This is a tale that primarily set in the middle seventies. It was half a generation removed from the civil rights movement. I live in a small county in a middle Southern state and I remember it well. Even now, racism is still present, but it seems more directed at the mass of illegals that has flooded the area.
I could have put this in interracial, or maybe even romance, but in the end it's a tale of a cheating wife, compounded by the fact she was black and married to a white man. You may not like the overtones, but I was a young man during this time and tried to make it real as possible. If this offends you, stop now. If it offends you and you read it anyway, don't bitch. For the rest of you, enjoy.
And even though when the tale starts the female protagonist is under eighteen, NO SEX occurs until after her eighteenth birthday, except for a brief reference to a statutory rape that happened far into the past. Just wanted to clear that up.
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I admit it, I looked like a first class wimp when I walked into the karate studio. I had a black eye, a split lip, and a lot of bruises.
At six feet, and one sixty five[I had always been a little skinny]I didn't exactly look like a pussy. I actually was a fair to middlin' scraper, growing up in a small southern town and hanging with the bad boys had taught me a thing or two. I learned early, hit hard, hit fast, and hit first if you can. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. This particular time it was a first class disaster.
He had skills I never heard of. He bounced around, lightly, kicking and punching me with an almost robotic ease. I found out later he was a second degree black belt. An okay guy until somebody pissed him off or was drinking. That night he was both, being an asshole to his girlfriend and everyone around. I took all I could until he slapped his girl. I called him an asshole and dared him to try that shit on a man. Won't make that mistake again.
I gave it a good try, even got a few licks in, but he beat the fuck out of me. It took three bouncers to get him off of me, and they had to use clubs. He put one in the hospital.
When the judge found out he was a black belt, and threw the first punch, He reamed him a new ass. He had to do six months and enter anger management therapy once he got out of jail. He was warned, the next fight he was involved in he would get the maximum sentence possible.
Even though it was the bouncer who got hurt, and it was the club that pressed charges, he blamed the whole thing on me. He had a friend of a friend of a friend who knew a guy that another guy owed a favor to, to let me know that when he got out he was gonna kick my ass.
I knew six months of classes wouldn't get me a black belt, but maybe it would stop me from getting killed. That and the thirty eight I carried.
The sensei was a tenth degree black belt, so I figured he knew what he was doing. He was a tall, muscular black guy in his early forties. The class was mixed in age from sixteen to sixty two, in varying degrees of shape. I was twenty two.
I stretched, I strained. My muscles stayed sore for five months. I was saved the pain of a beat down when the asshole flipped out and beat the shit out of five prisoners and a guard. He got another three years.
In a fit of self revelation, I discovered I loved training. I made it to green belt in six months, going four days a week.
We would receive training from assistants, while the master would give lectures and demonstrate techniques. He had a mantra he pounded into us.
"Fight with your mind. Think, plan, don't just react! Improvise if you have to."
We had to pair up to practice moves. For some reason a woman just over five feet tall, not weighing a hundred pounds always chose me to practice with. I asked her once why she always chose me.
"Because you're basically the same size as my husband, minus the beer gut. When I get competent enough, I'm gonna beat the hell out of him."
Seems he was abusive, and she told him she went to exercise class instead of karate.
She finally felt confident enough to confront him, and that Saturday night he got a few beers in him and tried to smack her. She beat him so bad he hid in the bathroom. It was an old singlewide, and she took the phone and stood out in the hall and called every friend and relative they both had, telling them that Bubba had locked himself in the bathroom to keep her from beating him up. He was screaming about how he was gonna kill her when she went to sleep. Her last call was to 911, and she held up the phone so they could hear his rant a little more clearly. The deputies came and gave him a free place to sleep for two days, and confiscated every weapon in the house. He never did get his deer rifle and shotguns back. She used the time to empty the house and their bank accounts, and moved back in with her mother. She never came back to class.
There was a young black girl there, tall, athletic, well built, really good rack. She seemed to like me, but I was was twenty two and white. It was in the late seventies, in a small southern town. Plus she had just turned seventeen. I didn't do jail bait, whatever the color. It still didn't stop her from flirting, and sometimes I teased her back.
We were practicing how to break the hold of someone who grabbed our neck. shirt, or lapels.
The sensei gave us a lecture before practice.
"One of the best ways to break loose is surprise. Scream, do something unexpected. It'll slow down their response time. Sometimes a fraction of a second is the difference between rape, serious bodily injury, or death. Begin."
She did the standard grabs, and I did the taught responses while the instructors watched.
When it was my turn to be the attacker, I reached for her lapels. A tall girl at five ten, she bounced up on her feet, and I ended up with two hands full of firm boobs. Naturally I snatched my hands back, and she took full advantage of my exposed front, and knocked my down with a three inch punch to the nose. Already a bit off balance, I dropped like a rock. She leaned over with a sweet smile on her face.
"Surprise."
The ones that saw what happened were laughing, and once every one found out they had to stop practice. The sensei, always looking for a teachable moment, brought it into focus.
"Although I don't really think what she did was appropriate for class, it makes my point. What she did was so unexpected that it froze her opponent, making him vulnerable. That's all for tonight."
By then most of the younger ones had formed a loose friendship, and we would often go to a fast food place for a light meal. Shondra and her sister never went. I asked a guy why once.
"They're broke. Neither work, they're both still in school. They live with their grandmother on a fixed income. They pay for their lessons by cleaning the dojo."
I was a little later leaving that evening. The others had gone ahead, and I was on my way when I passed them on the sidewalk. I pulled over.
"Hey girls, wanna go grab something with the others? I'll pay, just to seen in public with two babes."
There was a guy walking with them, obviously interested in her sister.I don't know if he thought I was trying to take them away from him, he didn't like white boys, or if he was just an asshole.
"Move on, honky. Leave the sisters alone."
I grinned.
"Damn, and I was gonna order fried chicken and watermelon. Looks like I'll eat a burger instead."
I had hopped out of my CJ5 jeep. Shondra had laughed, and the guy was shocked. I had on a Rolling Stones t shirt, my uniform pants, and sneakers, so I was dressed to mix it up. Her sister put her hand on his arm.
"Don't. He meant nothing by it, and he could probably kick your ass."
She turned to me.
"Thanks for the offer, but Shondra and I need to get home. Maybe next time."
She looked around, Shondra was already in the jeep, fastening her seat belt and waving.
"Tell Grams I'll be home soon."
I looked to her older sister.
"All right. Have her home by nine thirty."
I had the jeep stripped down. No top, no doors. It made her a little nervous for a second, but when the wind hit she loved it.
"You're going down main street?"
