tagInterracial LoveGiving Thanks

Giving Thanks

byMelita Blackfeather©

Allison Walker arrived in Boston from San Francisco with her parents for her great grandfather's funeral. Her family was the old man's only living relatives.

After the funeral, Allison's father flew back home. An attorney, he had an important case scheduled to begin the next day. Allison insisted on staying with her mother to help go through her great grandfather's belongings and house. Cyrus Walker had left everything to her parents, who intended to sell most of it, except some items they might want to keep for one reason or another.

"Allison, you shouldn't be missing classes," her mother protested.

"Mother, my GPA is 4.00. No worries. I don't want you going through that old house alone."

"Yes, well, I got a little worried a couple years ago when you almost didn't make valedictorian."

"That little scare was due to Calculus, Mother, not missing classes. And I would rather have been Homecoming Queen," she joked.

Anne fondled her daughter's long, silky blonde hair. "Well, you could have been if you wanted to, but you declined the nomination, as I recall. You are so pretty. Those incredible green eyes just like your father's. But you shouldn't use so much makeup. You are such a natural beauty."

"Just don't ask me why I don't have a boyfriend again, Mother. I do date, you know. Just haven't met someone special."

"Why do you have sex with them then, Allison? If they're not special?"

"Let's not rehash that again, Mother. No, I am not a virgin. And I still haven't forgiven you for badgering our gynecologist until he told." I have sex because I like sex! she felt like shouting, but bit her tongue. Why do you have sex, Mother? she wanted to ask.

* * *

The mother and daughter spent hours rummaging through the old house outside of Boston. They marveled over the exposed beams, built-in furniture and heavy use of stone, cedar and other natural materials. The living room had diamond patterned windows, and a large stone wood-burning fireplace flanked by oak built-in anchors. French doors separated it from the dining room. The interior wood surfaces had been stained instead of painted to emphasize the grain and integrity of the wood.

Allison spied the ancient eight-foot high clock in one corner, and began to examine it. She marveled over the fine mahogany and moonwook. The inscription read: Made by John Walker, Hurst Street, Liverpool, 1795.

"Mother, if you could go back in time, where would you want to be?"

"Oh, I suppose I'd like to go back about two thousand years to the time of Jesus."

"Now, why could I have guessed that?"

"Allison, I do wish you would attend church with your father and I."

"No thanks."

"Your great grandfather once told your father and I that his own father knew the secret of time travel."

"Really?" Allison tittered. "And what did his father do? For a living and that sort of thing? Fly UFO's?"

"His father was a horilogical genius employed by the Harvard Clock Company, so the story goes."

"What does 'horilogical' mean, Mother?"

"Horology is the science of measuring time or making timepieces. I got that one right in Reader's Digest Word Power Then one day Nathaniel Walker just mysteriously disappeared. No trace of him was ever found."

Allison began to inspect the mechanics inside the clock's cabinet. She discovered an unusual-looking lever etched with some words she couldn't read due to wear. The lever wouldn't seem to move at all.

"It's almost Thanksgiving. If I could spend a day back in time, Mother, I like to be there in Plymouth in 1621 and find out what that party was all about."

"Yes, you and your parties. And I hate those short little skirts and skimpy halter tops you wear. Some of our ancestors attended those festivities in Plymouth almost four hundred years ago, as I am sure you are aware. Well, I have to head back into the city now to meet with the attorney about the will. I dread it. All that traffic. Do you want to go with me?"

"No way! That will take you hours. Daddy should have specialized in wills and estates rather than criminal law. I'll just keep going through all this old stuff. Take a nap on that couch, maybe."

Anne left and Allison went back to the clock. She found some sort of alarm apparatus and attempted to set it.

Suddenly the lever moved as Allison pulled it again. It began to vibrate in her hand and it felt like she held a jack-hammer.

* * *

Allison found herself in a wooded area. She noticed a path and began to follow it. After about an hour of struggling through the foliage she came upon a wigwam, a round-roofed house made of poles covered with flat sheets of birch bark.

A man emerged as she approached. He wore only a breech clout of deerskin looped over a belt in back and in front. A blanket draped over one shoulder. Tall, dark reddish-bronze complexion, incredibly handsome, bulging muscles, his long black hair braided with a single feather worn in the back.

He startled and frightened her. She turned to flee.

"Bachiyuyu wunnaumwayeh!" he called after her in a friendly tone.

