Lace Curtains on a VW Van

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*Author’s Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: Yes I need an editor. No, I do not want an editor. If that this fact bothers you that much, kindly quit reading now.

Yes, it jumps around too much, yes there’s too many people to keep track of, yes it’s too long, yes it’s too short, yes it’s in the wrong category, yes it is stupid shit, and yes, I am a horrible writer, barely legible, hardly literate.

For those of you that have not hit the backspace key, I hope you enjoy this little tale.


The bell rang and less than three minutes later, students spilled out of the doors into the late September heat. Ten minutes after the bell had rung, the three buses pulled away, bringing another school day to a close.

Tara Derkelager was nearly out of the school before she remembered, she had a report due on Tuesday. She doubled back and dashed to the library of Sacred Ascension High School.

The school was an all-girl Catholic school, located in Oakleaf, Texas. Their brother school was St. Peter and Paul Catholic High School, an all-boy Catholic High School also located in Oakleaf.

Inside of the library, Tara undid the rubber strap that cinched around her books, found her Social Studies book and flipped it open. She located the scrap of paper Ms. Davidson had scrawled her assignment onto, then walked over to the Dewey Decimal card files.

Sister Agnes frowned at the stragglers that loitered. They were in school from 8:15 until 3:15, all day long. And yet, it seemed, they always waited until the last possible moment to frantically search for this book or that.

“Three? Three references? Why I need three references?” Tara grumbled to herself as she flipped hurriedly through the cards.

She located the row numbers she would need and scurried to that shelf, her saddle oxfords making a squeaking sound as the pink rubber soles skittered across the tile floor.

“No running, Miss Derkelager,” Sister Agnes barked.

“Yes Sister,” Tara said dutifully.

She located the two books, then scanned the shelves for that elusive third book. She located one and grabbed it, simply because she liked the title. Then she walked to where Sister Agnes sat, permanent scowl on her wrinkled old face.

The woman wrote down the title of each book, made Tara sign each withdrawal slip, then turned her attention to the next student in line.

“Hey Tara, congratulations,” another student called out.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, thanks,” Tara shrugged, grabbed all of her books, struggled to reattach the rubber strap, then scampered out of the library again.

Tara had not been surprised, but she had been somewhat disappointed when she’d been elected as the Homecoming Queen for the Sacred Ascension/St. Peter and Paul Homecoming Court. The eighteen year old girl knew she was pretty, with her shoulder length strawberry blonde hair, large green eyes, and pouting lips. Being blessed, or cursed with a 35DD chest, a 28 inch waist, and a 32 inch bubble butt didn’t hurt her chances either.

She was also a straight ‘A’ student and that swayed the election in her favor. It was a well-known secret that the good Sisters of Sacred Ascension often meddled in the election results. No one had believed that Pam Honeycutt had been voted in as Homecoming Queen last year. Pam was pretty enough, but everyone had voted for Debra Shields. Debra was stunningly beautiful, with long blonde curls, big brown eyes, nearly a carbon copy of the popular Barbie doll.

But Pam Honeycutt was a straight ‘A’ student and Debra was always one bad mark away from failing altogether.

Tara ran to her 1964 Volkswagen Bus. The van had belonged to Adam Derkelager, her holder brother. He had taken several cans of different colored paints and had painted different colored geometric shapes on the previously white exterior of the shapeless automobile. On the front, and on the sides, Adam had painted large peace symbols in an odd Army green color.

Shortly after completing the paint job, Adam had driven from Oakleaf, Texas, to San Francisco, California. It was the place to be in 1969.

Adam had been arrested, along with several others for the manufacture of LSD. The judge, a no-nonsense, hard-nosed man of the law gave Adam two choices. Join the military or do ten years hard labor.

“Pretty boy like you?” the man had sneered, looking at Adam’s long hair and baby face. “They’ll love you in them showers.”

Adam had decided on the military and had died in a rice paddy in Vietnam. His beloved van had been located outside of a commune in South Dakota. The stoned hippy that had hot-wired it claimed that ‘the Universe gave it to me, man. You got no right take it, man.’

Tara had initially wanted to sand and scrape the outlandish paint scheme, but it was a link to a brother she would never see again, so she left it as is. Her only contribution was to sew together some lace curtains for the windows.

Tara rolled down the two front windows, whistling casino siteleri as her hand touched the hot handles of the windows. The van had been sitting in the hot Texas sun all day and was sweltering inside.

