Inspiration from the Piney Woods

"No," her voice quivered and softly added, "Rebecca. They calls me, Mr. Jesse."

"Just call me Jesse or ... Whip. My mama gave me that nickname."

"Because you are a pain?" she asked, meekly, as I wrapped my arms around her waist.

I laughed at her answer and said, "No, but Rebecca, if you think I might be, it's okay to say 'no.' I'll respect you for it."

However, that was also a polite auto-response on my part. I came here for a reason, and if she'd made a fuss, I hadn't a plan for that. Rejection wasn't in my reasoning as I was solely focused on absolutely 'gettin' some.'

At that point, she seemed to be at a loss for words; impulsively, I scooped her up in her filthy charcoal dress, the Ivory soap bar still in her hand, and waded into the shallow end of the pond up to my waist. She gasped at the unexpected move and threw her arms around my neck. We looked like prison escapees covered in filth wading across a river to confuse and lose the baying dogs hunting us down. Despite my craziness, she wore a lovely smile across those perfect pearly-white teeth.

I held her like a child's weight in my arms, pressing her to my chest, my breathing growing stronger. It seemed like an out-of-body experience. I could see the next moves so clearly, as my mind flooded with thoughts of taking her sexually just as she was: still smoky and coated with the grime of the coal pits caked upon her face and hair. I envisioned it would be fast and furious, with her strong legs wrapped around my waist, her arms around my neck, my hands on her ass, and me standin' up, humping her like a whale.

Ultimately, we'd collapse into the water, struggling to resurface — clean and fresh. She'd look joyful and hug me, spilling over with ... gratitude and crying out with hunger ... "Thank you, Mr. Whip. Now do me on the muddy bank and make me come harder than before. Fuck me like a cast-off bitch; do it — like you want Carla."

That vision and the last erratic thought about Carla shook me out of my fantasy moment, and I found myself gazing more focused into her eyes. A wide-eyed look registered on her face at the fact I stood so still, breathing so hard. It was another Lot-at-Sodom moment, like becoming a pillar of salt. Momentarily frozen in time, I was waffling about what to do next. It shouldn't be so hard, I figured — just fuck her.

"You're a strange man, Whip. Most White men aren't like you when holdin' a Black woman in their arms. They would be takin' what they wanted, makin' demands. Using her anyway they wanted, like she was a toy. And if those White men broke her, they could always get another 'toy' without any consequences."

Her words spilled out so close to my face that I could see every hot ember in her eyes as she filled out some new facts of life for me that Carla had never thought to touch upon. Bacca may have been speaking from experience.

I saw conflict in those dark eyes and Rebecca's tenseness. Perhaps she wasn't sure I intended no harm — except my intent to fuck her. Maybe it was a characteristic of women and the manner of teaching each one used. I didn't have the knowledge or smarts to assess that — on that day. I didn't have a clue as to why she came with me. I focused on getting into Rebecca — that's how the magic happens, the way Carla taught me.

Those fiery words, despite my selfish goal of setting out to experience sex before leaving for 'Bama University in the fall, dampened my ardor a bit. I'd not given any thought to a girl's perspective on getting my dick dirty, as the Preacher had implied before we left his place. And less thought to it being Rebecca as the object of my lust.

I'd been fixated on 'gettin' some 'pussy,' as my peers were want to say. It was how things were expected to happen — especially before leaving home for a new transition in life. The military boys all did it that way, going for the war, though it might not have been with 'gettin' some with a Black girl. The high school graduates, if you believed them, all experienced sex before going out into their new worlds, too. My thoughts ran that way, especially after several secretive oral lessons with Carla.

After the maelstrom Carla had stirred up in me, I was also out to get my share. I had her knowledge based upon her promise to my mama, conceptually and to a limited experience level. But, nearly waist deep in the greenish-blue waters of my grandpappy's swimming hole, I found that to be more difficult to achieve than I anticipated.

"Rebecca, black and filthy as you are," I answered, attempting some lightheartedness, "I'd never break you — you're too kind and gentle to be wasted like that. You bring smiles to those faces every day you praise them at the pits. Who would dare destroy such joy?"

I wasn't sure how she would take my attempted mixture of tease and honesty. I wasn't exactly wearing my feelings written out on the dust-covered overalls leaking soot into the blue-greenish waters. I hadn't come to an isolated spot in the backwoods of 'Bama to talk about romance. Yet, amidst it all, I felt guilty about planning to use her like a toy, though I hadn't considered how that use would affect us afterward.

"I'm Black even when not filthy, Jesse. Still, you're a good man. I watched you grow over the last three years. You show kindness. It's part of who you are. I want you to remember that when you get to where you're a going in life, like Preacher White said. I got a feeling you're going to be somebody important, too. Someone who cares about folks like they mean something. You care, even for Blacks."

