Memoirs of a Young Black Girl Ch. 1

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My name is Felicia and I lived in Branson Missouri. By the time I was seventeen and a junior in high school when this part of my story takes place, I had earned a reputation for being rather promiscuous. Not only was I having sex with my boyfriend James, but I was also having sex with other boys as well. I was not fooling around with other boys to be liked or trying to get popular or because I had low self-esteem or to be rebellious. I was having sex because I enjoyed it a great deal.All of my sexual partners had been black boys and I once had been fucked by two boys in one night at a party I went to; not at the same time but one after the other. After the first boy was done, he left and his friend came into the room. I gave him a blowjob and he also fucked me. I thought it was fun.It was not hard for me to get boys to have sex with me. I was pretty and had a great body, big breasts, and a fantastic butt. Then there was also my new reputation at school; guys knew I would put out. Some of the rumors about my promiscuous activities were exaggerated but some were also true.My boyfriend knew of the rumors but he never believed them. James was not only very naïve but he refused to believe them. I didn’t feel guilty about cheating on him. I know that’s bad for me to say, but I didn’t. I never felt guilty for the sexual things I have done in my life.I also didn’t want to break up with him either. I didn’t love James, and I never really did love him; I was just comfortable with him. I had known him since I was eight years old and he was my first boyfriend, but not the first guy I had sex with, and the only boy my strict, religious grandparents approved of me dating.I met James at church when we were both eight years. He was a religious boy and my grandparents had known his family for many years. It was not until the first semester of my senior year of high school when I was eighteen that I did the right thing and broke up with James when I started seeing another boy on a more regular basis instead of random hookups.I don’t like using the word hate and like to think that while there are people I dislike; I don’t hate any of them. But I did come to hate James after we broke up. I hated him because of what he did to me towards the end of my senior year of school when he told my grandparents about the older man I was having an affair with at the time; an older white man.My grandfather did not like white people much at all. He did not believe in racial integration and of course, did not believe or approve of interracial dating. You could go as far as to say my grandfather was a racist.I had gotten many switches and spanked with a belt by my grandfather since I was eight years old when I came to live with them after my mother was arrested and social services took me away from her. None, however, were as bad as that day when I was eighteen and my grandfather took his belt me.They kicked me out of their home when James told them about the older white man I was having an affair with. But that’s a different story.The summer after my junior year of high school I was introduced to not only having sex with my first white boy but also other first-time sexual activities. It was the summer I discovered I preferred white boys and white men over black boys and black men. Not that I gave up black men.I met Steve when he and two of his friends came into my grandfather’s small grocery store and gas station. I was working behind the counter while my grandfather was in the back going over the inventory with a soda distributor on his order.The first thing that drew my attention to Steve and his two friends was that they were white and in the store. White people did not come into my grandfather’s store often. They only came to the neighborhood we lived in for one thing. The next thing I noticed was they were not even from my side of town.All three were dressed in expensive brand named clothes and they had pulled up for gas in a Range Rover. The only type of cars like that in my neighborhood were driven by the higher-up on the food chain gangbanger drug dealers. I figured that was what they were doing in my neighborhood, buying weed or other drugs. All one had to do was drive down any street where I lived and they could score marijuana or other drugs. I didn’t do drugs and did not drink much at all.A lot of white people think driving to a neighborhood like mine to buy drugs was unsafe and could get them killed. That is not necessarily true. It can be scary, and yes it could be unsafe and it could get you killed, but only if you were stupid and tried to con or rip off the dealer.Drug dealers are not stupid. They know who their customer base is and they are not going to do anything to jeopardize their business by shooting or beating up or ripping off their customers. It’s not good business. I won’t say it never happens, because it does on occasion but it certainly does not happen often. It mostly happens