Betty Bumstead was born in one of those northern States where the farm girls were all of Scandinavian stock and their DNA was so pristine white that most eyes were blue and most hair was blonde as sure as the sun always rises.

She was about five foot two and with eyes of blue and lips of cherry red. Her feminine assets were definitely in the “ten” category in almost every respect. The only exception was that some males might complain that her breasts were not a big as one would expect considering the fact that her figure was so voluptuous in so many other ways. Even an impartial observer would expect them sticking out there like French artillery ready to tempt the most discreet Saint into a dangerous situation.

It was absolutely certain that the possibility of hidden thoughts or agenda lurking about in the minds of most males was definitely a given.

Betty liked to wear those delicate French imported thongs under her work clothes with the tiny cord buried in her pristine crack. She kept her pussy completely shaven and generally wore a nicely scented lubricant on both her pussy and her brown eye just in case she managed to get lucky whilst she was out on the job working her assignments for the day. Those assignments that were constantly changing but made each day a new adventure not allowing her to really know what to expect.

She lived in one of those fast-growing southern states now and she was happy to be out of the snow and ice once and for all, but she was smart enough to know the south got awful hot in the summertime and she needed to dress real cool to make her outdoor work a lot more comfortable.

That was the reason why she was out in the garden on the side of the house pruning the tomatoes, the strawberries and the giant sweet potatoes in the big planter that had belonged to the lady next door for the longest time. Unfortunately for that lady’s state of mind, her husband died suddenly and she threw out all the gardening stuff because she had no interest in it at all. The rumor was that she had moved on from gardening to gathering men like rosebuds to populate her nocturnal hours. The poor widow’s gardening tools were gathering dust and her sweet slit was occupied around the clock. In a way, Betty was envious but she busied herself with the gardening and patiently waited for her own true love to come along someday. Still, she was surprised that several of the visitors to the widow’s sitting room were dark-skinned and that was something unattached white ladies didn’t normally do in a small town.

It had to be one of the hottest days of the year, but Betty was outside working diligently in her garden doing her level best to produce the plumpest and ripest veggies to tempt the lips of anyone with a thirst or hunger for products tended by her sensitive hands and fingers.

All she was wearing was her somewhat scandalous French designed thongs with the tiny cord running down inside her ass crack and her glorious slightly drooping cheeks that jiggled with sensuous invitation were getting the benefit of mother sun over every square inch of posterior skin on prominent display for one and all with an interest in such delicacies.

She had on the flesh-toned training bra that made it look like she was topless from even a short distance away. Her boobs were still perky and they swung left and right when she was using the hoe to weed the plants gently with lots of tender loving care.

At this point, it would behoove me point out the fact that the voluptuous Betty seldom associated with any persons of color because of strict rules laid down by her parents. She took her cues from her family and friends and kept as far apart from that segment of society with never a thought about the genetic similarity of all humankind untainted by shifting levels of acceptance in modern day society.

Betty had never been out on a date with a dark-skinned boy in her entire life.

The simple fact was that no black boy had ever asked her to go out in a social setting. She had a way of looking down her nose at males of color and just giving them that look that said,

“Don’t you dare to even come close, Mister, because I will cry rape and you will spend the rest of your life in State prison.”

Black boys knew enough to stay away from her despite the fact she had one of those special white-girl asses that simply cried out,

“Stick that long black dick in me, big boy and make me call you “Daddy!”

When she was first working for the local bank, Betty had ridden in a sedan with Buck Jones and he was about as black as the inside of a coal mine at midnight. She wrinkled up her pretty nose and pretended that he was her chauffeur and she was the one giving the orders. Actually, she was his junior and he wrote her performance reviews every three months because that was his job as the collection department supervisor. It was kind of strange with a big black unmarried guy in charge of a half dozen church-going white ladies that would never step inside a car with a black man unless they were ordered to if they wanted to keep their job at the bank.

In actuality, Betty was not at odds with Buck Jones. In fact, she was sort of enjoying being so close to his sweating muscles that seemed to be popping out all over his arms and shoulders and chest like he was one of those weight-lifters down at the gym. She also eyed his coiled black snake inside his trousers just tucked out of sight but making its presence known with the way it sort of bulged and hung down low when he got in and out of the car.

Betty’s Cousin Elvira had given her the blow by blow description of the first time she had allowed one of the black farm workers to screw her behind the barn when they were taking a break for lunch fixed by her mama with the leftover ham from Sunday dinner.

Elvira told Betty that the biggest one she ever had was a tall, handsome black man called Boner. He was one of those uppity black men that naturally assumed all white women wanted a chance to sample some black meat just to say that they had and brag to all their female friends about the size of the big black dick they surrendered their pussy to in the heat of the night.

Her favorite cousin described in tantalizing detail the way he had bent her over the old rail fence and spread her ass cheeks so far apart that she thought he was shoving a baseball bat in her backside. When she peeked over her shoulder, she saw it was his huge black cock and not a baseball bat even though it felt so wide that she was ready to start crying if he didn’t let up and give her some breathing room.