I'm not proud of the way I was so bigoted against African Americans growing up. But being born and raised in a redneck family in Jackson, Mississippi, which has an eighty- percent black population, and constantly hearing blacks being demeaned by my parents, siblings, and friends, it was easy to have bad attitudes about them.
My name is Charlene, and after an unremarkable childhood, I married my high school sweetheart Wade, and we started a family right away. I fucked many boys in my senior year before Wade and I dated, and many of them were attracted to my voluptuous body.
I’m a big girl, but not obese, a little heavier than and looking a lot like the actress, Christina Hendricks with red hair and blue eyes. I’m five feet and seven inches tall, weigh one hundred and seventy pounds, and my best assets are my 36F, melon-sized breasts. I learned in high school that blacks are especially attracted to full-figured, white girls, but I had no interest in them.
I worked until the baby was born, after that relying on Wade’s income working as a plumber to sustain us. After our second child was born, there was an economic downturn and less work available for Wade. At the age of twenty-seven, I had to enter a bad job market, without much education.
After searching for three months, the only job I could find was as an assembler at a small, black-owned, plastic parts manufacturing company. I was one of four female assemblers and found it curious that the other girls are even more-full-figured than me. Then we had the company picnic at the owner’s home, and Wade and I were shocked seeing that two of the girls have mixed-race babies. Wade was so upset by it that we left early, and I was anxious to find out more about them.
At work on Monday, one of the assemblers, Susannah, asked, “Why did you guys leave the picnic so early?”
I answered, “To be honest, we left because Wade was upset seeing your and Bonnie’s mulatto babies. What’s that about?”
She laughed and wasn’t the least embarrassed when she said, “I know that we were raised to be bigots, but Calvin can be charming, convincing, and he’s fucking hung. He loves big girls like us and makes it worth our while to be receptive to him.”
I asked, “How does he make it worth your while?”
She answered, “You’re making just a little over minimum wage, but Bonnie and I are making twice that. Dale and I needed the money, and well, you see what happened.”
The owner, Calvin, is a fifty-year-old, ruggedly handsome, black man, over six feet tall, weighing one hundred and ninety pounds, and muscular. He often comes out on the assembly line and talks with the girls, and undresses me with his eyes, but has never been offensive.