She stirred in my arms, letting go of my neck, so I set her down into the water that had already started to form tiny, floating flecks of charcoal dust from my overalls. The rings grew as her dress entered the water.

Things grew quiet between us. It was just the coo of doves around us in the hush of our voices. Rebecca opened the box of Ivory soap and set it afloat in the still pond water. Reaching up, she began unfastening my overall straps as I faced her. I let her, watching her face take on a resolute look as she did so. It felt to be the right thing to do. Freed, my overalls slipped from my shoulders and down around my knees. She knelt, pushing them under the water. I stepped out, a mottled combination of black char smears and white skin, one I was growing comfortable in.

Her dress had billowed in the water as she bent down — and stuck to her, skin-tight, like glue, as she rose. The water was awash with black residue. I could see her nipples, presently firm against the cloth beneath her dress. It prompted me to reach down, find the hem beneath the waters, and put it up, sweeping the rag-like garment over her head. I tossed it on the bank with my overalls. We faced each other, like Adam and Eve, having our eyes opened after biting the forbidden fruit.

I was hungry; my eyes devoured her firm form, her near tobacco-black-like 'Bama panther's skin, except for the light color of her palms and the pink hint of her tongue as she breathed in and out of her open mouth, somewhat heavily like me--anticipation, I figured, just like Carla. At this point, Bacca didn't feel any shyness being naked here; she seemed over that first trepidation of not knowing how this would go.

Pulling her to me gently, I kissed her, held her tightly, and didn't let go, as Carla had taught me. My aunt was right about the response. After a minute, Rebecca kissed me back, latched onto me with her arms around my waist, and leaned her head against my chest for a while. Clenched that way, I could feel the pounding in my chest and her breasts moving up and down as rapidly as mine. 'Til she stepped back and said, "Let's do this proper and get washed up."

That said, she took the Ivory and began slathering it across my face, neck, arms, and down my dick like a child needing deep cleaning. I let her. It seemed the right thing to do. I did the same for her, marveling at how much effort it took to work the lather through her thick hair braids and enjoying cleaning between her legs. It was easy to get lost circling those pendent breasts with the dark aureoles as big as half-dollars. Washed clean, they still were near as dark as charcoal dust.

Looking like an Ivory television commercial, covered in bubbles, Bacca turned and did a shallow dive, swimming out to deeper waters. I followed, and by the time we surfaced, the grime of our long day at the charcoal pits was left in the shallows. We were like my fantasy moment — clean and refreshed — black against white — her hands clinging to my shoulders, treading water in the blue-green deep end.

I learned it's damn hard to have sex tryin' to tread water. We wound up back in the shallows, my feet on the soft mud bottom and Rebecca's legs wrapped around my waist. My dick was inside her moving in and out as slowly as I could, wanting the moments to last.

Bacca smiled at my attempts to keep us balanced and finally set her feet down and latched her hands onto my butt to help. Quickly, for me, it became a flurry of frantic jabs and grunts, standing up near waist-deep and fucking. The overpowering urges and exquisite feel of sliding back and forth inside my first pussy was just too much to keep a slow pace. It was nowhere near any sense of manliness when I came, gasping and grunting like some kid stepping on a hot piece of charcoal. It wasn't my finest moment as I grunted like some animal coming the first time.

But Bacca made me feel more manly as she held me tight and breathed against my neck, whispering, "You got a nice big dick, Jesse. It fills me so good. Now that the first firestorm is over, we can spend some slow time lying down, maybe on that diving board ..."

"I reckon so — might be easier," I huffed, holding her tightly against me, feeling the energy-draining sensation of getting my dick in my first pussy and coming inside her. I vowed right then, as her head leaned into my shoulder, I wasn't going back to masturbating when fucking felt this damn good.

It didn't take long before I recovered, and I was ready to spend some time on the diving board, bobbing up and down as she bore my weight lying on her back and her legs around my waist. I slow dicked her. I felt like a gentleman, taking some consideration this time for her needs. Her face took on a mischievous grin as she watched me smile, watching her tits wobble in rhythm with the spring action on the diving board. Quick-like she reached up and tweaked my nipples. God, that sent a tremor down to my dick like a jackhammer.

"Liked that, did you, Jesse?" she teased.

"Jesus, Bacca, that was like a bolt of lightning."

With a smile, she reached up with both hands and rolled her fingernails around my sensitive nipple tips, sending me racing toward a furious fucking climax. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply with each flick of her finger over the hardened nubs. Once more, I lost control and hammered her. As I collapsed on top of Bacca, she was just as breathless. I got the feeling she liked pushing my buttons. I did, too. It felt so damn good.

The third time, we spent spread-legged together on that diving board, straddling my legs, while her jugs bounced over me, lifting her up and down almost until the sun turned Georgia peach orange. Her body cut loose, and her voice strained with lust welling up inside her. This time, it wasn't about my getting off, but Bacca's needs. It was the hardest time she convulsed and tremored like the wind blowing through the long needle pines during a storm. I know because her head jerked back as her voice crawled up out of her throat in a primordial cry of passion.