"Wha...what? I didn't understand you," she replied, stopping in her tracks.

"Bachiyuyu wunnaumwayeh," he repeated. "It means 'Come here English woman.' Do not be afraid of me. I will not hurt you."


"Yes, ma'am. Picked it up in England a few years back."

"You...you...are...an...Indian? Well, of course you are."

"I am of the Pokanokit Wampanoag nation, from the village of Patuxet, where the Pilgrims have now built Plymouth. The name Wampanoag means 'People of the Light.' Are you with the Pilgrims? I've never seen you before. I would have remembered."


"Are you hurt, ma'am?"

She shook her head. "No, but I'm hungry."

"Come and sit by the fire. We will eat."

The Indian returned with turkey, squash and succotash which he warmed in the fire, and then offered to her.

"My name is Squanto. And yours?"


He looked over her attire. The outfit she had worn to the funeral. Crisp white shirt with hook-and-eye closures on the sleeves. Gray flannel pantsuit with a double-breasted jacket.

"You do not dress like the other white women here. They wear white caps and long dresses."

"No, this is more 'modern' apparel. Women wear pants now."

"I do not understand."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't."

Squanto glanced at her Nina metallic ankle-wrap sandals with three-inch heels. "How can you walk through the forest in those shoes? I could make you some moccasins like mine."

"Hey now, I've walked in jungles like New York City in these shoes. Do you have a foot fetish?" She saw a small oar leaning against his wigwam. "Are you into spanking by any chance? I'm a naughty girl."

He just shrugged in response. "Those colors of the rainbow around your eyes and on your lips--is that war paint?"

"No. Wet 'n' Wild MegaEyes Shadow and GlassyGloss Lip Gel."

Squanto shrugged again. "I notice you prefer the dark meat," he commented as he watched her devour the turkey.

"This is the most delicious turkey I have ever eaten. Such firm texture and rich flavor." She took a mahogany-colored leg. "Lobster-like aroma. The texture is almost steak-like, not fine-grained like the turkeys you buy at the supermarket. Much more dark meat on your turkey." She took another leg. "So much for genetically engineering the food supply," she snorted sarcastically.

"Where are you from, Allison?" he asked, perplexed by her conversation.

"Far, far away," Squanto. "From a land beyond your wildest imagination."

"You speak many words I do not understand, the one called Allison, from far, far away. Are you from the white man's heaven? An angel perhaps?"

She laughed. "I just might give you a little bit of heaven, honey. And speaking of new words, 'bling-bling' has just been approved for addition of the Oxford English Dictionary."

He shrugged. "I do not understand. But no matter. You eat with a man. I like that. The Pilgrim women stand behind the men as they eat, and wait until the men are finished before they partake."

"I'm too damn hungry to wait until you eat. I guess you never heard of NOW, feminism, and the sexual revolution."

"No, I have not. What is a sexual revolution?"

"The girl gets to say when and be on top. Your teeth are so perfectly straight and white," she complimented. "You must use a Dr. Fresh Fire Fly toothbrush that lights up and tells you how long to brush. I guess there are no orthodontists around here."

"You speak of things I know not."

Squanto stood and snapped several sturdy branches like twigs and threw them into the dwindling fire. It raged once more. Allison moved closer to him when he sat again, licked her lips lightly, and touched his arm. She took his right hand in hers and began to trace circles in the center of his palm.

"Your hands are so strong, Squanto." I'd really like them to squeeze my cheeks. "You make me feel so incredibly safe, here in the woods, alone, with you. Why, I bet no one could ever find us here. We could do anything and no one would ever know." She casually removed an imaginary something from his bare chest. "Lint from your blanket," she stated matter-of-factly. Nice pecs!

"Yes, Allison, no one knows of this place. The Pilgrims could never find it. They do not venture out far from their camp without me to guide them. The other tribes will not walk this ground because it is the sacred burial place of my village, of which I am the only remaining living member. You are safe here."

"What do these Pilgrims talk about, mostly?" she asked.

"They talk of the imminent occurrence of Armageddon and that they have come to my country to establish the kingdom of God told of in the book of Revelation. They say they are fighting the holy war against Satan, and everyone who disagrees with them is the enemy. I have been reading this Bible of theirs. I am helping them translate their Bible from English into Wopanaak, the language of my people."

"I read that on the internet somewhere, that the first Bible printed in this country was a Wopanaak translation of the King James."

