Good Catholic Girl

"I uh," the young man stammered.

"Thought provoking, isn't it?" the teacher smiled. "Or, suppose America had entered World War Two the day after the invasion of Poland?"

"Jesus, what the hell am I supposed be writing?" Kampala muttered, already lost.

"Summer semester's too short to go throughout all of the Western world," the man bemoaned. "So, we're going to concentrate our studies on the American Revolution and the War of eighteen twelve, up to the American Civil War, the War Between the States."

With that, the man began to discuss the first colonization of the New World. As he talked, he threw out some facts that had assisted the colonists in cultivating, inhabiting the new lands.

"Study your syllabus. Study your syllabus," he demanded as the class drew to an end. "There is a five page report on any period, any given event or events in American History, its significance, and, and, and, how it would have been different, had something, some action had been altered. Don't come up to me on the last day of class and say 'but you didn't talk about that. I didn't know I had a paper to do.' You do have a paper to do. See you tomorrow. Unless something alters our future."

"Oh my God," Kampala said, head whirring, large eyes wide.

"And this is good for a short semester?" her red headed buddy asked, also shocked.

Again, as they exited the class, he again asked her for a date. Kampala stopped short.

"Listen, I uh, I mean, no offense, but I don't date white boys," Kampala said. "I mean, I ain't racist or nothing, but..."

"Uh, that's the very definition of racist," the young man said. "You won't date me. Because I'm white. Not because I'm a jock, or I'm not dressed right, or my breath stinks, or I don't have enough money, or you think I'm stupid or ugly. You won't date me simply because I'm white."

Having no argument, Kampala veered away and ducked into a bathroom. Once inside the bathroom, she decided she did need to use the facilities.

When she stepped out, her admirer was gone. Kampala didn't know if she felt relief or disappointment.

Her Sociology class seemed to be easy enough; the woman wedged her bulk behind a desk, read the highlights of Chapter 1, explained the text, then sent them on their way.

Kampala knew that Happyland Day Care was preparing the noon meal for the children, so decided to go to Clark's Drive-In for a hamburger and giant chocolate malt. As she always did, she admired the girls as they skated around. She'd never been skating and wondered just how hard it was.

"Pretty hard," her waitress agreed when Kampala asked. "My dad took me to Skate-O-Rama when I was about five, busted my butt a million times. Then, coming here? Had to learn how skate while holding a tray loaded down with a bunch of food."

After her meal, Kampala saw that it was time for the children's' naps, which gave her time to go home and study. She took advantage of her free time, remembering to take two loads of laundry to the apartment's laundromat. She determined, these cutoffs had been worn for the very last time; her buttocks stuck out far too much for her comfort.

As usual, it was the bony ass white girl that greeted Kampala when she appeared. Amhara filled her mother's ear with all they had done that day while Kampala and the white girl packed Amhara's diaper bag.

"You rode, you rode a dragon?" Kampala asked.

"Uh huh," Amhara said.

"We read a story about a dragon," the employee clarified.

"Know what? I'm sorry, I see you just about every day but I don't even know your name," Kampala suddenly said.

"Hmm? Oh! I'm Britney," the blonde girl giggled and Kampala noticed that the girl had a mouthful of braces. "Britney Theriot."

"Okay, thank you Britney," Kampala smiled and picked Amhara up, balancing the child on her hip. "Say 'bye-bye' Miss Britney."

"Bye, Amhara, see you tomorrow," Britney smiled.

"Mr. King, first day was hard," Kampala typed later that afternoon. "But I think I'm going to like my classes."

Mr. King must have been in his emails site; his response was nearly instantaneous. He encouraged her, reminding her that she was a Nicole King Scholarship recipient, she was a leader.

Michelle Rodriguez's response was nearly immediate as well. She too encouraged Kampala, and even disclosed that she, Michelle Rodriguez was a former Nicole King Scholarship recipient.

"Kampala, you are only limited by what you limit yourself to," Michelle stated. "You are the only one that can hold you back, you are the only one that can move yourself forward."

Tuesday and Wednesday, Kampala did see the handsome red head in her first two classes. She smiled at him on both days. He did return her smile, but did not approach her, did not talk to her.

The summer semester ran Monday through Thursday. This left Friday, Saturday and Sunday free. The campus facilities were open on Friday, the Students' Union and library were the only buildings open on Saturday and the entire campus was closed on Sundays.

Thursday, just after Dr. Sampson dismissed them, Kampala blocked the red head's exit. He looked at her, a little smile playing across his confused face.

"I uh, so you uh, you still want go to what was it?" Kampala asked.

"I uh, damn, sorry, I uh, I already got plans," the young man said. "And, uh, unfortunately? I'm still white."

Kampala turned abruptly and fled the room. Her cheeks burned hot with anger, with shame.

So, when Darius Duncan shot her a text, asking her if she wanted to get together, Kampala agreed. She and Darius had hooked up a few times. Truthfully, she didn't see a future with the young man, which was fine because Darius didn't seem to have any definite plans for any future, other than playing football. He was a member of the ULD Storm, was on the second string and had seen minimal playing time. But Darius was convinced that the NFL would come knocking on his door.

