My name is Tawnisha Johnson and I want to tell you a story about my first interracial sexual experience. Before I get into that though, a little background is needed.
I was born on November 14th, 1972 to Desiree Johnson, a single mother who worked as a cashier at the neighborhood Walmart. We lived on the third floor of a four-story brick tenement building in Detroit.
It was not a very luxurious place–it was run down, and half the time something was broken. The landlord (read slumlord) never fixed anything unless he was forced to by the city or by legal action. The place was cold in winter and hot in summer.
On top of that, the building was a stone’s throw from the elevated commuter rail lines, and every thirty minutes all day long a train would roar past the building and, depending on which track it was on, would sometimes vibrate the whole apartment!
But a single mother working a cashier’s job doesn’t make a lot of money, and so this is what I called home growing up.
I had it better than some… at least we didn’t sleep in the homeless shelters like some people did. I would see them sleeping on park benches, in doorways, and in the alley backed up against the walls or a dumpster. I was thankful that wasn’t me.
My neighborhood was one of the poorest in Detroit and, in my high school, there was nothing but black kids. Some of the kids there actually studied and tried to get an education so they could have a chance to get out of that life.
But others had already resigned themselves to living there and were only concerned with getting what they could while they still could draw a breath. It was a tough place to grow up, and only Chicago had a higher rate of gun violence and crime.
I fit into that first category. I had seen way more than a girl my age should see growing up, and I wanted out of that environment. I saw what that life had done to my mother, and she had aged way beyond her years.
Raising a child on her own was tough enough, let alone under those conditions. My father (or the guy my mother claims is my father) was doing twenty years for armed robbery in which a police officer was shot and wounded.
He didn’t shoot him, but he was in on the job. The “trigger guy” was killed by other officers, leaving my father to do the time.
I did catch a break, though, in my junior year of high school. I had an amazing guidance counselor, a woman from the bad part of town as well so she knew what I had to live like. She saw something in me, though, and wanted to help me find my way out of the slums.
She discovered a little-known grant that would pay for at least some of a college education. I would have to find a job nearby to help with the other costs, but it was a shot. She helped me apply and, to both me and my mother’s amazement, I was accepted!
My senior year of high school was primarily geared toward getting me ready for college. I had to take some pretty tough college prep classes and there were many times I was afraid I had wasted everyone’s time.
I pulled through it by knuckling down and denying myself most of the highlights that being a senior in high school brings. There were no proms, no football games to attend, no extra-curricular activities at all. It was study, study, study.
But that’s what it took to get me into college and out of the life I had known.
Finally, all the hard work and sacrifice that Mom and I had made paid off, and I was packing to go to college. It wasn’t one of the Ivy League colleges by any means, just a community college in Ohio.
However, it would give me what I needed to get a decent job doing something more than scanning and bagging groceries.
My guidance counselor had done some research on the school and the area it was in. She had located an organization that places college students with families willing to give them room and board so they can afford to attend the college.
Tuition and books are hard enough for many families to come up with much less a place to stay and food. So these families agree to house a student and in return, their kids receive the same wherever they go to college. Kind of like a foreign-exchange program but for college instead.
The day Mom put me on the Greyhound bus was a tough one. I had never been outside of our little neighborhood and never very far away from my mother. I was going into a great unknown and I didn’t have a clue what to expect.
I didn’t know when the next time I would see home, I mean I wouldn’t have the money to come home for Christmas vacation and summer vacation would probably have to be spent working to afford the following year’s expenses.
I would have to rely on the college’s counselors to even keep the grant going so I could do the full four years of school! I was trying for a Bachelor’s degree in Business Administration so I would have a wide assortment of good jobs I could apply it to instead of specializing in something and hoping I could find a job in that specific field.
And so, with a couple of suitcases packed with the essentials, I boarded the bus (after a lot of tears and kisses) and I was soon on my way to my future. I told Mom I would write as soon as I got settled someplace and let her know where to send the rest of my things.
One of the first things I noticed upon boarding the bus is the white people already on board. Funny as it sounds, these were the first white people I had ever seen in person.
