes and meet you there. By the way I hope you don't mind if
we give John a ride home." John Marx didn't mind Joy using his
first name now. They were all familiar.
Gina assented. After exchanging false salutations, she exited.
John and Joy talked a bit longer. When it seemed as if enough
time had passed to be discreet, they left by the same exit. 
"I see you and I are batting for the same team tonight," John
joked.
"For tonight at least," Joy responded. "You have anything lined
up."
"Only a good night's sleep. Mark Heidiger gave me a lecture about
my dating habits just before we met. I'm exhausted."
"That sucks," she said as they approached the car. Gina was
turned from them and was checking her makeup in a compact. 
Together again, the three talked some more. Gina and Joy now
stood next to each other. There was an apparent difference in
height and build, but they seemed more together now. As they
talked Joy was cool. Though next to Gina, she didn't seem to make
a move. Rather she stood next to her as she would a friend. They
could have been two friends going out for the night. But as
people passed on the street, like zombies moving in the night,
John Marx knew that only he knew that he was actually sending
them off on a date. 
To him the sight was beautiful. They stood there growing closer
and more confident with each other. It was as if he was the
father at the door sending his daughter and a boy off into the
night. His thoughts began to roam through the evening to come. He
pictured an intimate dinner at Sequoia over looking the river.
There, Joy would melt Gina, who would loosen up and become the
perfect date. Under the table their legs would touch. A new
feeling would ascend though the younger girl's body. She would
see candle light dance in Joy's eyes. Joy would say "come to me;
you are safe," without uttering a word. Their hands would touch
in a way that could be two friends comforting each other. The
touch was the secret touch of lovers hidden in a crowd hidden
from everyone but each other.
Next John Marx saw them walking along a quite stretch of the
Potomac, behind the Jefferson Memorial. They would have started
at that Monument exchanging thoughts on freedom as can only be
done at the foot of an author of freedom. Gina would be drawn to
Joy, who was not talking to her as a teacher or a date, but as a
guide to a mysterious city that she did not know as a guide to an
expression she did not know, whose ramifications she did not
understand. Instinctually they would be repelled from the few
people that would be at the Memorial late at night. Not even
fifty yards away from the lights and bustle, they would be
looking southwest towards the airport and Alexandria beyond,
standing in a different world. Under the cover of darkness and
under hidden by the noise of the planes overhead, they would hold
hand not speaking a word. After a minute they would turn and face
each other. A metamorphosis, started back at the bar, would now
be complete. Breaking through her cocoon, Gina would place her
hands on Joy's hips and look up into her eyes. The older woman
would look down into the soul of the younger girl. She would see
someone in a state of becoming, taking a large step into an
unknown world. She would admire this girl taking as step into
womanhood that she did not take until almost four years later in
life. Their spirits would draw closer, then their hearts, then
their lip. With eyes closed, the women would share a first kiss.
Tender but passionate, it would last for less than a minute, but
change the world forever.
Next, they would be at Joy's Du Pont Circle loft facing 21st
Street. There in a third story one bedroom apartment cut off from
even the flamboyant nightlife that could characterize this part
of town, the women would talk more. Joy would share the story of
her coming to. Gina would sit beside her on a futon sipping wine
but listening more closely than she had ever listened to John
Marx in class. The track lighting would be dim. Candle would
shine over the room. Soft jazz would play in the background.
After a few minutes Joy would reach out to Gina. She would run
her finger through the girl's red hair. Gina would reach back and
touch tenderly Joy's face. The feel of another woman's skin
against theirs would enrapture both. As if in slow motion, Joy
would inch closer to Gina and kiss her. Starting tenderly and
working towards passionately, they would be lost in each other.
Joy in the memories of her past lovers and the promise of a new
love; Gina in the novelty and excitement of her newly found
expression of love. 
Slowly, when the signs were right, Joy would begin to unbutton
Gina's blouse. The younger woman would nervously sit like a
little girl staring at her closet waiting to see if a monster
would come out. When the shirt was unbuttoned, Joy would gently
lift the shirt off Gina who would lift her arms and surrender
another obstacle. Not wanting to rush the fair skinned girl Joy
would pause for an eternity contained in a second waiting for a
positive sign from Gina. Realizing that she was further down the
road to her unexpressed desires then she could pull back from,
Gina would reach behind herself and unbuckle her bra. Tossing it
to the side she would smile. Joy would then slip the T-shirt over
her head and shed the scant bra she would be wearing. Topless the
women would begin to touch and cress each other's breasts. The
feeling would be completely new for Gina. Her excitement would
peak in her nipples that would rise to greet Joy's fingers. The
younger girl would lie back, while Joy would straddle over her.