She started the motor, whistled again as her hand touched the hot gear shift, and put it into reverse. She looked both ways, then backed into the street. She then put it into first gear and began to drive away from Sacred Ascension High School.

She turned on the radio, the AM radio that had come standard with the bus and hoped there was enough of a cloud cover. If there was a cloud cover, she could catch KPHH out of Houston, Texas. If not, she’d only be able to tune in KNIY out of Lowridge and KNIY played only Christian music.

“Yay!” she laughed as KPHH came in.

True, it was sporadic, but the antennae held the station well enough that Tara could sing along with the radio. She drove north on Highway 41, singing along with ‘Rock Me gently.’

Then she slowed. There was a figure walking along the highway. The figure was wearing the plaid skirt and white blouse of Sacred Ascension. Tara recognized the silhouette; she’d know Renee Mills figure anywhere.

The black girl’s figure was nearly a mirror image of her own, except for a few more inches around her luscious hips. Her breasts were also capped with beautiful dark brown, almost purple areolae that were the size of silver dollars and thick nipples. Her pubic mound was covered by a thick profusion of dark curls that completely covered her slit from view.

But Tara would have recognized Renee merely by Renee’s large Afro hairstyle. From eight grade through to the eleventh grade, Renee Mills had pulled her thick black hair straight, it reached to just below her shoulder blades.

But when Renee walked into their homeroom on the first day of their senior year, her hair had been allowed to grow wild. She now sported a large Afro surrounding her beautiful round face.

Tara had taken one look at Renee Mills’ new hairstyle, her large soulful brown eyes and light chocolate brown skin and felt her pussy spasm. Tara felt her nipples grow to hard pebbles as she looked at the wild bush that Renee proudly sported.

Now, on Highway 41, Tara Derkelager slowed her van, coasted just past the solitary figure, then pulled to the side of the road.

“Hey Renee, come on,” she called through the open window.

Renee Mills had stopped walking when she saw the vehicle pull over. She’d been accosted twice already as she walked the lonely blacktop. Once by a creepy old man in a Cadillac convertible, the other a group of boys in a pickup truck. Both vehicles had offered her a ride for some pussy.

Renee burst into tears of relief as she recognized the vehicle and the voice of Tara Derkelager, a schoolmate.

“Oh, no, no, oh Renee, don’t cry!” Tara pleaded and pulled her classmate in for a tight hug.

“I can’t help it,” Renee wailed.

Tara squeezed the crying girl, rubbed her back, and patted her shoulder.

She could smell the sweat of the other girl’s body, she could smell the chemical the girl added to her hair as she styled it.

Even as she was concerned for Renee, Tara could feel her pussy dripping her excitement into the crotch of her white cotton panties. She could feel her nipples harden to two bullets.

She chanced a quick kiss to the other girl’s thick, beautiful lips as she murmured soothing words.

“Five minutes late, just five minutes,” Renee said, wiping at her eyes. “Remembered needed three books for that stupid thing Miss Davidson wanting, bus just up and leave me.”

“Oh Renee,” Tara said. “You ever need a ride, I’m your Girl Friday.”

“Uh, because it’s Friday?” Renee asked, smiling through her tears.

“Huh?” Tara said, then got it.

She was Renee Mills’ Girl Friday because today was Friday.

They drove, Renee giving Tara directions to the small home she and her grandmother shared.

“By the way, congratulations on being Homecoming Queen,” Renee said.

“Thanks, I guess,” Tara said.

She looked over at Renee. Now that she wasn’t crying, the girl was beautiful again. The wind whistling into the van battered at Renee’s wild tuft of hair. Tara was sure her panties were soaked.

“I uh, I voted for you,” Tara admitted.

“Now why you go wasting your vote like that?” Renee asked, smiling.

“Uh, because you’re beautiful,” Tara admitted and blushed brightly.

“Yeah, they all saying that, ‘Black Is Beautiful’ huh?” Renee said, then pointed. “Turn right here third house on the left.”

“Here you go,” Tara said cheerfully as she pulled to a stop at the curb.

“Thanks so much,” Renee said.

“Anytime, Renee. Anytime,” Tara promised. “Here, let me give you my phone number, okay?”

“No phone,” Renee admitted.

Tara looked at her, shocked. Who had ever heard of anyone not having a telephone in 1974?

“Thanks again,” Renee said.

“Yeah, sure,” Tara said and gave Renee another kiss, directly on her mouth.

