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Author’s Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activities are at least eighteen years of age.
“It’s cool, right? We cool here, right?” Ray Richards asked as he pulled his still dripping cock out of Deanne Williams’ slimy pussy.
The eighteen year old student giggled as she looked at his white penis and shrugged.
“Yeah, it ain’t nothing but a thing,” she said.
“So we cool?” he again asked, hurriedly zipping up his trousers.
“Yeah, we cool; you don’t want you no blow job?” Deanne asked, wiggling her haunches into her polyester panties.
“Uh no, no, maybe next time, right?” the math teacher asked, even as his cock was growing at the thought of the heavy-set black girl putting his penis into her mouth.
“All right,” the girl shrugged, grabbing her purse. “I holler at you later, hear?”
Even as he locked the door to his classroom at Elgee High School in Elgee, Louisiana, Mr. Ray Richards was racked with guilt. Loving wife was at home, stricken with Multiple Sclerosis, bedridden. Their five children did what they could to help but there was so little that could be done.
And, once again, he had been unfaithful so such a loving, devoted, yet ill woman.
Outside of her home on Wabash Street in Elgee, Louisiana, Georgette Sanders was playing Jacks on the sidewalk. Betsy, her best friend in the whole world couldn’t come out to play; her mom was very sick and her dad wasn’t home yet. Georgette looked again for Mr. Richards’ car, but the teacher still wasn’t home, so Georgette bounced the ball.
Suddenly, a combat boot stomped on the four jacks on the ground, breaking the plastic pieces.
“You ass hole!” Georgette shrieked at the three laughing twelve year old boys.
“Yeah?” Dan Ragliani sneered, pinching the small blonde girl’s face in his hand. “What’d you call me?”
Jason ‘Jase’ Cruz and Philip Thompson laughed the two white and one black youth high on the three marijuana joints they’d smoked a few minutes ago.
“Want to try fucking with me, tough guy?” Jim, Georgette’s older brother asked, shoving Dan hard. “Huh? Big tough guy, picking on little girls? Huh?”
It was three against one, but looking at the well-muscled fifteen year old, Dan, Jase and Philip knew at least one of them would get hurt and hurt bad. So, muttering threats and insults under their breath, the three boys wandered away.
“Sorry, Georgie,” Jim comforted his sister. “No way for me to fix them; they’re smashed up too much.”
Shortly before graduating from high school, Deanne knew she was pregnant. She had no idea who the father was; there were at least fifteen men and boys to pick and choose from. Of these, though, the only one whose name she could remember with any fondness was Mr. Richards. He didn’t demand sex; he asked for it. He didn’t expect blow jobs but he always acted real appreciative whenever she would give him one.
And unlike Coach Earl or Mr. Knowles, Mr. Richards would give her a ride home after fucking, if she asked for it.
So when Deanne gave birth to twin girls, she named the first girl Rayanne Penelope Williams. (Mr. Richards had once said that his wife’s name was Penelope.) And the second daughter was named Deechard Elisabeth Williams (Mr. Richards had said his only daughter was named Elisabeth.)
Deanne received some assistance during her pregnancy and that amount doubled upon the birth of the girls. On the first of the month, still sore from the strenuous birthing, Deanne walked to St. Ann First National Bank, cashed her assistance check and was never seen again.
Care for the girls fell to their maternal grandmother. She raised them in the two bedroom, one bathroom unit she and Deanne had occupied for the past nineteen years, in Elgee’s Water Street Projects.
From birth to puberty, Rayanne and Deechard were identical twins in physical appearance. Rayanne, however seemed to have an inner drive that Deanne, Grandmother, nor Deechard shared. Deechard was content going to Thomas Harris Elementary school and receiving the Cs and Ds given to any child that actually showed up for class. Then she’d play outside with the other children of the crumbling government housing neighborhood.
Rayanne, on the other hand, preferred to stay indoors, studying. When she wasn’t studying, she was reading anything she could get her hands on. At breakfast, she even read the cereal boxes.
Grandmother wasn’t a bad woman or a lazy one; she just had no ambition and no imagination. Her one vice was Louisiana Lottery scratch-off tickets.
When puberty hit, Rayanne blossomed into a five foot four inch tall girl with a thirty four C chest, twenty six inch waist, and thirty two inch hips. She kept her tightly coiled hair cut short, close to the scalp and loved wearing floral patterns, dresses and skirts.
Deechard ballooned to five feet four inches and two hundred and thirty nine pounds. She let her hair grow out, trying to achieve the dreadlocks of her idol, Whoopee Goldberg. She wore her clothing izmir escort far too tight, believing, just as her mother, and her grandmother, that she was a beauty.