"King James, him I know. The internet?"

"It's a...uh...it's...oh, never mind."

"Allison, would you like to hear me recite the Lord's Prayer in Wopanaak?"

"Oh, sure."

"Nooshun kesukqut, wunneetupantamuch koowesuounk. Peyaumooutch kukkeitassootamoonk. Toh anantaman ne n-naj okhet, neane kesukqut. Asekesukokish petukqunnegash assaminnean yea kesukok. Ahquontamailnnean nummatcheseongash, neane matchenehikqueagig nutahquontamanounonog. Ahque sakompaguninnean en qutchhuaonganit, webe pohquohwussinnan with matchitut. Newutche keitassootamonnk, kutahtauun, menuhkesuonk, sohsumoonk micheme kah micheme. Amen."

"Say that again, please." He did. Then she repeated the words. "Wait until everyone at the table at my house on Thanksgiving hears me say the Lord's Prayer in Wapanaak! I'll be the hit of the party!"

"Well, I'm so happy I could help you, Allison. I lick you. You are my favorite white woman, I have met so far. You are different. Wild, like the animals of the forest. Beautiful, like the rainbow. Sweet, like the honey I take from the bees. Tall and willowy, like the..."

"I think you mean 'like' dude, but whatever," she interrupted. "What we have here is a failure to communicate." Allison ran her fingers along his thigh, to the edge of his breach clout. "I lick you, too. Red man speak with forked tongue," she joked. "Let me see your tongue, please." He obliged, sticking it out and touching his eyebrows. "Are you related to Gene Simmons?" she inquired coquettishly.

"No, I think not. I do not know that name."

"He's the tongue-wagging demon of Kiss."

"I see. He must be like Yotanit, the god of fire, revered by my people."

She covered her mouth, stifling a chuckle. "Do you agree with these Pilgrims, Squanto?"

"Well, I have been baptized. I try to get along, so I don't say much about their religion. They speak of me as an instrument of God, sent to them to provide for the survival of His chosen people, they, the Pilgrims. In a few days the Pilgrims and my people are having a huge feast to celebrate their good fortune. Would you like to meet the Pilgrims, Allison?"

Oh hell no! "I don't think so, Squanto. They'd ask a lot of questions."

Allison pulled the cell phone from her jacket pocket.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. Just trying to contact...oh, never mind, it's roaming."

"Is that a compass? I have one." He showed it to her. "In 1600 William Gilbert, personal physician to Queen Elizabeth, published 'De Magnete,' a study of magnetism. It was required reading for my training. I still don't understand how it works, but all the explorers have one. Me, I just follow the signs of the sun and the stars."

"Well, I guess you could say this is a compass, Squanto. It helps me find the shopping malls when I'm lost in strange cities."

He ran his fingers through her long blonde hair. "I have not often seen hair like yours--like the gold of Ophir spoken of in the white man's Bible." He played with her blonde curls and looked at her quizzically.

"Curly, curly, curly, courtesy of Bumble and Bumble Hair Powder. Don't worry, honey, you can pull it. When the time is right. Speaking of travel, you know, you really rev my engine."


"Yeah, like in a car, silly. I'm sure you noticed the cars in England drive on the wrong side of the road. How long were you there, in England?"

"The English explorer, Captain George Weymouth, took me to England in 1605. The captain delivered me to Sir Ferdinando Gorges who led the efforts to explore and colonize my country. I was taught English and trained to be a guide and interpreter for the sea captains who were sent to explore this land. About ten years later I returned to my country to assist Gorges' men in mapping the coast. There a group of seven Patuxets, including myself, and twenty Nausets were kidnapped by a renegade sea captain and taken to Spain and sold as slaves. A group of Friars bought me and set me free. I spent a couple years with them and made by way back to my land. Upon my return here I found that the entire Patuxet tribe had been wiped out by a plague. The Pilgrims arrived a year ago." He laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"You would not have believed the looks on the Pilgrims' faces when they encountered an Indian who spoke their language so well."

She smiled. "Yes, I suppose that must have been quite a shock. I visited England with my family once. We...uh...no...I guess you wouldn't be familiar with some of the sites we saw. What are your fondest memories?"

