CHAPTER 1: THE AWAKENING
My two sisters and I grew up in a very strict, moral environment. My father was an ordained Episcopal Priest in the only church in town, and my mother was a nurse at the regional hospital. Since I was the oldest of the three I was expected to be the example of morality, purity and good judgment. I took my role very seriously.
We lived in a tiny little community in the Berkshires where everyone literally knew everybody else. It was easy to pick us out of a crowd, we were of Scandinavian and German descent, with tell-tale long, straight blonde hair and bright, sky-blue eyes. Yup, as white as white can be. The kids in school nicknamed us the "snow white" sisters. Everyone knew who we were.
There were only a few black families living in town, and of course, everyone knew who they were too. In such a small setting, every one is part of the group and there really was no difference between black and white people, except for skin color; or so I thought.
I was an "early bloomer" and matured faster than most of the girls my age. I had full breasts by the time I was thirteen and my butt rounded out nicely... thank you. All of the older high school boys became interested in me, but I held my ground and set the example for my sisters. As a high school freshman, I dated a few seniors, but did not let them have their way with me. I was a good girl, and proud of it. A lot of the boys teased me about it, but I wouldn't give in. The closest I ever got to a boy was a quick peck on the cheek. I was good and pure, just the way my parents taught me to be.
By the time I was a junior, I was fully grown at 4' - 11" tall and 110 pounds, 24 inch waist and perky B-cup breasts. There was nothing big about me, at all. Most of my kin-folks were small, so I didn't expect much. I hoped for a growth spurt, but it never happened. I didn't let my petite size hinder me though, I was a handful then and I'm still a handful now. I've figured out that I can use my size to my advantage. As they say, "good things come in small packages!" My husband tells me that I haven't changed a bit since high school.
It was those later years of high school when I first realized that black guys were attracted to me. In particular, there was this new kid in school. His name was Winston. Winston's family moved here from Jamaica, making them only the third black family in town. Everyone liked Winston, he was a happy-go-lucky kid, full of kindness and determination and sweet as pie. You couldn't help but like him.
Winston was a freshmen when I was a senior, and I was pretty sure he had a crush on me. He would do all sorts of goofy things, like bring me flowers from his momma's garden, or offer to share his lunch with me. He could charm the pants off of anyone. He was pretty cute...for a little twirp!
The contrast between us was stark, Winston and I couldn't have been more opposite. He was very tall, solid and muscular for a freshman, and he was black as night. I had never seen anyone as dark as him before, except maybe in a National Geographic magazine. I was intrigued by his features, they were sexy in a primal sort of way. I'm not sure he'd ever seen a girl like me either, maybe that explains his attraction to me.
At the time, it was "cool" for white girls to date black boys, but I never gave his advances a second thought. In my house, good girls did not do such things...still, he was kind of cute!
Winston was constantly flirting with me. He made me nervous and he knew it. The more I resisted his advances, the harder he tried. I knew he was playing with me in a "bad boy gets good girl" sort of way. Although I never gave in, I was flattered by his persistence.
I went off to state college destined to become a school teacher, fully intending to move back home and teach English at the old high school. College was no different, in that the black guys I met there all seemed interested in me. I even considered dating a few of them, but never could work up the courage. What would my parents think? I have to admit though that I did notice a slight attraction to black men.
I eventually fell in love with a guy from my home town named Ben, whom I dated off and on through high school and college.
Ben is an handsome guy, a gentleman and a real sweetheart. He is big and strong and he protects me, but mostly, he makes sure that all of my needs are taken care of. Sometime I think he would do anything for me.
Ben and I married shortly after college.
It wasn't long after we settled into our new, secluded house that we were having our usual Friday night cocktail when Ben mentioned that he had bumped into Winston at the gas station. I guess that the cocktails must have loosened me up a bit because I went on and on to Ben about the way Winston liked to flirt with me back in high school. I told him all about the flowers and all about the kind things that Winston would say and do. I even told him that I pictured Winston as some sort of African Warrior.
Ben surprised me a little when he asked if Winston's flirting excited me. Of course, I vehemently denied that it did, but I'm not sure that I sounded real convincing because he started to ask me about some of our college friends. He went on and on, quizzing me on just about every black guy that I ever knew. I admitted to him that I did think some of them were handsome, but I didn't admit that it excited me. The conversation ended with Ben suggesting that we have Winston over for a cocktail some night. I wasn't sure what he was driving at, but I agreed that it might be fun.
The very next Friday night Ben poured us our usual cocktails, we smoked a little grass, changed into our P.J.'s, and sat down on the couch to watch a movie.