“Girl, if you got it, show it, know what I’m saying?” Deechard would cackle.
When the girls were seventeen years old, one of the scratch-off tickets paid Grandmother five hundred dollars.
(Rayanne congratulated Grandmother, not pointing out that at $10 a week for the past year alone; Grandmother had spent more than five hundred dollars to win that five hundred dollars.)
Grandmother bought herself a new television and a gaudy necklace that had a large simulated diamond pendant. She wore the gold plated necklace on the outside of her clothing, showing it off proudly.
Deechard and Rayanne were in school when the next door neighbors kicked in the door and slashed Grandmother’s throat for the necklace and television and the three large rings Grandmother wore.
Cash for Gold Pawn Shop gave the man and woman the bad news; the necklace and three rings were nothing but gold paint and glass; altogether worthless. But the clerk noticed the dried blood in the chain links and alerted the police while his fellow clerk haggled over how much the man and woman wanted for the television.
While the two neighbors of Rayanne and Deechard’s were being arrested for first degree murder, Georgette ‘Georgie’ Edwards was in Shapes Fitness and Wellness Center, curling a twenty five pound dumbbell in her left hand. She was grateful that a group of women had come together and opened a ‘Women Only’ facility in Bender, Louisiana. She used to belong to Red’s Gym and Fitness Center, which was close to her house, the house she shared with Ronnie, and Ronnie ‘RJ’ Junior and Sandra, her husband and two children. But at Red’s, when she tried to work out, invariably some steroid junkie would either try to impress her by lifting more than she, or would scowl darkly at her.
“I am married,” Georgie would snarl at the ones that tried to pick her up.
“Shit, so am I,” most of the would-be Lotharios would smirk.
But here at Shapes, Georgie didn’t need to worry about macho jerks. And Cindy Broussard-Robichaux, the woman that oversaw the weights room was always there to help.
Georgie switched to her right arm and continued the curls, feeling the satisfying beads of sweat trickling down her torso, trickling in between her forty one B breasts.
A glance at the clock told her she had twenty eight minutes until her massage from Gretchen Dunbar and Georgie flung her long blonde hair out of her eyes, cursing herself for letting Sandra play with her hair scrunchies. No telling where the girl put them.
Suddenly, someone plopped down at the bench across from Georgie, slipping two ten pound weights onto the leg lift bar. The girl, about nineteen, possibly twenty years old, smiled at Georgie, then began to lift the cushioned bar with her left leg first.
Each time the blonde girl brought her leg up, the leg of her baggy shorts gaped open, showing Georgie a tight little slit sparsely framed by blonde tendrils.
Georgie lost count, but the strain in her bicep told her she’d probably exceeded the thirty reps.
With one last look at the little blonde pussy, Georgie signaled to Cindy Broussard-Robichaux that she was going to do her bench presses now.
“Wow!” the blonde interloper gasped as Georgie made quick work of hefting the one hundred and fifty pounds for twenty five reps.
The girl goggled as Georgie and Cindy added another twenty pounds and Georgie performed another twenty five reps, and then brought the weights back to one hundred and fifty for a cool down.
Her blonde audience of one stared as Georgie next did squats with a hundred, then a hundred and twenty and then a hundred pounds again.
Georgie again looked at the clock and determined it was time to head to the massage station.
“Wow,” the blonde said in an awed whisper. “I mean, I always thought bodybuilders were ugly looking dykes!”
“What?” Georgie asked, drinking from her water bottle.
“But you’re gorgeous!” the blonde continued.
“Thanks, Sweetie,” Georgie smiled and struck an exaggerated pose.
“Ah!” the girl goggled. “Ma’am? How do I get like you?”
“Talk to her,” Georgie said, pointing to a smiling Cindy.
Georgie’s good mood evaporated the moment she sat in her car. Ronnie would be coming home soon. And he’d want supper. And then he’d want to sit on his ass and watch some silly sports. It really rankled him when she’d pointed out, no matter who won the Super Bowl, their lives would not change one iota.
“Ooh, the Final Four?” Georgie asked. “Wow and why do we care who wins? Is this life changing for us? For our kids?”
Then after watching some game, drinking two or three too many beers, after yelling at the kids for being too loud while a ‘crucial play’ was occurring, he’d want sex.
Nasty, degrading sex. He should be satisfied with laying on top of her, thrusting his cock alsancak escort into her and bouncing up and down four or five times and ejaculating into her. But Ronnie wanted to stick his cock in her mouth. Worse yet, he wanted her to swallow his foul tasting semen. He also wanted to stick his cock into her rectum.
