Chapter 5: Homecoming

In eight years, Matilda Jackson had only missed three days of work, so when she called in four hours before her shift began and told them that she wouldn't be able to make it in that day, she knew that it wouldn't be a problem. In fact, the personnel department at the hospital thought nothing of it. Instead, they thanked her for the call, expressed their hope that she would be feeling better soon, and then dialed an agency that sent temporary nurses to fill shifts in situations such as these.

Had Matilda known that Robert was no longer at the hospital, she would have filled her shift and just pushed the incident from last night out of her mind. As it was, Matilda had no idea Robert had been discharged that afternoon and so she called in sick purely to avoid repeating the same thing that happened the night before, or something even worse. There were just some things in Matilda's past that she thought were well and truly in the past. But last night, all of those repressed longings came bubbling back up and the truth was, she was just plain scared.

Born in Biloxi Mississippi, in nineteen twenty-five, Matilda came into this world during the heart of the Great Depression. The two things most prevalent in her young life were fear and want. She grew up in a small house on the other side of the tracks in Biloxi. Evenings were spent telling stories and making conversation; anything to keep their minds off of the fact that another day had come and gone without enough to eat. The matriarch of the family, her great-grandmother, Oralee, often recounted stories of living and growing up on the plantation and being used by the white men. The stories were always for the benefit of the adults but the house was small and nobody took any notice of the little girl who had crept out of bed and stayed in the back of the room absorbing every word with eyes wide.

"They was powerful men ... mighty powerful. They figure that what they wants is just theirs to take." Oralee would relate. "And you know how them powerful men gots to scratch they itches ... and them white women, they don't like to do for their men ... figure that it ain't civilized and beneath they dignity. So what you think happen? Well I tell you what happen. That boss man, he start to looking at us colored girls and we start to looking mighty good to 'im."

Oralee caught a look of incredulity in one of the audience. "Shoot girl what you think? Old Oralee weren't always a wrinkled and dried up ol' prune like you see. Time was, I was pretty ... prettier'n you!"

With her audience settled on the facts, once again Oralee took up her narrative. "So that white boss, he tell Oralee, 'Girl! you come over here, I got somethin' for you to do back behind this here shed.' And Oralee, she knows what's g'wanna happen behind that shed. But she goes because she knows if she be real nice to the white boss, he be nice to her. And if she ain't real nice ... well then, she in for a heap o'trouble."

"You let him do that to you?"

"Girl, what you talkin' 'bout 'let'? You a colored girl! 'Let' don't figure into nuthin'! Tell you the truth, I liked it. Sheeet! ol' Oralee got her some. And it weren't no smelly sweaty field hand neither. It were a sweet-smelling powerful white man! ... and it weren't no sin for ol' Oralee! Not without she ain't got no choice in the matter! Nosiree! That was all on that white man. So Oralee figure that, 'long as it's g'wanna happen anyway, I just enjoy it! Tell you somethin' else too! That white boss, he see me enjoy it, he be extra nice to Oralee. I'm tellin' you how it is!, 'tweren't no sin for ol' Oralee ... No sir!"

Matilda was fifteen the first time she traded her favors for something to eat. She was passing by the grocer's and she was just so hungry and those apples were just so red and juicy looking. The grocer never even noticed it when her hand reached out and plucked one from the pile and put it into her pocket. But that doesn't mean it went unnoticed. A white boy about three years older than her saw the theft and cornered her in an alleyway. He threatened to take her straight to the County Sheriff unless she did exactly what he told her to do. Trembling in fear, Matilda took off her dress as ordered. She stood there naked and let him touch her wherever he wanted. He put his fingers in her and pulled at her budding breasts. And, to her shame, Matilda realized it excited her.

While his hands were on her, the stories her great grandmother told on those summer nights came back to her. 'You a colored girl! Let don't figure into nuthin'!" So Matilda surrendered completely to the moment and, while that white boy had his fingers in her, she felt her body start to tingle and, shortly thereafter, wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. She never felt anything like it. It had to be sinful. Then she remembered that other thing her great-grandmother said, "and it weren't no sin for her! Not without she ain't got no choice in the matter! Nosiree!"

Then the white boy unbuttoned his fly and pulled out his thing and made Matilda kneel down and do him with her mouth. It ought to have disgusted her. She knew it ought to have but it didn't. When the white boy groaned and thrust into her mouth, all Matilda could think was, if she was nice to him and he liked her, he would be nice to her.