The slot oyna moment Tara arrived home, she had to endure her mother’s barrage of questions, how was her day, what did she do, did she have any homework?

Finally, Ann Derkelager ran out of questions and Tara was able to dash up the stairs to her bedroom. Once in the room, she peeled her panties down and off, then pressed the crotch to her nose and inhaled deeply.

Tara loved the smell of pussy. She loved the taste; she would finger her pussy to orgasm, then lick and suck her essence from her wet fingers. She would smell, then suck at the crotch of her panties, getting the sweaty, musky flavor from the cotton gusset.

Of course, hers was the only pussy she’d ever smelled, ever tasted. She’d not had any opportunities to smell, taste, touch any other girls’ pussies.

Tara wondered what Renee’s pussy would smell like. Would it smell as heavenly as her sweat smelled? Would it be stronger than her own scent?

She briskly rubbed her pussy to orgasm, stifling her cry of pleasure by sucking on the gusset of her damp panties.

Then she stripped out of her clothing and surveyed herself in the full length mirror that hung on the door of her closet. Her large breasts did sag down underneath their own weight. But her light pink nipples stood up nice and proud, nestled in the half dollar sized light pink areolae. Her belly button was just a nick in her soft pale belly. Her beautiful little slit was sparsely covered by a patina of pinkish curls.

As if he could sense that his baby girl was in her bedroom, nude, Carl Derkelager knocked once then swung the door open.

With a squeal, Tara tried to cover herself by picking up her discarded blouse and holding it in front of herself. Carl smiled; in that briefest of moments, he’d seen her beautiful breasts and hard nipples, her soft belly, and her triangle of pink hair. When she whirled around to pick up her blouse, he saw her beautifully rounded backside and her light pink anus. Just underneath that cute little pucker were her light pink pussy lips, still slick and puffy from her earlier masturbation.

“Hi Sugar Doodle, how was school?” he asked as he eyed her beautiful pale legs.

“Okay, I guess,” Tara answered dutifully, wishing her father would step out, give her some privacy.

“Come on, don’t make me have to knock out your teeth get an answer, huh?” Carl said, eyeing her full, round breasts just barely covered by the blouse she held up against her womanly figure.

“Carl, Honey, toilet down here won’t quit running,” Ann called up the stairs.

“Miserable God damned cunt,” Carl thought, but called down that he’d be right there.

Tara took advantage of the brief respite and dressed in casual clothing quickly. Then she dropped all of her school clothing into the laundry hamper in the upstairs bathroom.

Over dinner, Tara told them she’d been elected as Homecoming Queen.

“Last time St. Peter and Paul won their Homecoming?” Carl said, face clouding over.

“Nineteen sixty eight, year Adam scored three touchdowns,” Tara recited.

“Then lost the next five in a row,” Carl smirked. “Well, your highness? What you think their chances are this year?”

“Going make it six in a row, I bet,” Tara agreed.

The next morning, Tara beat Carl outside and grabbed the Oakleaf Advertiser off the front lawn. Then she started up the percolator and brewed a pot of coffee while she read the news.

“Give me the Sports, huh?” her father grumbled, irked that, once again, Tara had managed to get the paper before him.

“Uh huh,” she agreed and slid the section to him.

She read the ‘Lifestyles’ section and smiled. Blazing Saddles was still playing at the Sweet Oak Cinema. She had seen the movie three times already, and each time was just as funny as the last. She wondered if Renee had seen the movie. She made a mental note of the times the film was playing that day, double checking that she was reading the Saturday times.

Carl gave her bottom a playful swat as she walked past.

“Daddy!” she squealed.

Before Tara could race out of the house, though, Ann delegated the chores Tara was to perform that day before she would be allowed to leave. Tara got busy, grateful that she had not been born a boy. Adam had always griped about having to do the yard work. Now it was Carl that griped about having to do the yard work.

After vacuuming, then raking the shag carpet in the living room, after sweeping them mopping the linoleum floors in the kitchen and both bathrooms, after folding the laundry, Tara was given a kiss by her mother. Tara raced through a shower, taking extra care to shave legs and underarms. Bernice Grattan had disavowed shaving and it turned Tara’s stomach to see Bernice’s hairy arm pits and stubbly legs when they showered after Physical Education class. Bernice was proud of the disgusting growth she sprouted and paraded around the locker room, flashing her pits.