"I became fascinated with the theater, so I would say my visits to The Globe. There I met William Shakespeare. Hamlet was one of the works utilized to teach me English. I saw a pageant called Triumphs of Reunited Britannia performed in the streets of London. It's about Brutus the Trojan who founded Britain in the twelfth century and divided the island between his three sons. I can still remember the words, 'Then you fair swans in Thamesis that swim, and you choice nymphs that delight to play.' I met King James at the pageant on that glorious day. He wanted to talk to one who came from the new world."

"Nymphs?" she inquired coyly. "Was this a porn flick?"

"A what?"

"Squanto, have you ever had sex with a white woman?"


"Sex, Squanto, sex. Mating. Do you mate with white women?"

"I have had relations with several of the Pilgrim women. Three widows unlock their chastity belts for me. But they are too...uh...they...don't...they...uh..."

"They just lie there on their backs with their legs spread?"

"Yes, that's it. They do not want me to bend them over and take them from behind, like the women of my people do. And these Pilgrim females refuse to take my manhood in their mouths, or permit me to taste their little furry honey holes. They say it is a sin against their God."

"Oh my God!" Allison couldn't help but blurt.

"The ladies of London were far more pleasing then these Pilgrims. I learned much in England."

"Oh, like what? I don't have much time, Squanto. Please show me what you learned in London."

Allison slowly and seductively removed her jacket and pants. It was a rather pleasant and warm day for that late November day in 1621. The brilliant sun looked like a red-orange flare high over the trees. The blazing fire more than compensated for the bit of chill. And Allison did feel incredible heat begin to stir in her innermost being.

"You are very beautiful, Allison. I have never seen undergarments like that before, even in London."

"Victoria's Secret."

"Oh? I thought your name was Allison?"

"It is. Never mind. Not important. Allison wants to give you a Thanksgiving you will remember always."

Allison undid the back close of her bra and let it fall to the ground. She slowly slithered out of her matching black lace panties and kicked them away. Squanto gasped. He stared at her milky white breasts and hairless pussy.


"No hair down below?" She giggled.

"Now, how in the world am I going to scalp you?" he asked, feigning disappointment.

"Blame it on the depilatory called Magic," she jabbed back.

"Would you like me to paint your body? Is that what this is all about?"

"Oh, and you have war paint I suppose?"

"Certainly. I make the yellow from bull berries and pine tree moss. You can make blue from duck droppings. The green from copper ore and mud."

"What do you use for a brush?"

"Chewed cottonwood or willow sticks."

"I had something else in mind, Squanto--other than being painted--like riding bareback. And plee--ee--ease don't play hard to get with me. What part of 'yes' don't you understand?"

"Yes. I know yes. I see it in your eyes." He reached for her. She stepped backwards, but let him touch her.

"You are very muscular, for a woman," he complimented as he felt her arms.

"I do BOWFLEX. And Pilates."

"Yes, the bow, of that I know." He pointed to his lying by the wigwam.

Allison moved his hands to her breasts. She kissed him wantonly. "Not much time, Squanto," she whispered, "I don't have much time."

"You are so unlike most of the women I have known. They wait for me...to...to..."

"I like to take the lust lead. I can't wait any longer." She pressed her lips against his mouth again, parting his lips by running her lips along the edges, and then darted the tip of her tongue in and out of his mouth, like she was hungry for him.

"I have never kissed like this before," he remarked, surprised, but impressively pleased.

"You ain't seen nothing yet, honey. Pucker up!" She gently sucked on his lower lip, creating an enveloping, pulsating sensation. As her kiss intensified, she ran her fingers along his jaw line, caressed his ears, and stroked the base of his spine. "I want you, Squanto, I want you now...before...before..."

Squanto threw the blanket hanging over his shoulder on the ground. Allison knelt on it in front of him and lowered his breech clout.

"You are very big. And very dark. As I said, I like dark meat," she murmured approvingly, taking the head of his cock into her mouth as she stroked the shaft with both hands. "You're so big. I want you so bad," she purred as she licked him like a lollipop.

Squanto groaned and moaned. But then he pulled away. "One thing I learned in London, my dear Allison, is that you please the lady first." He gently pushed her on her back and knelt between her legs, his hands in a praying position. He chanted words she did not comprehend.

Allison pulled his hands apart and placed them on her hips, and pulled his head down to her damp sex. Squanto found his way to her hot spot. She eagerly spread her legs further and ran her fingers through his black hair and pulled his braids playfully.

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byMelita Blackfeather© 0 comments/ 63115 views/ 1 favorites

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