Self-Gentrification

It was a statistical improbability, at the very least, Antoine knew. To work himself up from the ghetto to the whitest, most privileged neighborhood in town. To falter, and sink back to the depths. And then, to do the same thing, with a different wife? He would call it an impossibility, but for the fact he'd done it.

And he'd learned from his mistakes. The name of the bar, the Folly, was an omnipresent reminder of his failures. And he committed to doing what it took, for Allie, for her daughter Brooke, to the children he and Allie shared, to never repeat those errors.

And for his caution, he was well-rewarded. The nicest house in the nicest neighborhood, with the only other wife that could possibly rival Elizabeth, backed with an alimony and child support package from her ex-husband, Teddy. And each night, a tight, wet, willing pussy to wrap snugly around his huge eleven inch cock, that had made her regret ever choosing a white man. It was, simply put, a second chance at salvation for Antoine Jefferson.