Oh, I had seen them on TV and in magazines, of course, but these were the first real-life white people I had ever seen. I tried hard not to stare, but I’m afraid I got caught sneaking a peek a few times.
A very kind older lady smiled and winked at me once and I had to quickly look down at my feet, embarrassed at being so curious.
About five hours later, the bus pulled into the Columbus, Ohio bus station. Columbus would be my home for the next four years, and as I looked around it looked very strange.
It wasn’t nearly as dirty and run down as the part of Detroit I knew. This is probably the uptown version, the nicer part of town! I thought as I looked around. Let’s wait and see what the school looks like and where I will be living!
I walked timidly, suitcases in tow, into the bus terminal. The building was good-sized with a very tall ceiling and a lot of people all bustling around. I followed the signs directing me to the main part of the building.
I had been told before I left that the family I would be living with would be at the bus terminal to pick me up and take me to their house, so I began looking around. I don’t know what I was looking for–I had never seen them or a picture of them, so I had no idea what they looked like.
But it turns out I had little to worry about because right there at the front of the lineup was a woman and young man holding a sign with my name on it.
“I’m Tawnisha Johnson,” I said, walking up to the woman.
“Hello, Tawnisha, it’s so nice to meet you. My name is Denise Williams and this fine young man here is my oldest son, Brian. I hope your trip was okay?” she said.
Denise Williams was a few years older than my mother; in her early forties, I guessed. She was about five foot six, and a little thick in build.
She had a bubbly, happy personality–the kind of person you couldn’t help but feel good being around, and a smile that made her eyes sparkle. She made me feel comfortable right off.
Brian was another matter, though. He made me feel terribly uncomfortable. Not in a bad, scared of him way, no, he was gorgeous!
I was uncomfortable because he made my pussy drip with just a smile or a look! I was afraid I would do something stupid and come on to him, then Denise would find out and make me move out!
“Hi Tawnisha,” he said and shook my hand. Feeling my small hand wrapped so securely in his made my pussy gush. “Here let me take those bags,” he said and took my suitcases.
He slung the smaller one over his shoulder effortlessly and used the handle and rollers on the larger one to wheel it through the terminal like it was practically empty.
The three of us walked through the terminal building, me alongside Denise, with Brian following behind. I have never been so self-conscious in all my life as I was walking through the terminal that day!
I tried to focus on what Denise was telling me, but I’m afraid I only caught bits and pieces–my attention was primarily on staying on my feet as I walked wobbly-kneed with him behind me!
Thankfully, we made it to the car without any mishaps. When we got there, I started to get in the back seat as I thought was appropriate, but Brian stopped me.
“Oh no, you girls sit up front so you can talk. I’ll take the back seat. Just let me put these in the trunk,” he said with a smile that made me wet all over again.
He opened my door and seated me (which I found very gallant and made my heart skip a beat!), then when I was in and seated, he shut my door and went to put my suitcases in the trunk. Then he got in the back and we all started for what would become my new home for a while.
The Williams lived in an area of Columbus known and Grandview Heights–apparently one of the nicer neighborhoods in the area. It took about fifteen minutes to get to their house from the bus station and on the way she told me more about her family.
I learned that Brian was the oldest of two boys. He was twenty-four years old and had already graduated from college and was working as a diesel mechanic working on big semi-trucks, commonly called 18-wheelers.
Denise’s other son, Mark, was in college himself in Los Angeles and living with another family in the same exchange student program that I was in, which was why I got picked the stay with them.
I also learned that Denise was a single mother herself and that there was no Mr. Williams. She didn’t talk much about that and I didn’t want to pry. I figured if she wanted to talk about it sometime she would, so I let that go.
Denise herself used to work as a school teacher but had quit teaching a few years ago. And now, with Mark in college, Brian lived at home to help out both financially and with the chores and running of the house.
The exchange program paid her a small stipend to cover some of the costs of my stay, but the main advantage of the program is that her son got a place to stay while he was in college too–a mutually beneficial setup.
We finally arrived at their house and I was duly impressed. A two-story single-family home which had four bedrooms, three baths, a nice large kitchen–it was a long way from the small, dingy tenement apartment I lived in at home!