She would kiss Gina's neck and slowly sensually work her way down
to the red heads breasts. The Asian woman's tongue would flutter
over the fair skinned girl's nipples. Gina's back would arch
making a bridge between her naive childhood and her experienced
womanhood.
After what would seem an eternity of pleasure, Joy would stand.
She would help Gina to her feet and stand before her. More
deliberately now, she would unfasten the shorter woman's skirt
and let it fall to the ground. She would kneel before her and
begin to roll the stockings towards the floor. When they reached
her feet, Gina would step out of them. She herself would push off
her last vestige of modesty and stand transformed before her
lover. Joy in turn would unbutton her jeans and let them fall to
the floor. Then her panties would follow too. Naked and honest
they would stand revealed to each other. Joy would take Gina by
the hand and lead her to the bedroom to consummate this
metamorphosis.
John Marx's heart began to race, as he became more aroused. He
psyche almost exploded when standing by the blue mustang, he saw
Gina loosely grasp Joy's hand. To the casual observer it would
not even seem as if they were holding hands in a romantic way,
but perhaps just clasping them in a friendly way. He though knew
the truth a secret he would not tell to anyone a secret he would
keep to himself for his own, to be used later when no one would
know.
In the few minutes that the conversation continued, John Marx
could see Gina growing more agitated. She was scanning the
sidewalk a head of her, trying to prevent any of her friends from
discovering her activities that evening. Occasionally she would
look over her shoulder. Once she made a double take at a college
guy walking down the street. At this Marx decided he should allow
the women to get on with their date. He declined an offer for a
ride home, though he would have liked to save the money he was
planning on paying for a cab. 
Wishing Joy and Gina a good night he started to walk east along
Prospect Street towards Wisconsin Avenue. As the blue mustang
passed by, the top rolled down and the girls laughing, he noticed
that the number of students migrating to the bars of M Street and
the clubs downtown had dwindled. It was now after ten o'clock and
most that were going out were already to their destinations.
Friday night would be a different scene. Then, the students would
be going out later and staying out later. But on a Thursday night
the street traffic had subsided noticeably. 
John Marx was no longer concerned about being seen by the
students. Instead he hurried with his head facing the ground the
remaining few blocks to the well-lit and still quite busy corner
with Wisconsin Avenue. Immediately he crossed the street to hail
a cab. Surprisingly he found one almost immediately. The name
"Georgetown Taxis" painted on the blue Chevy that must have been
built in 1980 only told him that this driver represented the
legions of small cab companies that kept the city's streets
clogged and taxi prices down. As he slid into the car he said
"The Quebec House in Cleveland Park". The diver who appeared to
be from somewhere in the Middle East nodded and took off. 
John Marx did not say a word to the driver as the green, red and
yellow lights that permeate the Georgetown business flashed by.
On the sidewalks the throngs of people dissipated until as
upper-Georgetown rose into Glover Park, almost no people appeared
at the side of the street. This middle part of this road, between
one third and two thirds of its length in the city, was soothing
to him. The streetlights gave it a glow that made the lack of
people seem natural. It was like a B-rated science fiction movie
where aliens disintegrate all the humanity around him, and only
he was left standing. It was a tired plot in the movies, but
always seemed to justify his existence to himself after a day of
dealing with students and administrators. 
As they entered Cathedral Heights, John Marx's eyes were
attracted to the ominous spires of the National Cathedral. It
stood out of place in a neighborhood where no building was older
than ninety years. Even at night it cast a shadow from the
moonlight that fell upon the street. John shivered as the cab
raced through it. A chill ascended his spine, and raised the hair
on the back of his neck. Something about the structure was ice on
his soul. Every night that he passed it he felt uncomfortable. He
did not know why this happened, since he was a regular
churchgoer. And the feeling did not happened during the day. Only
on nights he was late at work and took a cab home did he feel a
lonely desperation tugging him somewhere somewhere away from that
building.
