*Disclaimer: Any persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
**Description of symbols. '<<<<' denotes going back in time. '>>>>' denotes a return to present time. '----' denotes a natural break in narrative.
Chapter 1
Professor Huxton marched up and down the aisles, slapping tests down on students' desks as he went. He continued to whine in his high-pitched nasal voice about poor study habits, poor note taking, not following through with the homework assignments.
"The math lab is available to any student that takes the initiative and goes down there," he sneered. "But that won't do you any good unless you actually go there, you know."
Dee smiled as she looked at the '97' on her paper. She quickly skimmed down the sheet to see the mistake that had cost her a perfect score. There it was, a missed negative sign.
He was finished handing back the tests, but wasn't finished humiliating the students as he burst into his rapid-fire lecture on factoring. An unfortunate student dared interrupt with a question and was screamed at for interrupting.
"You have any questions, you wait until I'm finished," Professor Huxton reminded the class, then resumed his lecture.
At the end of his lecture, he sneered at the students that dared to have a question, then announced the end of the class period. There was a mad dash to get out of the classroom.
Dee pushed her thick brown hair back out of her light brown eyes and gathered up her books. She gave a quick look around at the students; some of them were very attractive. Quite a few were also giving her the once-over; she too was quite attractive.
Delicious 'Dee' Africa Jones was a very attractive young lady of twenty-three years of age. Her good looks came from a rich history; one she had researched for her Sociology 305 class.
<<<<
In 1845, Sarah, a slave owned by Mr. Carter went into labor. It was the thirty-year-old slave's seventh child, but this one seemed to be different from the other births. The previous births had been quick, nearly painless. This one, however, had given her pains almost from the very start.
"That 'cause it a boy," Ruth had snickered. "Boys always be trouble."
She groaned as the contractions came closer and closer and sweated in the Mississippi summer heat. It felt like her belly was ripping open.
It was not a boy, as Ruth had predicted, but Sara Carter did not live to see that. She died just before Ruth, acting as midwife, pulled the baby from Sarah and gave it a resounding slap on it's backside, to start the breath of life.
"I name her Sarah," Ruth said tearfully. "I bring her up for you, my friend."
Sarah did not wonder why she was the only child of Ruth Carter. She did not wonder how such an old, withered woman could have birthed her. She was a simple, happy child, and a hard worker.
War broke out and Mr. Carter joined his other brothers in the Mississippi brigade. He did not return to his homestead.
When news of their freedom reached them, many of the slaves simply continued to pick the cotton for Mrs. Carter, not knowing any other way to live, to exist.
"You, you free," Ruth cackled to Sarah.
"So?" Sarah shrugged. "What that mean?"
Sarah Carter and Moses Carter jumped the broom in 1866. Ruth sobbed and cackled in delight as her baby enjoyed the freedom of marrying herself a man of her choosing, not a man the lady of the house decided she should breed with.
Sarah gave birth to Rachael Carter, Ester Carter, and Rebecca Carter. In 1871, Moses left her for another girl on the same plantation, disgusted with a woman that gave him only daughters, instead of the son he hoped for.
Moses' second wife fared no better and he left Hattiesburg, Mississippi altogether, looking for the woman that would bear him a son.
----
In 1885, nineteen-year-old Rachael Carter traveled to Montgomery Alabama, to go to work for Lady Carter's daughter and her husband, Penelope and Steven Jones.
"Of course, there's really not much to do, with Steven, junior away at Harvard," Penelope intoned, and grew quite agitated that Rachael did not react to the mention of the lofty university.
There may not have been 'much to do,' but Penelope made sure that Rachael was always busy.
Rachael dabbed at the sweat as she scrubbed the floors in young Steven's room; Steven was expected home for the summer break.
"You look thirsty," young Steven Jones Junior smiled and held out a tall glass of iced tea.
"Oh no, I couldn't," Rachael said, recognizing the glass as one of Mrs. Jones' nice glasses, the ones she only brought out for company.