While Brian took my bags out of the trunk and put them in the guest bedroom, Denise gave me a tour of the house.
“You can stay in the guest bedroom, there’s more privacy since the room is at the other end of the hall and I’m afraid Mark’s room is a little too masculine for you to feel comfortable in! You can put some pictures on the dresser and give it a more homey touch too if you like,” she said.
“You have a very lovely home, Denise. A lot nicer than my home in Detroit, that’s for sure!” I said. I told her about life growing up in inner-city Detroit.
She listened intently to my words and when I was finished she said, “Well I am glad you are working so hard to get out of that situation dear. I’m sorry that you had to grow up under those conditions–it’s a shame that in this, the most affluent country in the world, people still live like that.
“I feel bad for your mother but hopefully, when you have made it out, you can bring her out of that as well, and finally you will both have a much better life. For now, though, I want you to consider this your home.” Then she gave me a great big hug to seal the deal.
“Would you mind if I called back home? I promised my mother I would call her when I got here to let her know I made it safely,” I asked.
“Mind? I insist on it! The cordless phone is right over there and you can take it into your room for privacy if you like,” she said.
So I took the phone and went to my room to call my Mom. I told her about my trip, about the bus ride, and about where I was now.
“Oh, Mom, you should see this place! It is so beautiful, so clean and pretty. And the hot water comes right on without having to wait or fiddle with the handle or anything. Oh, I wish you were here–you would love it here!” I said.
I tried not to exalt the house too much. I didn’t want it to sound like I was bragging or anything. But it was hard to hold back my excitement. I mean when you come from the filthy slums of the inner city, a clean safe upscale neighborhood is something to get excited about. And when you are used to sharing one small bathroom that barely works, having three that worked fine is a big step up.
“So what are the Williams like?” Mom asked.
Oh boy! I thought when Mom asked that question. How do I handle this?
You see, neither of us knew the Williams were white, and they didn’t know to expect a black girl either. The grant people and the college itself didn’t want to make an issue of race so it was decided that the question of race wouldn’t be asked.
I decided the best way to deal with this was to be straight and get through it without making too much of it. If I hemmed and hawed and danced around the question, Mom would know something was up and press me on it. I knew my mother well.
“They are white, Mom, but they seem very nice. Mrs. Williams–Denise–seems very friendly and personable. She has given me my own room and my own bathroom so I won’t feel like I’m intruding.
“And this house is huge compared to our apartment, too. It’s a two-story house with four bedrooms and three bathrooms! It’s going to take me some time to get used to having to go down the hall to my room or downstairs to do my laundry!
“Denise told me that I could have the guest bedroom to stay in while I’m here. I guess her younger son is in another college on the same kind of exchange program I’m on.
“Her older son lives here too. He works and that helps her with the finances. Plus she gets a stipend for housing me from the program. But she seems to be pretty well off.”
“Is she married? What about her husband?” Mom asked.
“No, she isn’t married, but I don’t know if it’s because she’s divorced, or if something happened to her husband. She hasn’t talked much about him, and I haven’t really had a chance to ask. I wanted to give it some time in case it’s a sad subject or a sore one,” I said.
“That’s a good idea, you don’t want to start off by making a blunder and bringing up bad memories,” Mom agreed.
“Yeah. Oh, and the house is only about a fifteen-minute drive to the college so it’s pretty close by too. That will be handy. I can take the bus or maybe catch a ride with one of them if they happen to be going by the school.
“I don’t know where her son, Brian, works, but he’s a diesel mechanic who graduated a few years ago from the same college I’m in. So I’m hoping he can help me find my way around the campus and help me fit in.
“The college campus is huge and has several buildings on it. So finding my way to my classes and stuff will be hard at first. But I will do it–I’ve come too far to quit now!” I said.
“Yes you have, sweetheart. I am so proud of you. And your father would be proud too if he knew about your going off to college. Neither one of us even finished high school. Just don’t get so smart and educated that you forget your old Mom!” she said.
“Oh, I won’t Mom. I miss you already. It’s going to be a long four years. I just hope I can come to see you at least once or twice before I graduate!” I said, trying to hold back from crying.