Thoughts of what the Cathedral might mean passed from his
thoughts as quickly as they had entered. A block passed the
structure and the peaceful feeling returned to him. As the
heights turned into the upper part of Cleveland Park, a small
pocket of nightlife gave a feeling of hope. The same feeling that
a child afraid of bridges gets as his parents' car passes over a
small island in the middle of a river. If the cab ride ended here
John Marx would be fine. There were a few restaurants with good
bars on Wisconsin Avenue here and a few of his friends lived in
this neighborhood. 
For a minute he did think about ending the cab ride here. The bar
at Caf Deluxe was not the best place in the city to meet women,
but he did have some luck there in the past. Stopped a few cars
back from a light, he peered across the street and into the
restaurant. The lights were dim and smoke was replacing the air.
Women in black dresses and men in spring weight sweaters
complimented the trendy and upscale decor. This was definitely a
yuppie bar the kind of place were cigar smoke is more common than
cigarettes where Martinis are ordered instead of beer. John Marx
could picture a woman in her late twenties with platinum blond
hair sitting at a table waiting for someone. Every yuppie bar had
one. Most were waiting for anyone, or no one in particular.
John Marx did not have to make the decision of whether to stop or
not, since the cab started to move again before he could tell the
drive otherwise. As the moved the small pocked of nightlife
passed and true Upper Northwest surrounded him. This was an area
of single family houses and low buildings, upper middle class
suburbia within a major city.  The cab driver made a right turn
at small headquarters of the Washington Ballet and rolled down
Porter Street. Houses passed by most darkened by sleeping
residents. This world was as far away as you could get from the
youth of Georgetown. Here responsibilities ruled over
independence. This neighborhood made him feel anchored.
They crossed Connecticut Avenue just above the main Cleveland
Park neighborhood. The few blocks below him had almost everything
one could want. Bars of all types, restaurants representing the
world, the Uptown Cinema, even a hidden massage parlor lined two
blocks of the Avenue. However, tonight none of those places
interested John Marx. At this minute he just wanted to find his
way to his bedroom.
Turning onto Quebec streets in front of the Addis Israel
synagogue, John Marx lifted his wallet from his pocked. He
instructed to driver to the south building of the Quebec House
Apartments and pulled into the driveway. He paid and stepped out
into the noticeably cooler evening. Washington tended to have
vast and rapid temperature changes from day to night during this
time of year. It felt as if it was maybe ten degrees cooler than
when he left the University. He proceeded though the front door
and past the front desk. As if on autopilot he checked his mail
recovered the bills and advertisements inside and took an
elevator to his top floor apartment.
Stepping out into the red hallway he turned and walked to his
apartment at the far west side. The apartment was furnished as
the quintessential bachelor pad. Trendy sort of matched furniture
filled the living room which was build around a large screen
television set and a completely up to date stereo system. Blindly
John Marx tossed the mail onto the coffee table and proceeded
past the smaller bedroom, which he used as an office and into his
bedroom. 
This room too did not seem to be that of a professor. It did have
a queen sized bed and matching chests and dresser, but it was
also filled with gadgets, most of which blended into the darkness
at the moment. John Marx opened the closed and as he undressed
tossed his clothing into a three-basket hamper, one basket for
each temperature of wash. Naked in the darkness, he fumbled for a
pair of flannel pajamas, of which he had several pair. After
redressing he stumbled over to bed flipped on his alarm clock for
the next morning and picked up the remote control to his bedroom
TV. He set it to sleep mode and slid into bed.
"Breaking news on News 4 at 11..." the stations flowed.
Apparently the late news had just started. "The Fairfax county
teacher missing since last week has been found murdered." John
Marx grew somewhat interested. Why was this breaking news? "The
body of Nora Asinger was found in an empty lot on First Street
Northeast just off of New York Ave. Police will not comment on
any details of the find, but sources say it appears to be gang
related." His interest waned. Gang violence has been on the
decline in the city, but had never gone away. This just appeared
to be another murder taking up time before better news.
John Marx turned the television down a bit and turned onto his
side. He closed his eyes and pictured Joy and her date somewhere
having sex. It was his own internal lesbian pornographic movie
that filled his head as he drifted to sleep.




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