"Fuck!" she keened like a — woman wantin' it so goddamn bad. Something I never heard from Carla, my only source of reference; but then I never...

In the end, when she couldn't kiss my 'mule' and get it back up stiff again, Rebecca kissed me. Different than our first kiss. This one lingered as her tongue prodded until my lips parted, and I found my tongue in a dalliance with hers. It was a whole new experience of intimacy Carla never touched on.

It was a fantastic day; I'd got my dick into a pussy, hesitantly licked a Black one too, and found that there wasn't much difference between Black and White women in that respect. The differences were in attitude, I reckon, as my fleeting thoughts about the limited experience with Carla, and today with Rebecca, roamed the back recesses of my overloaded mind. When I delved into either pussy, with a willing tongue, they both gasped their approval, though Rebecca's outcry was by far better unrestrained than Carla's by a lot.

"Jesse, it's a getting near dark soon. Your Granddaddy will be looking for you somewheres, and it's time I set out for home. Preacher is gonna be looking for me. Pissed, I suspect."

"Gotta make his supper," she sighed, as I watched her slipping back into the almost dried flour-sack dress.

"Preacher's gonna want some of me — for his dessert, knowing I was here with you ... my pappa is jealous like that."

Bacca turned back to look at me one more time with a forlorn look as though trapped in an unbreakable cycle and spoke with some fondness in her voice, "Jesse, remember, please, what I said about hanging onto you being kind when you get to be somebody. Maybe you'll remember me, too?"

I sat spread-legged on the diving board, naked, as the skitters set into some vicious biting, watching her go with some sense of sadness. I realized tonight, her day wasn't over; she was going to get used again, by her pappa, when she got home. In three years of workin' the pits, I had no idea the Preacher had kids, though not with his wife--they weren't the ones he was proud to claim, though he used them sometimes like the white-lightening — for medicinal purposes, I suppose. What you learn about growing up in the piney woods is sometimes astounding.

My journey was only beginning. Still, those charcoal pits had been the crucible that had forged me into a man of resilience and compassion. Little did I know that the seeds of determination sown in the relentless heat of the charcoal pits would one day lead me to defy the odds, becoming a lawyer in defense of the poor in rural Alabama during the tumultuous 1950s. The red chert roads, once marking the harsh path of coal bagging, now paved the way for a different kind of justice, and the connection between Bacca and me would endure, a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit and the unexpected bonds formed in the blistering heat of those charcoal pits.

As I stood in the heat, again today, looking at those charcoal teepees with the smoke rising just as it did in my youth, memories of six-inch skitters, my coming-of-age swimming hole experience, and the red chert roads flooded my mind. The scene at work in the charcoal pits before me indicated a great deal of justice still needed to be administered for folks trapped in the rural backwoods of Alabama, despite the new blacktop layer covering the old red chert road.

The drive back to the courthouse gave me time to think about the life of a Black man I was set to defend, and this fresh look back gave me some inspiration on how to proceed. One day, I vowed, I'd run for office and see if I couldn't set some justice and corrections into motion like Superman's radio intro: "Truth, Justice, and the American Way."

No matter the outcome of court today, my supper would be waiting for me when I got home -- it'd be cooked by a bright-smiling, intelligent woman, smart as a whip, who had moved in with me as a 'full-time housekeeper' during law school. As a bonus, she could read, write, and cipher better than most Whites and became a voracious reader of law books. Working in the background as I studied at 'Bama University, she quickly digested the legal aspects of case law research. She helped establish my growing reputation in legal circles enough that I was encouraged to run for district attorney's office this year.

Some say her ancestry was part Cherokee, and others say perhaps part Creek Indian mix from a runaway slave girl. I never bothered to ask her. I just knew that after supper, sometimes the dishes got left while we climbed the stairs to her bedroom with a big ol' cotton-filled mattress beneath a slow revolving ceiling fan. We'd be lovin' on one another, and somewhere under 'Bama's hot June air, her charcoal smokey voice would begin to huff and gasp as her hips hitched up and began undulating. They'd meet my thrusts 'till she bucked up like she was roiled up in some blue-green pond, a fucking some backwoods kid from memories past. Someone she liked making love with. Invariably she'd pant out, almost out of breath, as we lay flat out in post-coitus euphoria, "Jesse, you got a nice big dick."

Then she'd smile that knowing bright smile while she rolled that sticky 'mule-sized' cock around with her fingers. Though I knew that wasn't entirely true, I'd always smile back and kiss her and be lovin' all over her, ever mindful of where we started out in those rural Alabama's charcoal pits.

Thank you for reading this fictitious work set in rural Alabama in the 1940s. Please vote and comment on how this story resonates with you.

My added thanks to Kenjisato for his editorial assistance of this tale.

Dmallord

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