Michael Jackson My Tribute

I remember when I was in second grade. I got the worst case of chicken pox that our family doctor said he had ever seen. I had them inside my mouth. I had them on the soles of my feet and the palms of my hands. I even had them in my eyes.

But the best part was that my mother bought me my favourite teen magazines to distract me; Tiger Beat. Inside each issue there was always a poster in the centre. Two posters actually; one on each side of the page. The issue that my mother gave me had Donny Osmond on one side...and Michael Jackson on the other.

A cute, twelve year old Michael Jackson. Back when he had an afro, broad nose and thick lips. Michael Jackson when he was still black.

Now this was the Deep South in the early nineteen-seventies and I was a cute blonde-haired and green eyed seven year old girl. Even then I knew one thing: turn that poster to Donny Osmond. But I remember standing up on the bed and sneaking peaks at the other side every time my mother was out of the room.

So I guess I was destined to be fascinated with black men, but it was something that I would continue to fight for another thirty years. I knew that my family would never accept such a thing.

The next time I clearly remember Michael Jackson was after I graduated from high school. I was working and living with my grandmother. It was nineteen-eighty-four and cable was the rage. No longer did we simply have three channels, but now there were dozens on offer. One in particular drew my attention: MTV. I remember emulating a young Madonna. I was drawn to Cindy Lauper's 'Girls Just Want to Have Fun.'

But it was a slimmer and somewhat whiter version of Michael Jackson dancing to Thriller that filled my fantasies. Yes, I admit it. I would watch MTV late at night alone in my bedroom. When Thriller came on, I would slip my pale, white fingers inside my pink cotton panties and touch myself down there. I would even ram two and sometimes three of my fingers inside my virgin pussy and imagine that it was Michael's hard black cock. After all, everyone knew that black men had bigger dicks.

But I still was not brave enough to dare to fulfil my dark fantasy, although I had a few offers. So my life took a different path as I married and had babies with a white man. We would even end up going through a decidedly religious phase. But I also admit that black men and Michael Jackson held a deep fascination for me.

Almost twenty years later, when I was divorced from my husband and rebuilding a life in Los Angeles, I was to first experiment with black lovers. It was an experience I shall never forget. By this time, Michael's life had taken on a distinctly freakish nature. He was paler than my Southern California teen and his once beautiful nose was more chiselled than my own. During my sojourn there, I was to even frequent the Santa Barbara courthouse where he would stand trail for child molestation a couple of years later.

I still remember June 25th, 2009 for a couple of reasons. It was the last time that my beautiful mixed race three year old daughter experienced a seizure (touch wood as the Brits say or knock on wood for us Americans). I was vigilantly watching her for any others. My Hot Blk hubby was snoring away in bed next to me with his dark skin, thick lips and broad nose.

Then there was the newsbreak on television. The reporter said that Michael Jackson had been rushed to the hospital after collapsing. It was big news in London; because he was due to perform a series of concerts at the O2 soon. I turned the station to CNN and watched as the news broke. Michael Jackson was dead.

I woke hubby up then, because I knew he was a music fan. He did not believe me. After all, it was not confirmed and there were always wild rumours. It was probably a publicity stunt to sell more tickets. But then the confirmation came and he too must face the truth that a musical icon was gone.

Yes, he was a flawed man; deeply flawed. But then too I have done some pretty messed up stuff in my life; most of us have, except for the boring people. He was though a musician and performer of a lifetime. And for that little girl growing up in the wake of prejudice, he was the fantasy of a lifetime. From that little girl to that young boy, thank you, Michael. I shall always remember you fondly.