when the person buying the drugs starts acting like a fool. Most of the violence in my neighborhood was black-on-black and gang-related.The last thing I noticed about the three white people was that all three were very nice-looking. Steve, as I soon found out his name, was tall, had dark hair, was well-built, and was very handsome. His friend Glenn was not as handsome but very cute. He was slightly shorter than Steve and had sandy blonde hair. The girl, whose name was Amber, was tall, very thin, had long red hair, and was extremely pretty to the point I would call her beautiful.I won’t bother to go into detail about what I looked like; you can see that on my profile photos and from reading my previous stories. I will mention that I stand only five-foot-two inches tall; a short girl with short legs. I am currently twenty-five and over the years I have worn many different hairstyles, and at seventeen my hair was styled in a short afro. I have slightly almond-shaped eyes and thicker, full lips typical of a girl of my racial heritage.I started paying more attention to the way I looked when I was sixteen and started to notice how boys and men looked at me with desire. Before then I would let my hair just grow naturally and it was wild and kinky looking like I was a native trial girl that lived in xnxx the savannahs of Africa. I then started to style it and get it trimmed. I was not allowed to wear makeup, however, and didn’t even know how to apply it.The first time I used makeup was when I was sixteen and going to school one morning. I bought cheap makeup at Walmart. When I was leaving for school my grandmother told me I looked like a painted Jezebel, yes she used that name and told me to go wash my face. Honestly, I did look rather ridiculous because I didn’t know how to apply makeup and she did me a favor because I would have been laughed at, at school that day.The three white kids came to the counter to pay for their gas as well as several junk, snack foods. That confirmed my suspicions they had already scored some weed or were going to since they were preparing for the munchies. Once they piled their items on the counter, Glenn and Amber left the store.Steve was left to pay for the items and asked for forty dollars in gas. I noticed the first thing he did was look at my breasts. I was not showing them off and dressed conservatively. I was wearing a hand-me-down sundress that my grandmother bought for me at the Goodwill store, where she got all my clothes. The floral print dress had a high neckline, the hem came down just about half an inch above my knees and the dress had short sleeves.While I was not showing off my breasts, which I have been known to do, why not? I had great, large breasts so why not show some cleavage? Even though the sundress was a size too large for me, another thing my grandmother did; was buy me clothes that were a size too large to hide my body, the dress was still tight around my chest and it did not hide the size of them.“A two-pack of Swishers,” Steve said as he looked at my chest. “Cherry flavor.”I turned and got the two-pack of Swisher Sweet Cigarillos off the shelf. Yes, they were in the neighborhood to buy weed. I knew they wanted the cigars to make blunts out of. I may not do drugs, but I had grown up in this neighborhood and I knew the deal.I also found it hypocritical how religious my grandparents were but they had no problem selling tobacco products and beer and cheap wine and even rolling papers in their store.When I turned back around, I saw Steve looking at my ass. While the second-hand sundress draped over my body like a tent, as my grandmother wanted it to, it still had a hard time hiding the curves of my chest and butt.When my body started to develop, I was embarrassed by it. By the time I was sixteen, my body had developed more rapidly than other girls my age and even older than me. I had large breasts and a tight, curvy “ghetto booty”. I had more curves on my body than I knew what to do with and it embarrassed me.To add to the embarrassment of my developing body was my grandmother. As my butt started to get shapelier and my breasts got larger at an alarming rate but my waist stayed thin and stomach flat, my grandmother told me I should be ashamed of such a body. She told me that my developing body was sinful and that it would tempt men to lust after me and their lust would be my fault for having such a body and being an attractive girl. What kind of grandmother would tell a young girl that? I was not even told about shaving my legs or armpits.I never got the birds and the bees talk from my grandparents and what I learned about sex was from sex education classes in school and the girl’s locker room in gym class or from overhearing older girls at the summer camp I went to. What I learned about sex in the locker room and at summer camp was a lot of false facts.One may ask me how living with my grandparents was better than living with my mother. My grandparents were very religious almost to being fanatical about it, they