The Ballad of Big Tittie Dawn

It was around 1981 or 82. A good time to be young and horny on my Southwest Philly block. One of the many perks was a family of sisters who grew up rather quickly and helped you to do the same. Eldest among them was Dawn, a bossy sort who bloomed early and fully.
Dawn and I were known to keep company from time to time.
One day, Dawn gave me the word that she would be babysitting the young children that lived directly across the street from me. She said that I could come over after their father went out to the bar.
The father of the young children was a good man, but would often take the edge off of life with a drink or two. That night would prove to be no different, except that he would introduce me to the term ‘functional alcoholic’.
So there I was, skulking on my enclosed porch, the scent of imminent nookie in the air.
The father eventually emerged from his house, fumbling with his keys and getting in his car.
It was night and, in my eagerness to get my swerve on, I completely misjudged my stealthiness in the visible light.
10 seconds. I couldn’t wait the extra 10 seconds it would’ve taken for the father’s car to clear the street.
The father saw my dark figure dash across the street in his rear view mirror. He thought that odd and circled our block. He parked his car and was about to enter his home, but decided to peek through the window first. In the short time it took him to do all this, Dawn and I were already shagging like weasels on his living room couch.
I can only imagine his thought processes, especially the ones that led him to cross the street directly to my house.
I can only imagine how the conversation went when he knocked on my door and my mother answered.
“Sue,” I suppose he said to her, “There’s something I think you ought to see…”
I can only imagine what went through my mother’s mind as she crossed the street and peered through the porch window to see what the young children’s father had already seen: my eager, ashy butt flanked by Dawn’s meaty legs.
I did not have to imagine the knock on the door, though I kinda wish I had. I rolled off and hopped into the dining room, pulling up my undies and jeans.
There are only three times in my life when hearing my mother’s voice made me want to die on the spot. This instance is at the top of the list.
“Quentin!!! Get yer damn clothes on and get yer narrow ass across the street right now!!!”
You may find this hard to believe but my ass was quite narrower back then.

That night, my mom uttered the ever-popular ‘we’ll discuss this tomorrow’ and for her, that was that. For me, it was long night.
The next day, my unusually quiet and even-tempered mother sat me down and spoke to me with gentle, soothing words. I knew right then that my life was over.
“As a woman,” she started, “There are certain things I can’t teach you about manhood.” She then informed me that she had volunteered me to sit under some of the local older gentlemen for instruction and wisdom. When I realized that she meant the neighborhood ne’er do wells and drunks, I wished that she had just beaten me savagely.
“They’re expecting you,” said she.
“Now?” I responded.
“Now. Go.”

I walked to the other end of the block and there they were, watching as I approached. Like hungry vultures patiently waiting for their dinner to die. There were about seven or ten old fellows, the youngest of which had to be about fifty-something. Surely they had seen a fair bit of life and I might actually learn something, but I really just wanted to be somewhere else.
“You know why you’re here, dontcha, boy?” the alpha fellow said.
“Yes, sir. Yes I do.”
“Well, let’s have it. What happened?”
I thought his question odd. Wasn’t I supposed to be lectured based on what my mother told them about last night? That’s when it dawned on me: These older gentlemen weren’t going to give me a talk on the birds and the bees. These pervs wanted the juicy and sordid details of what transpired. So I spoke in the vaguest, non-incriminating terms describing last night.
“Well, who was it?” the alpha fellow inquired.
“I really can’t tell you that, sir,” said I.
I tried to hold my ground. But I was young, kinda intimidated, ashamed and badgered. I at least made them press me for several minutes before I caved.
“Just tell us, Quentin. We ain’t got all damn day!”
“It…She was…it was Dawn, sir.”
It was like I just identified who was on the grassy knoll. A few hoots of total disbelief and catcalls later, the alpha fellow had composed himself enough to speak.
“You mean Big Tittie Dawn????” asked he, clawing his gnarled hands a DD cup’s distance in front of his chest.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well…what was it like, boy?”
I’m not certain how long they kept me there, but I can tell you that they learned more about sex from me than I did from them.

There. I said it.

The Water Fountain Epiphany

So I'm walking with a coworker down a corridor when I see a bank of water fountains. I wasn't even particularly thirsty but but I felt compelled to take a sip, if only to see if it had that mineral-saturated public school fountain taste. As there was no one in the immediate area and I'm just that kinda rush-rush type, I moved ahead with purpose. This purpose made it hard for me to hit the brakes when I noticed a female coming out of the ladies room behind me. She had an open water bottle (in a bathroom???) and was also heading toward the fountain. I took a quick sip, just to get the taste, and rejoined my coworker.
Two footfalls later, it hit me. The realization that in the not so distant past that could've cost me a sound thrashing or maybe even my life. Whether I was drinking from the whites only fountain or doing anything that would make a white woman feel 'unsafe'.
My coworker saw I was struck by something so I shared it with him. We agreed things are better but we still have a long way to go. His guage was when these injustices were so fare behind us that we could forget them.
But for me...I don't want to forget.