“Looks like an SOS pad under them arms,” Tara muttered.

She dressed in a canlı casino siteleri short sleeve knit top and some bell bottomed blue jeans and finally decided to put on her leather sandals. She had some dress shoes, but it was Saturday, not Sunday, so the sandals won.

“Hi Dad, bye Dad,” Tara said as she ran out of the house.

“Where’s she going?” Carl demanded.

“Out,” Ann shrugged, then pinched her nose. “You. Go take a shower.”

“Uh huh, after she already used up all the hot water?” Carl complained.

Tara retraced her route from the previous afternoon. Although it was only ten minutes away from her house, it was as if Tara had crossed some invisible line. The cars in Renee’s neighborhood were older. The houses were smaller. The yards were not as well-maintained.

Renee looked up from her homework when Nana gave a harsh knock at the door. She didn’t even have to look at Nana’s face to know that the fifty two year old woman was upset. When she wasn’t upset, she gave a light, almost playful rapping on the door. When she was angry, like now, it was a harsh rap.

“There some white girl here asking about you,” Nana barked, dark face twisted.

“What? Who?” Renee asked.

“What? How I know?” Nana barked.

“I’ll go see,” Renee said, getting up from her desk.

“Know I don’t like no white people coming around. They the devil, all of them,” Nana snarled, voice low.

She kept her voice low to keep the white girl from hearing her words. She had an intense dislike of white people, and an even more intense fear of white people. The whites had all the power.

Nanette Mills had experienced this first hand. She’d been a dishwasher at a diner, had worked hard to make money to help out her momma and her five younger brothers and sisters. One night, the cook, a white man had forced himself on her. She complained to the police, but the cook said she’d begged him for it. The police threatened to bring her in for filing a false police report and the owner fired her.

A few weeks later, as the cook walked from back door to his car, someone stabbed him in his groin. It was dark; he did not see who had stabbed him, removed his genitals.

The police did come and ask Nanette Mills about the incident. The frightened girl stammered and stuttered that she had no knowledge of the horrible fate the cook had suffered.

“We’ll be keeping our eye on you, hear?” the police chief threatened.

“You don’t need do that, I a good girl,” Nanette whimpered, eyes wide.

And as soon as the police left the house, Nanette smiled.

Her daughter was born seven months after the cook’s stabbing. Being half-white gave Georgia Mills no benefits, no privileges. She was treated as poorly as any other dark skinned person in America. Having the misfortune to be dark skinned in Texas, Georgia quickly learned to mistrust, fear the white man just as intensely as her mother feared and distrusted them. And having heard the story of her conception from her mother, having heard the details of the ordeal her mother had endured, when she was jumped outside of a bowling alley, Georgia did not even bother reporting the incident to the police.

Renee heard the stories, heard them over and over from Nana, from her momma. As a child, she too had a fear, a distrust of white people. Then some white people came to her school and administered some scholastic tests.

“Hi, Honey,” The white woman smiled at Renee as she completed her test while her classmates were still struggling with the first page of the four page test.

“Yes ma’am?” Renee asked, afraid she may have done something wrong.

“Can I see your test? You are finished, right?” the woman smiled warmly.

Renee silently handed the pages to the woman. She watched as the two white men and the white woman read through her test. The taller of the two men dug through a cardboard box and, smiling warmly, approached Renee.

“Miss Mills? Could you take this test?” the man asked, voice deep, resonant.

“Yes sir,” Renee answered, eyes wide with fear.

She struggled slightly with some of the problems, but did her best. By the second page of the three page test, though, she had figured out how to deduce the answers.

There was a chorus of groans when the second man called ‘Time!’ and made everyone pass up their tests. The woman quickly intercepted Renee’s test and again the three huddled over it.

“This next test? It’s ‘Language Skills’ and it’s very simple,” the woman said as the two men put papers in front of the students. “We just want you to read the word, then check the box that matches that word. The first one? Honest? You would check ‘Truthful,’ which is the same as ‘Honest,’ right?”

Renee squirmed in her seat. As she read through the test, she could feel the eyes of the three white people on her.

“All finished, Honey?” the woman smiled as Renee checked the last box on the far too easy test.

And suddenly, instead of going to George Washington Carver High School the following year, Renee Mills was attending Sacred Ascension High School. The three white people had selected her and two others from her school. The two males were now attending St. Peter and Paul High School. Slowly, her mistrust, her fear of whites slipped away.

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