were strict, they showed me very little affection, and my grandfather used his belt or switch on me for even minor infractions of their rules.Well, with them I at least had a bed to sleep on instead of just a dirty mattress on the floor, I got fed, and I was able to bathe and shower every day. I didn’t have to worry about the water or power or gas being shut off for nonpayment because my mother spent the money on drugs.I didn’t have to be scared of the series of men she would invite into our home and who would live with us for a week or a month or several months at a time. Having a switch or belt taken to my naked butt and the back of my thighs for breaking rules was much easier to take than having my hand put in a pot of boiling water for just spilling a glass of milk.When the police took my mother away in handcuffs when I was eight, the social services lady told me not to look, not to be scared, and told me that once my mother gets help, she can come and get me from foster care. I did look and I smiled when I saw my mother being put into the back of the police car and I told the social services lady I hoped I never saw the woman again for the rest of my life. I didn’t. That was the last I saw of my mother and I am glad about it.I don’t like or want people to pity me when they know the story of my mother. I hate when they say how sad it is and how sorry they are for me. I was happy when the police took my mother to jail and child services took me away from her.Who do you think was the one who told a teacher at school what my mother was doing and the ways she hurt me? Even though I was only eight, I knew child services would do an investigation. I had seen it many times growing up where I did.I spent a little over a month in a group home in foster care until my grandparents took custody of me. I didn’t even know I had grandparents that were still alive. At first, I was excited, but I soon found out they didn’t take me in out of love or affection, but because they felt it was their Christian duty to do.There were a few things I appreciated about how my grandparents raised me. They taught me to be very articulate in the way I talked and not to use ghetto slang and my grandmother taught me how to be a lady. They told me they were not raising me to be “ghetto trash”. I came to appreciate that more as I grew older.They made me study and do my homework, which at first I didn’t care for that but as I entered high school I was grateful bakire porno for it. I recognized how much it helped with my grades and education and by my junior year, I was taking AP classes.Don’t get me wrong, I could act the fool and act like a hoodrat when and if I wanted to. I learned that from other girls at my high school. But that was just an act to fit in and not who I was. Not that I had a lot of female friends in school.I had very few and the ones I did have were school friends and not real friends I would hang out at school only. I never had any real girlfriends to have girl talks with or do makeovers with or do each other’s nails or anything like that.I don’t think it was due to my reputation for being promiscuous. There were girls in our school who did a lot worse than I did and had sex with more boys than I did. One of the most popular girls in our school was a very pretty dark-skinned girl and head cheerleader. She was dating an older boy who was a gangbanger and rumor was he passed her around to his gang buddies.I also heard that he would take her to a cheap motel and pimp her out to several guys a night. I didn’t believe the last part, but who knows if it was true or not. It could have been because I knew that happened to some of the girls that became hoodrat girlfriends to the thugs in our neighborhood. I did know she was still very popular and had a lot of friends.I think it had more to do with the fact I was a loner type of person and also I didn’t socialize with many kids after school besides with the youth group at church. When I got out of school for the day I had to go immediately to my grandfather’s store and work and then after home to study and do homework. During the summer, except for the one year, I was a camp counselor all summer, I spent my days and evenings working in the store.My grandfather introduced me to reading books. They didn’t have cable TV so I read a lot for entertainment. The books my grandfather read were mostly by black authors and books about the repression of the black race by the white race and biographies and autobiographies about black men and women. I did read some of those books, but by using my library card I was able to extend my reading education.I read classic novels, non-fiction history books, biographies and autobiographies about various people of all races, and also fictional books. To this day I love to read.Then there was a summer camp I went to. I loved summer camp. I had been going since I was ten. It was a camp for underprivileged black kids and ran by a Pentecostal church. It was not some fancy summer camp that offered a lot of