My First Black

By the party afterward, where there was booze and dancing and everyone was letting their hair down and their steam out at the end of a dangerous and nerve-wracking protest season, there was no divide between whites and blacks. The four of us drifted into being naturally paired up. LeRoy was with Nelson—heavily with Nelson, the two of them dancing close, drinking hard, and eyeing each other with intent. That left Clem with me. Somehow Clem had been apprised that Nelson fucked me, because he was getting friendly and frisky with his hands during the party. I, on the other hand, was tensing up. I knew I should relax and just hang, but this was all new and disconcerting to me. I didn’t really know how to act around blacks. Despite everything I wanted to believe, they scared me a bit. And, other than Nelson, I didn’t know what to do when a man wanted to put his hands on me, either.

We were partying in an old, abandoned plantation house, which was the best that we could book in a Birmingham that didn’t want us there in the first place. There were a couple of groups of young, white thugs moving about the grounds, hurling insults at the house and making verbal threats. But we were in too great a strength in the house for them to do more than that. They’d probably also heard that we were clearing out the next day. Standing up for principles didn’t cut it when we had to appear for classes the next week.

When we left the party, Nelson drove only partway down the road leading out to the main highway. He turned off on a track leading into a stand of trees and turned the car off. He and LeRoy were in a clutch immediately. Clem put an arm around me in the backseat as well, and I stiffened. I gave a little moan, though, when he pulled me into him, one hand on the back of my head, guiding my face to his for a kiss, and moved the other hand to my basket. He was rubbing me through the material of the jeans and I couldn’t help but harden for him.