But Mom knew me also and caught the quiver in my voice. “I miss you too, baby. But don’t cry, time will pass and we can keep in touch by letters and phone calls. Your schoolwork will keep you busy.
“Just be a good girl while you are there and stay focused. When you are done, you can come home and get a good job so maybe we can both get out of this place,” she said.
“Yes, Momma, I will be good. And I’ll study hard so I will get good grades. I do want us to get out of the projects and get a nice home for ourselves. Maybe not this big, but there’s only the two of us so we don’t need much. Besides, we are so used to Elmwood Estates that anything is a step up!” I said, composing myself.
I heard the sound of a rolled-up magazine hitting the table and I knew Momma had just killed another of the endless cockroaches that infest the building.
It made me sad and I shuddered thinking of my mother having to live in those conditions while I sat (I thought) in the lap of luxury. It made me all the more determined to get her out of that evil filthy place!
We hung up sadly after that, not wanting to rack up a big phone bill for the Willimas. I promised to write and call again soon and told Momma when she got my letter she would have my address as well.
I gave her the phone number where I was and we said goodbye. I had to sit there for a few minutes to gather myself before going back out to be with my new foster family.
“Everything okay at home, Tawnisha?” Mrs. Williams asked when I came into the kitchen. She was preparing dinner and I took a place next to her to help out.
“Yes, I told Mom about my trip, about the school, and a little about you and this place. She is glad that I have a nice place to stay so I can focus on my schoolwork more,” I said.
“Your mother sounds like a wonderful woman. You are lucky to have such a caring mother,” Mrs. Williams said.
“Yes, I know. Can I help you with anything, Mrs. Williams?” I asked.
“Well, you can start by nixing that ‘Mrs. Williams’ stuff! My name is Denise–Mrs. Williams was my mother!” she said with a smile that made her blue eyes twinkle happily.
“Okay,” I said, smiling sheepishly back at her.
“Good. Now, why don’t you go get your things unpacked and settle into your new room. Brian can show you where things are and give you the grand tour. I’m just about done in here. I figured that with your long trip, you would be hungry, so dinner will be quick tonight. I do hope you will like my cooking… it’s about all I have anymore!” she said.
“I’m sure it will be delicious… Denise,” I said.
“Yes, Denise is much better. Now off you go! Unpack and get used to your new home, honey!” she said, pushing me gently but insistently out of her kitchen.
I went to my room and found that Brian had already put my two suitcases on the bed for me. I unpacked and put my things away. I didn’t have much to unpack so it didn’t take long and after I was “settled in” I went into the living room to find Brian sitting there watching TV.
I sat on the couch for a moment or two trying to plan out what I wanted to say. I had never talked with a white boy and certainly not one as gorgeous as him. I didn’t want to trip on my tongue and act like a goofy schoolgirl!
“Did you get all unpacked?” Brian asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence in the room.
“Yes, I did,” I said in a small quiet voice that didn’t even sound like mine.
“Good. Now if you want, I can show you around and you can see where we keep everything,” he said.
“Okay,” I replied. I intentionally kept my answers short as I wasn’t sure of my own voice around him and I didn’t want to give him a bad impression. Then he came over to where I was sitting and held out his hand for me.
I took his hand and he helped me up. I gushed and my heart skipped a beat. I know I blushed, I felt my cheeks burning. Fortunately, as a black girl, it didn’t show much!
I followed Brian around like a little puppy trying to listen as he gave me the tour. I didn’t remember much of it, but I knew I’d get used to the routine here.
Getting used to Brian would prove more difficult! After the tour, Denise called us to dinner. It was wonderful and I’m afraid I showed them that a young girl from Detroit can hold her own in any eating contest!
After the amazing meal, we all sat in the living room and talked and got to know one another. I told them about my home and life back there, what I was taking in school, and what I wanted to accomplish.
They told me about the city and about their lives and we all had a good time. It started getting late and so after that, we decided to go to bed and pick things up in the morning.
Copyright © 2020 by Master_Jonathan
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All names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters portrayed in this story are over sixteen (16) years of age.