"Oh, come on, just one glass," Steven Junior cajoled
She knew Mrs. Jones would have a fit if she saw her drinking from one of the good glasses. Mrs. Jones was none too subtle in her disdain of her Negro servants. But it was hot, and she was thirsty, and it was Mrs. Jones' son that was offering the glass.
"That's a girl," Steven smiled as the attractive Negro servant quickly drained the glass, drinking quickly lest Mrs. Jones catch her drinking from one of the good glasses.
She came to on Young Steven Jones' bed, with her clothes in disarray and a sore, burning sensation in her private area. Her breasts were also quite sore, as if they'd been squeezed too hard. She vomited heartily; her stomach was not used to alcohol.
Nine months later, Polly Carter was born. Penelope Jones did not listen to Rachael's protestations that she had no idea where the baby came from, and kept a very close eye on the attractive servant, especially when her husband was in the house.
Rachael did not mourn with Mrs. And Mr. Jones when news of young Steven Jones death reached them. It seemed the daring young rake had been found in a wife's boudoir and leapt from an eight-story window to avoid the certain thrashing the wife's husband would have given him.
"And that probably how I got me that baby," she deduced.
Rachael began to call her daughter Polly Jones, an action that actually found favor with the mistress of the house. The lady of the house also began to treat the servant with a little more kindness. It seemed the death of her son had softened her harsh edges.
----
Polly Jones was hired to clean the home and the office of a son of a friend of Penelope Jones, James Richardson. Mother and daughter shed a few tears as the girl boarded a train from Montgomery, Alabama and headed down to New Orleans, Louisiana.
James Richardson was an attorney at law, was single, and was quite sought after by the well-to-do society, both as an attorney and as a potential suitor and husband for the debutantes of New Orleans society.
He did not come down to the station to collect Polly and her one trunk; but did send his livery steward. The tall black man easily picked up the heavy trunk, then assisted the woman up the carriage step into the plush carriage.
Polly looked around at the bustling Mecca in awe. Montgomery was not a small town, but was certainly not as large, or as elaborate and ornate as New Orleans. She was still gaping about when Charles pulled the carriage in front of a brownstone building on Magazine and State Street.
:Nester Richardson is expecting you; his office is the second one on the right when you enter through the 'Colored Only' door at the rear of the building," Charles said as he helped Polly down from the carriage. "Please, hurry, he is expecting you."
After knocking on the door marked 'Colored Only,' Polly entered the darkened hallway and walked down to the second door on the right, as Charles had indicated. Another timid knock and she was bid to enter.
James Richardson took her breath away. He was incredibly handsome with his blonde hair, parted stylishly in the middle and large handlebar mustache. He took off his reading spectacles and smiled widely at her, revealing a mouthful of dazzling white teeth. He stood up, revealing his well-muscled physique to the young lady.
"Ah, Miss Jones! It is Miss Jones, right?" he asked in a deep voice.
"uh, yeah, uh yes sir, I Miss Polly Jones," she stammered as he took her small hand in his large one and gave her hand a firm shake.
"Hate to have to greet you this way, but there's quite a bit of work needs to be done as soon as you can," he genially said and guided her to the small closet that housed her broom, cloth mop and scrub brushes as well as three large tin buckets.
"I know, you're probably tired from such an arduous train ride, but it's gotten to the point that I am embarrassed to have my clients visit me at my office," he apologized.
"Oh no, no sir, I get on it right away," Polly said and grabbed the broom and dustpan first.
He was exaggerating; the suite of offices was nearly immaculate, but Polly did her best to clean it even more.
"Very nice, very nice indeed," James murmured from behind her.
"Thank you sir," she responded. "I does my best."
"And it shows, Miss Jones, it shows," he agreed.
She had been working there for three months. Every now and then, James would make a light-hearted overture; Polly recognized it as 'fishing.' He was throwing the hook out there to see if she would nibble at the bait. Her usual response was to giggle and waggle a finger at him.
"Polly," he called out one afternoon. "Please come to my office."
"Yes sir?" she asked as she bustled into the office.
"Please close the door," he asked and she did so.
"That, Mister and Miss Overlon, they were my last clients for the day, and thankfully, tomorrow is Saturday," he smiled and she returned his smile, though she was not sure why.