activities, just basic things such as swimming on the lake, canoeing, archery, and nature hikes. It was fun though.While it had strict rules regarding fraternization between the girls and the boys, other strict rules, and we had to attend religious services; I enjoyed camp a great deal. One of the reasons I enjoyed it was because it got me away from my grandparents for one week out of the summer. It was at camp when I was fifteen that another girl showed me how to shave my legs and armpits.When I was sixteen, I was able to become a counselor at the camp so got to spend almost all summer there. We got paid and being away all summer was very nice. I also became a lifeguard at the camp. Being a lifeguard led me to trim my pubic hair.When I first put on my red lifeguard one-piece swimsuit I noticed my pubic hairs sticking out and knew I had to do something about that. I went to Walmart and bought a small trimmer and trimmed the hair around my bikini line. I then thought I needed more trimming so trimmed all my black pubic hairs around my pussy. I liked how it looked so by the time summer camp was over that year, I had shaved all my pubic hair and had a hairless pussy by the time I started my junior year of school. I liked having no hair on my pussy, it felt neat.Summer camp when I was sixteen was also where I gave my first blowjob, swallowed my first load of cum, and had sex for the first time. My boyfriend James was also a counselor at the camp, but his cock was not the first one I sucked and he did not take my virginity. An eighteen-year-old senior councilor was my first blowjob and a week later he was the first boy to fuck me.I loved all three so much, giving a blowjob, swallowing cum, and getting fucked, that I also started giving James oral sex and letting him fuck me at camp as well. I was sneaking behind his back to have sex with the older boy but also having sex with James as well. To say I enjoyed my first year as a camp counselor would be an understatement.After that year and when I entered my junior year of high school at seventeen I had changed. I was no longer embarrassed by my body and became rather vain and even a little narcissistic about my body and looks. I continued to shave my pubic hair and using the money I made at summer camp I was able to buy better clothes including panties and bras.I had to hide my new clothes from my grandparents and would put them in my school backpack and change clothes at school before my first class. I was blessed with smooth, blemish-free skin so didn’t have to wear makeup, but knew if I did I would have looked better. I wished I had known how to apply it back then. Oh, I had the occasional pimple but never a breakout case of acne.I didn’t buy very revealing clothes, just a couple of pairs of jeans, a denim skirt, a dress, and some tops. However, over that summer my breasts got even larger and my ass was even shapelier. The jeans I bought were tight around my butt and my tops were tight around my chest. I got a lot of stares from the boys, both the black boys and the white boys, at school and I enjoyed the looks and even some of the crude comments I overheard about my ass and boobs.I also became more sexually active. I discovered I enjoyed sex and giving blowjobs a great deal and even though James was still my boyfriend, I didn’t feel I had to limit myself to one boy. I hooked up with other boys at school and even got invited to a party by a nineteen-year-old boy that came into my grandfather’s store. It was at that party that the nineteen-year-old boy fucked me and then after he was bedava porno done I let his twenty-year-old friend fuck me also. I enjoyed them fucking me one after the other. I soon got a reputation at school, but I didn’t care. I was having fun.I wanted to be a cheerleader. Not so much out of school spirit but because I thought I would look sexy in the uniform. My grandparents wouldn’t let me try out though. They did not want me to wear the cheerleader uniform and also told me I didn’t have time for extra school activities because I had to work in my grandfather’s store after school.The high school I went to was the city school and was about eighty percent black. Most of the white kids went to the county school or one of the private schools. While I was fucking other boys and noticed that some white boys would look at me with desire, I had never had sex with a white boy. That changed when Steve and his friends walked into my grandfather’s store.I checked the white boy’s ID and he was eighteen so I sold him the Swishers. He started to flirt with me and introduced himself. I started to flirt back, he was super cute, and told him my name. We flirted back and forth and I kept looking at the back of the store to make sure my grandfather did not see me. I would have caught hell for flirting and it would have been worse since Steve was white.His friends had left the store and were waiting in his Range Rover while we flirted. One of them would beep the horn occasionally for Steve to hurry up.