He’d tried it once. Tricked her into getting on all fours, then suddenly, she had felt a sharp pain in her anus.
A swift punch between her legs, striking his low hanging testicles put an end to his anal intrusion.
But the fact that Sandra had been conceived five months later showed that there had been no long lasting damage to his manhood.
Georgie watched, smiling, as the blonde girl staggered out of the front door. The girl hobbled to a shiny Lexus, wincing.
“It does get easier, Sweetie,” Georgie silently encouraged the girl, and then tried to encourage herself. “It does get easier.”
At the same time that Rayanne and Deechard Williams were being told they were now orphans, Jase and Dan sat in an unmarked police car while Philip Thompson approached a runner.
“Dog! What up? How’s Mama doing?” Philip loudly greeted the fourteen year old boy.
“I know you?” the boy sneered.
“You about to, bitch,” Philip said, punching the boy in the stomach, doubling the boy over.
“Fuck!” the boy gagged, trying to catch his breath.
“Let’s talk, pussy,” Philip sneered, pushing the boy into an alley.
It only took three punches and the boy told Philip everything he knew. Barton ‘Diamond’ Jeffries was the main man; there were ten couriers, each having five runners. All the runners were under age sixteen; if any of them got popped, they’d just go to Juvie for three to six months.
“My man’s Toots; fuck, I don’t know his mother fucking last name, please,” the boy sobbed as Philip slapped him a few times.
“What’s Toots driving?” Philip asked
“Got him a Lincoln Navigator, midnight blue,” the boy sobbed.
Philip pulled the boy’s drugs out of his baggy jeans, and the wad of cash the boy had already managed to collect.
“Tell Toots he looking at Death in his mirror, feel me, bitch?” Philip said, kicking the boy to the ground.
Jase pulled to a stop at the mouth of the alley and Philip got into the rear of the car.
“Toots; name’s Ladarius Tucker,” Philip said.
“Fucking Toots?” Dan sneered.
Main man’s Diamond; stays at his grandmother’s. Unit twenty in B Block,” Philip went on.
“Time for the big bad wolves go to Grandmother’s house,” Jase giggled.
Dan radioed in that they were in pursuit of Bennington Rivera, the boy Philip had just savagely beaten.
When the three thugs had graduated from Elgee High School, they had recognized that Elgee, Louisiana offered them very little opportunity. So they joined the Navy. They each did their four years; the Navy wasn’t too quick to offer to re-enlist them and they did not volunteer to do so.
Then Jase struck upon the idea of becoming police officers.
“What? Fucking hate pigs, dumb ass mother fucker, why the fuck we want to be them?” Dan had asked.
“Just stop and think about it for one fucking minute, shit for brains mother fucker,” Jase had said. “If we’re the cops, who the fuck’s going to call the cops on us?”
“Jase you beautiful mother fucker,” Dan had laughed. “If I wasn’t so sure you’re a faggot, I’d kiss you.”
“Fuck you, Ugly Annie,” Jase groused; calling Dan by the hated nickname a high school coach had called Dan.
Now, they cruised the Waters Street Projects, as well as the Dubenshire Projects. Captain Gene Paice had given his newest recruits the toughest neighborhood and had been amazed at how well the three men did.
“And there’s Toots,” Philip said, pointing out the blue Lincoln as it pulled up to the curb.
A boy, another runner approached the car just as Jase put on the lights imbedded in the unmarked car’s grill.
“Come on, run, mother fucker, I dare you,” Jase muttered.
Toots must have realized running was futile.
“Toots my man, what up?” Dan smiled, showing the young man his badge. “Pop the lock, huh?”
“Listen, y’all tow this mother fucker, y’all don’t be using them metal forks, huh?” Toots demanded.
“Unlock the fucking car, dick head; don’t worry about us towing your piece of shit wheels,” Dan snarled.
“What the fuck?” Toots said, now a little frightened.
That wasn’t how police were supposed to talk.
“Uh, you ain’t reading me no rights?” Toots asked as Dan got into the rear of the car.
“You got the right to shut the fuck up and take a left up here, cock sucker,” Dan said.
“Pull up into the garage,” Dan said when they reached his house.
Jase radioed in that they’d lost sight of their suspect and were now going on break. They entered Dan’s house through the front door.
“Mother fucker, I got rights!” Toots yelled as Dan cut his expensive suit to ribbons.
“Believe this shit? Mother fucker thinks he’s buca escort got rights,” Philip chortled.
“Them real? Those real diamonds?” Jase asked, looking at Toots’ rings.
“What the fuck you think?” Toots sneered.
