Although I am aware that I may get so many awful and racist comments about my life story, I feel that I must write about it. I have come to a point in my life where I know there is an understanding and acceptance in the world to who I have become, and who I am. It is more likely now people will understand me in the year 2011 than they would nearly 9 years ago when I first became black owned.
My name is Stacey, and yes this is my real name. I am nearly 27-years-old and I am a proud single mother to 4 black boys. I will never refer to my sons as "mixed" or "interracial" or anything else except "black." The reason for this is they have come from black men and this makes them black. Only white women with black children will be able to fully understand my reasoning for this.
But, I wasn't always this way. Nine years ago at the age of 18 I was everything the opposite. Many people in the world would have looked at me and described me as "the perfect white girl." Many of them even described me as being "every white boys dream or fantasy." I suppose I was, and I gladly accepted this fact.
Back then, like now, I was 5'6" tall and 117 lbs. with a 34-24-34 figure, the longest and silkiest blonde hair, blue eyes and a face that looked a lot like Taylor Swift. Or, so people still say. My "B" cups were firm and perfectly-proportioned to my athletic body. I had been in ballet and cheerleading for many years, and I spent about 10 years of that time in gymnastics. There were 5 years where I modeled clothing in catalogs for large retail chains.
Modeling was dry and bland. I knew that I could continue, but why? I had enough money and I was smarter than that. I wanted to get even smarter and concentrate of getting degrees.
My parents were wealthy. They provided for me in the most amazing ways, and for that I am forever grateful. In Junior High and High School I was more of a "snob." I was incredibly spoiled and had everything a girl could ever ask for. This included a large trust fund and three of my very own cars by the time I was 18. I also had hundreds of white boys chasing after me, and hundreds more afraid to approach someone as attractive as I was, and am. I know I should be more modest, and I am much more modest and humble now. Back then, I wasn't.
I dated only a handful of boys in high school. They were all white and so obviously intimidated by me. Sure, they were the cutest of the bunch that chased after me, but they all seemed so wimpish and unassertive. I fantasized often about an aggressive man to just "take" me, and this was how I began to realize that I was naturally submissive. But, there were never any "takers" who can see through my bitch and snobby rich girl attitude to do this. Certainly, not any white men.
Blacks were rare in our school. I swear there couldn't have been more than a dozen in the entire school, and most of them were girls. The few black boys there began to catch my attention right around my senior year. Despite being outnumbered by the white boys 1,000 to one, they all seemed extremely confident and masculine. They were bold and aggressive, and all 3 of them hung out together with their small "flock" of white girls. I became so attracted to them because of their dark, gorgeous athletic bodies and their dominant mannerisms within their group.
There seemed to always be about 10 white girls following them around, too. These girls were very pretty and not the slug-looking ones most white think black guys date. I didn't approach them ever, and I just admired their masculine behavior from afar.
But, I had been "brainwashed" by my parents into believing that I would only marry a successful white man someday. They were racist, and my father was the worst half of them. He always told me and my 3 younger sisters that he would totally "disown" us if we were to bring a black boyfriend around. I just kept my little fantasy to myself because of this.
I hated my father's thinking.
With a month to go in my senior year of high school, my fantasies of being with a black hunk changed a little. It changed when I noticed that half of those white girls hanging around the 3 black boys were 5 or 6 months pregnant at the same time. I fantasized about how angry my father would be if I brought home the darkest baby possible. It was sort of a revenge type of fantasy, but just one I kept to myself.
I guess at the time I had no "real" intentions of dating a black boy. It was safe as just a fantasy for now because I had so many other plans for the future, and these plans did not involved being a mother. I didn't want to become a mother before I established my career as a teacher. That was more important to me at the time. But, then again, I had not experienced a real man before, or a real cock for that matter. I had no idea how much it would change me and bring out my well-hidden submissive side.
At 18, my father bought a small home for me only 4 blocks away from campus. I moved in there right after graduation and had the entire summer before my first semester to settle in. Yes, my father didn't just rent me a place, he purchased a small two bedroom home for me. The neighborhood was fairly nice too, but not nearly as nice as the rich community I was brought up in. What my racist father didn't realize was that the area was close to being one fourth black.
Since I was back and forth moving in all my stuff, I didn't realize this either until a week after I moved in. I first noticed this my next door neighbor, Rashad.
Rashad was a 25-year-old black adonis. A "god" for lack of a better word. He was 6'2" tall and around 200 lbs. of carved ebony muscle. His chest was chiseled and his muscle bound thighs fanned out from his trim waist. His ab muscles epitomized the term "six pack" and he had a stern and gorgeous chiseled face with a strong appearance of dominance.
Rashad was all "thug" too. He wore black doo-rags on his head quite a lot. His carved arms and the tops of his hands displayed tattoos, some that appeared gang-related. He wore baggy shorts and armless muscle tees alot as summer had just started. To me, he was a stallion. A gorgeous black man that seemed to have an attitude amongst attitudes. In some ways, his appearance scared me because he seemed so mean all the time. I had thoughts that he had been in prison before.
This thought fueled my fantasies as I could envision just how angry my white bread racist father would be if I came home with Rashad. But, these little fantasies were "safe" inside me and I had no thoughts of ever approaching this attractive black man. Not yet.
That first week, I had only seen Rashad a handful of times when I was moving things into my new house. I was using the most discreet of my cars so I wouldn't draw attention to myself right away. He barely looked my way but I noticed him. I would look his way as he merely glanced my way then ignored me.
I wasn't used to boys ignoring me. Usually, it wouldn't take 2 seconds for them to look me over and try something to get into my panties. But, this black guy seemed not at all attracted or interested in me. I wondered why.
After finally moving all the things I needed into my new little house, I went out back to the yard. I had a little above ground pool there and it was already filled and cleaned. The seller had made sure of that with my father's insistence. It was twilight, and closer to 8 in the evening in June when I walked out there in my red bikini.
I looked over to Rashad's yard to see a very pretty blonde girl in a lilac two piece sitting on the backs of her legs on his small wood deck. She was basically kneeling and her head was down to the deck floor, and no one else was around.
"Hi." I said, calling out a greeting to her.