“We are going to the lake for Memorial Day weekend if you want to join us,” Steve told me.“I don’t have a way to get there,” I told him. “I don’t have a car.”I didn’t tell him I didn’t even have a driver’s license. My grandparents didn’t think I needed to learn how to drive until I was eighteen. I didn’t tell the boy that because I was embarrassed by it.“We could pick you up,” he suggested. He was staring at my chest as he suggested picking me up.I laughed at that. I could see three white kids pulling up to my grandparents’ house in a Range Rover. Either my grandfather would run them off with his shotgun and then take a belt to me or one of the homeboys on the block would carjack them at gunpoint. Hell, maybe both.“Come on, it will be fun. You’ll have a good time,” Steve told me and gave me a very charming grin. Damn, he had a terrific smile.“I have plans that day,” I told him.That was true. The school year had just ended and I was going to a Lock-In at church for the youth group that night. In case you never grew up going to Sunday School or church, a Lock-in is when the youth goes to the church and they lock the doors and the youth group socializes for the night and you sleep there.His eyes roamed up and down my body, I was not offended. By then I was used to boys and even adult men looking at me like that. I liked when they did. My grandmother had been right, my looks and body tempted boys and men to lustful thoughts. I liked tempting boys and men to lustful thoughts. If I had been more observant and not so naive about some things at that age, I would have noticed that my body and looks also tempted some girls and adult women to lustful thoughts.Yes, I knew about same-sex relationships, but I grew up in a Pentecostal Church and with religious grandparents and same-sex relationships were not even discussed unless it was at church and the preacher condemned those people to an eternity of hell. So I was very unaware when girls and women looked at me like that. I was always unaware of the pleasure two girls can give each other, but eventually discovered that.“A shame,” Steve said and then leaned over the counter. “Any chance you would sell me a twelve-pack?”I looked at the back of the store to make sure my grandfather was still busy, and he was.“Hurry up,” I told Steve.As the boy walked to get the beer I looked at him. He was wearing shorts and had a cute butt and nice legs. When he returned to the counter I rang the beer up. I was not supposed to sell beer or the cheap wine we sold since I was not eighteen, but my grandfather did not care as long as it made him money.“Do you know where the Walmart shopping center is on Branson Hills Parkway?” I asked Steve as he started to walk away.He turned around. “Yeah.”“You could pick me up there,” I suggested.Steve grinned at me. “About noon?”“I can be there at noon,” I assured him.Steve smiled at me again and winked. I blushed and smiled back.I planned to skip the Lock-in and take the bus to the Walmart Shopping Center and meet Steve and go to the lake. Skipping the Lock-in would be easy. James would not be there since he and his parents and sister were out of town and I could tell the Youth Director I had gotten sick. My grandparents would think I was at the Lock-in.Surprisingly it was easy to sneak out of my grandparents’ house to meet the boys I was hooking up with or go to parties. All I had to do was tell them I was either meeting James or doing something with the Youth Group from Church. I only got into trouble when I broke curfew, which I did often when I went out but giving a blowjob, eating a boy’s cum, and having sex were worth it. James, however, always made sure I made it home by curfew.The difficulty would be getting back into the house. The Lock-in was an all-night thing so I had to come up with something to be home before the Lock-in ended the next morning. I knew that the possibility of having sex with Steve was high; why else would a white boy want to ask me out on a date? Maybe he had a black girl fetish or an itch for a black girl that needed scratching and maybe I would help him that that. I was undecided but thought maybe it would be fun to have sex with a white boy.I decided that I could just tell my grandparents I got sick at the Lock-in and got a ride home. That would work and also if I did that then I would not have to worry about a curfew and could get home any time that night.One would think that they would question others about me going to church activities with the youth group and ask if I had a good time etc. They never did, because they didn’t care if I had a good time. As long as I was getting my dose of religion that was all they cared about.I needed, well wanted a new bathing suit. I was tired of my two-piece and since I was no longer ashamed of my body and now enjoyed showing it off I wanted a bikini. It was off to Walmart again where I purchased a red bikini. I also was able to buy a pair of white denim shorts that were cut high up my legs.

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