“I find out they ain’t, your mama’s going to be one sorry bitch she ever gave birth to you,” Jase said and whipped out his knife.
It only took ten minutes of ‘interrogation’ and Toots had told them everything he knew about Diamond and the operation.
“Now you going let me go, right?” Toots sobbed.
“Yeah, ass wipe, going to let you go to Hell,” Dan smiled, put his nine millimeter into Toots’ mouth and closed one eye.
At her house, Georgie actually felt queasy as Ronnie groped her small breasts as she labored to fix their dinner. When RJ wandered in, Georgie slapped his hand.
“Not in front of the children,” she hissed.
“What? What the fuck’s wrong with…” Ronnie whined.
“Really? Ronnie, really? Watch the mouth, huh?” Georgie spat.
At that moment, a beleaguered St. Ann’s Parish Health And Human Services employee was trying to assist Rayanne and Deechard Williams. For their dinner, Deechard asked for, and received McDonald’s. Both girls were upset; their Grandmother was dead, killed over gaudy costume jewelry. Deechard seemed to grieve a shorter time than Rayanne; smacking her lips over the two Big Macs and supersized fries.
In the hotel room, Rayanne let Deechard have control of the television as she tried to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress. Mr. Seifort, their case worker from HHS said that he’d try to find Grandmother’s sister. They’d never met their Auntie Charmaine Williams, only knew of her because of Grandmother’s stories of growing up in the Fisher Street Projects of New Orleans.
“Ooh, girl, bet them some fine ass mother fuckers in Da Big Easy,” Deechard said, almost excitedly.
“Shit, Deechard, ain’t no difference; a n*gger is a n*gger. Don’t matter where they from,” Rayanne grumbled; she had almost been asleep.
“Yeah, you would say that. I forgot. You white,” Deechard sneered.
Because Rayanne had drive, ambition, aspirations of getting away from the self-imposed prison of living in the Government Housing, of living month to month for the one paycheck, of eating off of food stamps, she was accused of being ‘white’ by her peers.
Because Rayanne constantly strove for, and often achieved high marks, because she applied herself in school, quite often the only ones that would associate with her were the few white students of Elgee High School. For that, she was accused of being ‘white’ by her peers.
Because she abstained from drugs, because she did not skip class, because she was not promiscuous, because she did not participate infights and gang activity, Rayanne was accused of being ‘white’ by her peers.
Rayanne did not need to respond to Deechard’s taunt, Deechard was distracted by the television.
“Aw, ew gross what the fuck’s that all about, huh?” Deechard said.
Rayanne looked at the television. Deechard had obviously found the adult channels and the screen showed to women, one blonde and the other African-American, locked in a passionate kiss. The two women were fondling each other’s grotesquely large breasts.
“Aw fuck no, we ain’t watching that shit,” Deechard complained and switched it to a black penis pounding in and out of a light pink anus.
“They all be all about that white pussy, huh?” Deechard complained and switched it again.
Rayanne shut Deechard out and fell asleep.
Rayanne sat at her desk, hunched over the laptop computer Mr. Gordon had bought for her.
The dorm room was eight feet by ten feet, had two small beds, two small desks and hard chairs, two dressers and a nightstand that sat between the two beds.
Although the room itself was far smaller than the housing unit she’d lived in with Grandmother and Deechard for seventeen years, and smaller than the housing unit she and Deechard had shared after Grandmother’s death, it afforded Rayanne so much more freedom of movement.
She didn’t have to worry about someone kicking in the door to steal whatever she and Deechard had, she didn’t need to worry about being raped by Deechard’s latest boyfriend, didn’t need to worry about Deechard or Deechard’s friends stealing her few possessions for drug money.
Rayanne had never heard of Gordon King, or Kelly King, or the Nicole King Scholarship. Mrs. Mendelson, a case worker with Louisiana Health & Human Services had happened across Rayanne’s case file among the three hundred and twenty four cases she had in the St. Ann/St. Elizabeth Parish she managed. The girl’s file intrigued her, intrigued Mrs. Grace Mendelson enough that she took the time to read it.
“Wonder why you got you one and not me,” Deechard had mused when Rayanne showed her the HHS appointment card. Rayanne showed up for the appointment and was quickly ferried to Baylor Lake. Mrs. Mendelson did not hide her amusement as Rayanne looked at everything, having never been outside of Elgee’s lower-income neighborhood.
“Is that the Gulf Of Mexico?” Rayanne asked as she spotted Baylor Lake through some houses.
“What? No, child, that’s just Baylor lake,” Mrs. Mendelson laughed. “Gulf’s about twenty more miles that way.”
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