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.
I could tell right away that it was a porno. I admit that I like watching a good quality porno once in a while, especially when I'm stoned. Smoking is an aphrodisiac for me, so I made sure I was wearing my loosest, most accessible P.J.'s...you know...just in case.
Before I knew it we were watching a group of scantily dressed women walking a beautiful young blonde girl out to a make-shift bed in the middle of an open stage. She was dressed as a fair young maiden, barefoot, in a very short, silky white gown. Her neck, arms and legs were bare and her skin was soft, milky and smooth. A crown of pastel colored flowers adorned her head, keeping her long, straight blond hair from falling into her innocent, waif-like face. Her eyes were baby blue, and a bit glazed, as if she was given something to make her relax. In my own "relaxed" state, it was easy for me to imagine that I was her up there on stage, lying there in that revealing white gown, eagerly anticipating what was going to happen next.
The room was crowded with masked couples seated at small tables around the stage, sipping cocktails, waiting to see the show. It was obvious that they were hiding their identities, and it was just as obvious that the nubile young blonde was the main attraction.
The audience sat quietly, eyes glued to the stage as the group of women attending the young blonde began to gently caress her smooth, white skin. Hands and fingers slid softly over her bare neck, arms and legs, leaving trails of goose bumps in their wake. The fingers that were caressing her neck slowly slid the white gown off of her shoulders, passing the gown to the fingers on her arms. As the fingers on her arms slid her gown downward, the fingers from her neck moved along with it, exploring the newly exposed skin on her chest. I could see that the silky material of the gown gliding across her nipples was making them hard.. I watched with anticipation, and when they finally popped out from behind the gown, they were big, stiff and cherry red. The attendants fingers quickly moved in and gently tugged and rolled them. A warm tingle ran through my body.
The camera panned to her legs, and another set of attendants fingers were moving slowly up her thighs towards her hips. When the gown would no longer slid upward anymore, the attendant then moved to the side, allowing the camera to reposition at the foot of the bed. The hem of the gown barely covered her privates. The camera focused in on one of the attendants slowly unbuttoning her gown from the top on down, then pushing the gown to the side, exposing more and more of her tight, young body. For a few moments, my thoughts turned from the young maiden to how I imagined it would feel to be on that bed, knowing that I was about to be exposed to a room full of strangers. My stomach knotted with a nervous excitement thinking about having all those strangers looking at me.
My breathing got heavier with every button that was released, until finally, the attendant reached the last button. I held my breath in anticipation. "Do it!" I thought to myself, "Just do it!" It felt like minutes had gone by before the attendant popped the last button. The silky gown fell off to the sides, exposing the maiden's creamy white thighs, her silky blonde pubic hairs and her pencil-thin slit for everyone to see. I felt like I was looking in a mirror, and everyone was looking at me. I couldn't wait to see what was going to happen next.
Before I could give it much though, the camera flashed to a big green door at the side of the stage. Two raven haired slaves clad in gossamer gowns were standing on ether side of the door. With much fanfare, and some background drum beats to heighten the excitement of his arrival, the door opened and a very large and dark African Warrior emerged onto the stage. A bone necklace around his neck, white and red body paint and a grass skirt gave him a very authentic, savage-like look.
The raven haired slaves flanked the warrior and slowly and deliberately walked him towards center stage. The slaves gowns hung loosely draped on their naked bodies beneath, the material shear enough to reveal their nakedness beneath. As they moved across the stage it became immediately evident that the warrior was not wearing any clothing beneath his grass skirt. I watched him closely, hoping to get a good look, but his cock never emerged from the grass skirt. By the way he moved, it appeared that he was very well endowed.
The raven haired slaves delivered the warrior to the foot of the make-shift bed. He stood there with one on each arm, motionless, towering over the tiny blond girl on the bed, waiting. That was the queue for two of the attendants to move down on each side of the blonde maiden, placing a hand on each knee and each ankle while the third attendant moved to the head of the bed and took the blonde maidens head in her hands.
When all were in place, the third attendant lifted the blonde maidens head so that she could see the big dark warrior standing over her. The contrast between the two couldn't be more obvious.
