Do you think some people are born evil? That's what our pastor says sometimes at church. That some folks are just born with a devil inside. Sometimes I think I'm that way. I have some strange ideas, I know that, some weird thoughts and I don't know exactly where they come from or why. They're bad, some of them, but I'm not sure if I'm really evil or not. I just don't know.
I saw the man I wanted to marry at the Payless shoe store at the mall. He was older than me, old enough to be my dad probably. I didn't see any kids though. It was his wife that got my attention first. She was pretty loud, in a mean way. She wasn't much to look at, well, I have a hard time finding anything attractive about white women anyway, but some of them are okay looking. Mostly it's a personality thing.
This woman was kind of mean looking. Tall and big hipped, a big round butt and thick thighs. Not real fat mind you, just big, and if she wasn't careful she was going to be fat, and not too far in the future neither. She had a little belly already, not a big one, but a little roll going on beneath her tits. They were neither large nor small, but just there and even with that clunky bra she was wearing, which looked more like a back brace or something under her blouse, her boobs had some sag starting already.
Kind of a dirty blonde woman, you know what I mean? She had frizzy split ends and didn't know how to wear her makeup. She was a typical white thirty-something housewife to my eyes. She'd gotten married to the first guy who fucked her probably and now she was living with it and trying to make him pay. She really talked down to the man too, like he was a child.
"Sit right there, Harold," she'd say, "and don't move until I'm done buying my shoes."
That kind of thing. No respect at all and the man was taking it too. He probably just put up with it because it was easier than seeing her really mad. White women. They want the whole world on a platter, I swear. I don't know why men marry them. I can almost see why a guy would fuck one; I mean that might be okay. Everyone knows white girls make pretty good whores, if they start young enough, but marriage? Living with that for the rest of your life? That's a pill waiting to be taken, you know?
And Harold wasn't a bad looking guy for being old like he was. Of course, I have to admit that I have a serious thing for white guys and I don't know why. Maybe because the sweetest fruit is the one you ain't supposed to eat, like the pastor says. I like the temptation though, and I like giving into the temptation even more. That's part of my evil thoughts, my bad devil inside peeking out. White guys are my weakness. I just love them too much and that guy, he was tall and kinda stoop shouldered, but that was the weight of his wife's attitude, I was sure. If Harold was with a wife who appreciated him, he'd be upright and proud, and that was the man I wanted to see.
He had a full head of brown hair and a pleasant face, a smiling face, and that was probably another reason his bitch of a wife stomped him down. He was just too nice inside. Harold wasn't a bad guy at all and good guys don't know how to deal with women, everybody knows that. Sometimes you have to put a woman in her place and that doesn't come from me or the devil, that comes from the Bible like the pastor says. A man is the head of his house and a woman's gotta respect that. So long as he's doing right, working hard, taking care of his family and being a man, well, his wife has to remember her place and when she forgets it's a husband's duty to remind her.
The problem with a man like Harold is he's just got a big heart. A big ol' forgiving heart and he started letting his wife get away with disrespecting him. He gave her an inch and she took a mile and it's his fault, I'll give you that, but damn, I sure couldn't send a man to hell for being too kind and generous, could you? Hell was where Harold was living and I could see it plain as day. His handsome face was a mask of woe as he sat there, nodding at every venomous word his wife uttered.
He even pretended not to notice when his wife, being the typical white slut she was, flashed the boy helping her try on some shoes. Harold saw it though, the way the woman would spread her thighs so that pimply faced shoe boy could see all the way up to her curly gates. Harold saw it because his wife made sure he was looking when she did it. I didn't know if she was doing it to see if Harold would say something out loud, or if it was because the woman knew he wouldn't. Either way, I'd had enough.
I'd picked Harold and it was time to marry him.
Now, you may have guessed that I'm a black girl. I'm a very pretty black girl too. I'm popular and smart and I have a lot of friends, black and white. I live in the upper Midwest, so we have our problems like anyplace does, but it isn't like you're thinking maybe. There's no inner-city in our town. No Compton or Rodney King or Million Man Marches stuff. It's Minnesota, okay? We have a whole bunch of Norwegians and a bunch of Vietnamese fresh off the boat, and a bunch of black people, all trying to survive the blizzards.
Well, that might be a little simple, but anyway, I'm only fifteen. But everyone thinks I'm older, which is kind of nice. It would be nicer if people thought I was twenty-one, then I could go clubbing, but mostly they think I'm seventeen or eighteen usually. If I say that I'm a senior in high school most people, strangers, they don't even bat an eye, and I feel grownup too, that's the thing. I don't talk or act like I'm a high school freshman. I talk like a normal person. I like talking.
I'm tall, almost five foot seven, which is a couple inches taller than my mom. I was a little worried for awhile that I was going to be even shorter than her, but one day ... Zoom! I was looking her in the eye and a week later, looking down at her. But not looking down on her, no way! My mom's righteous and I love her. I might be taller than she is, but I'll always be looking up to her, you know?
I have black hair, and it's kinky yeah, but I comb it out and get it permed so it's more straight and falling around my shoulders. It looks good like that. I have a heart shaped face and big brown eyes, caramel eyes to go with my dark brown skin. Red lips, I got lucky there, and they aren't too big, but full and pouting when I need them to be. When I pout the world stops to fix what's wrong ... sometimes. My daddy does anyway. I have great teeth, since my dad's a dentist; I was born with a silver toothbrush in my mouth. That's one of his jokes and I know, it isn't all that funny.
My boobs are great! I was so happy when they started growing and then they got big, you know, B cups like overnight when I was fourteen, and so when they stopped growing, I was seriously relieved. See, in junior high school, big is good, but too big? That's not good. People look at you funny, so for me 32B cups are awesome, and they're firm and nice and I love my boobs. Lots of people do and my butt too. I have a nice round one, not huge like some girls I know, but it's firm and pert and I like to show it off.
Cause I got the devil inside me, remember? Probably that's why I'm so hot ... sorry.
Anyway, I was dressed for showing off on this day. I was looking for a man like Harold, truthfully, and so I'd dressed for it. I wore a nice sweater, a peach colored one because it really looks nice with my brown skin. A pleated skirt, short so it showed off my long legs which are really toned from cheerleading, even though I'm just on the junior pep squad this year. Some ankle socks and little boots. I like boots more than shoes, and they're cute with leather straps and one inch heels. My parents won't let me get any real high heels or anything and even an inch is kind of daring so far as Daddy is concerned.
I looked really good and a lot of guys were checking me out as I walked around. None of them knew I was fifteen cause this mall is like on the other side of town, and Minneapolis is a big town, so these were like White Bear Lake people and ohhh ... We hated their high school. They always had good teams. Anyway, so guys are checking me out, black guys especially cause I'm a sister, you know a 'phreaky eaky sistah', and I don't play that game. I live in Eden Prairie, the closest we get to talking like that is playing GTA on Xbox, you know? But the guys love talking smack and it's kind of sad that our racial identity has migrated away from the visceral literacy of Dr. King to gangsta rap and MTV.
So I ignore the black guys totally, they just don't attract me at all. I'm fine, I'm hot, I'm all that and a stack of twenties, whatever that means. I ignore it and tease the white boys. That gets my motor running, seeing those white high school boys and preppie college guys, all blonde and blue and handsome and white ... My little fifteen year old pussy is dripping, I swear to the Blessed Virgin. I love white boys. And their dads! I see a hot kid, like sixteen, walking towards the sporting goods store or something with his dad, the two of them looking alike and talking and ouch! I just want them to take me home!
.... There is more of this story ...