He was nice to her too! Within a year, she had filled out a lot and it seemed like he couldn't get enough of her. Whenever Matilda was downtown, he'd seek her out. He always had something for her. Food, or hair ribbons, once he brought her a dress he said his sister didn't want anymore ... and he would use her. He would take her for rides in his car way out into the country. They would stop on some deserted road or in some deserted farmhouse that had been foreclosed on. There was usually a mattress or two left behind. He would order her to undress and he would tell her what he wanted her to do ... and she would do it. She would put her mouth and tongue wherever he demanded. When he told her to spread her legs, she would comply. If he wanted her on all fours while he thrust into her from behind, she would get down on her hands and knees and raise her ample ass up in the air wiggling in anticipation. Sometimes, while she was doing him with her mouth and licking him, he would stroke her hair and call her pet names. When it came time for him to release, Matilda would take that too, wherever and however he demanded it. It excited him to hear her beg for his spend. She learned that the nastier she talked and begged him, the more he liked it. And it was the most important thing in the world for Matilda that he liked it. Matilda was certain that she loved him and that he loved her. After all. he took care of her; it was only right that she take care of him as well.

Every once in a while, he got rough with her. He'd slap her meaty ass repeatedly while plowing into her from behind. He'd grab her by the hair and pull her head back while twisting one of her nipples and demand to know who those big black udders belonged to. "You.", she would whimper as her pussy gushed with excitement..."only you." It excited her when he did that. It made her feel like they were on a plantation and she was his slave and that she was free to enjoy whatever happened because, after all, he made her do it.

After he'd claim her like that, his blood was up and his passion was much more intense. He'd use her hard and call her his whore and his nigger slut. He was always pleased when she agreed with him and called herself those names. She always came away from those sessions with an extra glow of satisfaction. It was, after all, her purpose in life to please him. And using her like that seemed to please him more than anything else. While she was with him, the want and deprivation in her life was put on hold. There was no depression, there was no hunger or fear ... there was only her white master fucking his colored slave girl and all would be well as long as she pleased him and kept him happy.

He left a few short weeks after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. She never saw him again. She heard that he had died on some island in the Pacific but she knew better than to try and find out more. She cried for a time when it was certain that he wouldn't return. But by now she had needs.

When you're poor, you have very limited leisure time and even more limited means of entertaining yourself during that leisure time. Rich folk went to the movies, poor folk fucked. And fucking was something Matilda was good at. She knew how to get men excited and keep them excited. There were lots of men but none of them made her tingle like that white boy. She often tried to recapture that feeling she had when she surrendered to him completely while he was using her and allow her mind to take her deep into that fantasy she kept hidden ... the one she would never tell anyone about ... the one where she was on a plantation and her white master was using her ... where she had no will of her own but to please him in whatever manner he demanded. Often, in the throes of passion, she would find the courage to express to her current partner, her desire to be used hard. Most of them were only too willing to comply. Matilda got hurt a lot. It was only when her partner was white, however, that she was able to come close to the feeling she desired the most; to feel owned completely.

After her second arrest for solicitation, Matilda moved to Texas to stay with her mother's sister. She found a job as a cleaning woman, and finished high school at night. When she started nursing school, she decided that there was too much in her life now to risk it all by succumbing to the desires that had been the source of so much trouble in her past. She swore that she would never let who she was ruin the life she was trying to build for herself. Instead of being submissive and meek, she started to assert herself more. She swore off men, pushing those desires and fantasies down deep inside of her. And there they stayed until last night when that pretty white boy in room 324 busted right through her defenses like a bull through a picket fence and put his hand up her dress speaking sharply to her and ordering her to watch him while he did for her. White men had ordered her about before but it was always ordering her to do something for them. She'd never had one of them order her to just stand there and watch while they pleasured her ... except for that first one ... the one she loved.

She wasn't certain what had come over her, but it hit her like a runaway freight train and she felt powerless to stop herself. He was just a boy, but he didn't act like a boy. He took charge like a man and told her what to do. She should have slapped his face but, instead, she wanted him to slap her face and grab her hair and take ownership of her. She loved every second of it ... and all she could think of was when she would get to see him and have him do things to her ... forbidden things ... nasty things that would make her tingle with excitement like she did so many years earlier. She'd rubbed herself to orgasm four times since her shift ended. In her fantasies, she begged him to use her. She dredged up the most forbidden fantasy of them all ... the one where he was her white master and she was nothing but a plantation slave that had to do his bidding.