"So, uh, what we doing?" Kampala asked when Darius showed up.

"Shit, you know," Darius said.

"No, I don't know. What we doing?" Kampala asked. "Remember, I got me a little girl."

"Can't make her take a nap?" Darius asked, flopping down on her couch.

"And then she'll be up all night? No, come on, been in school all week, I want get out, do something," Kampala said.

Darius saw that his plans for sex were not coming to fruition. Kampala saw that her plans to get out of the apartment were not coming to fruition. With angry words shouted back and forth, Darius stormed out of the apartment.

Kampala packed a diaper bag and took Amhara down the stairs. Despite her anger, she remembered, it was not Amhara's fault, so put on a happy face. Then she drove to Mouton Park.

Mouton Park had a beautiful, well-tended playground. The swing sets had seats that were perfect for a two year old; there was a bar that locked down, keeping the child safely in the swing.

"Whee!" Kampala laughed as she gently pushed Amhara.

"More!" Amhara demanded.

As she pushed her baby girl, Kampala noticed a runner running the jogging trail. There were others using the track; most jogged at a steady pace. This runner was running, arms swinging back and forth, legs pumping hard.

The flash of carrot orange hair told Kampala exactly who was running. She watched her classmate's frenetic pace as he thudded past the playground area.

"Want slide," Amhara announced.

"Ooh, I don't know about that," Kampala said. "They're pretty high. You think you can do that?"

"Uh huh," Amhara said as her mother unhooked the swing.

"Yes ma'am," Kampala gently corrected.

"Hey, thought that was you," her classmate said as he jogged past, his pace less hurried.

Before Kampala could respond, though, he was gone.

Amhara did show that, yes, she could climb the steps to the ledge of the slide, with Kampala's hand on her back, ready to catch her if she should lose her balance, then bravely slide all the way down. Kampala applauded her little girl's bravery and Amhara ran around to do it again.

"Hi," the classmate said, now walking, mopping his face with a towel.

"Hi," Kampala agreed, then applauded when Amhara slid down to the bottom again.

"And who is this little cutie? Huh? What's your name?" the young man asked Amhara.

"What's your name?" Kampala coaxed.

Amhara mumbled something and the young man looked up at Kampala for interpretation.

"Amhara Afrika Jefferson," Kampala said.

"Amhara? Like the Ethiopian region?" the classmate asked.

"Uh, yeah. How'd you know that?" Kampala asked, genuinely surprised.

"Had African Geography last semester," he said, then turned to face Amhara again. "Hi, Amhara. I'm Scott Jeffries."

"Say 'hi, Mr. Scott,'" Kampala coaxed.

Amhara mumbled something. The child again climbed to the top of the slide.

"I uh, listen, I'm sorry," Scott said to Kampala. "That, what I did after History? That was pretty shiii—shoddy, that was pretty shoddy of me."

"Know what? I deserved it," Kampala said, smiling at Scott's attempt to clean up his language around her child.

"So, uh, this your daughter?" Scott said and clapped when Amhara slid down.

"Yes it is," Kampala said, her pride evident.

"You are a very pretty young lady," Scott said to Amhara, who was already running around to climb the slide again.

"So uh, after this, I uh, can I, you, y'all want go to Jade Garden?" Scott asked.

"Would love to," Kampala agreed, smiling.

"All right, so I uh, I'll go get cleaned up; my house is right over there; how about meet you, y'all here? Give me twenty?" Scott said, pointing.

"What I got on good?" Kampala asked.

She was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a light pink pullover blouse. They'd been fine for a small outing to the park.

"To me? You look perfect," Scott said. "But I'm not a woman. I don't know what you consider 'good' or not."

He was back in fifteen, driving a Lincoln SUV. He followed Kampala back to her apartment, then, rather than take car seat from car to SUV, and then back again, he simply parked in the 'Visitors' space and got into the passenger seat of Kampala's car.

"How many?" the waitress barked as they entered the restaurant.

"Two adults, one child; we're going to need the high chair," Scott barked in reply.

"Come on," the woman snapped, guiding them toward a booth. "This okay or you want table?"

"This is fine," Scott snapped. "That high chair? Now?"

"God! Why y'all don't just take it on outside?" Kampala asked, shaking her head at the rude exchange.

"Nah, that's just the way she is with everyone. I just give it right back to her," Scott smiled and nodded his approval as the waitress plunked a high chair down next to the table.

"Okay, sweetheart, let's get you in here, huh?" Scott said, taking Amhara out of Kampala's hands.

Kampala watched as Scott quickly managed to buckle Amhara into the chair, then fixed the tray. He then picked up his menu.

"Okay, the children's meals? Suck. "How about we just get her an order of fried rice and some egg rolls? I know she won't be able to finish the egg rolls or rice, but it'll fill her up," Scott commented.

"You uh, you know a lot about kids?" Kampala asked.

"Sister's got five of them, expecting number six," Scott smiled. "I'm Uncle Sottie."

"What you want drink? Ready order?" the waitress demanded.

"Go away," Scott snapped. "We call you we ready, okay?"

Kampala was shocked, then smiled when she saw a small smile playing at the waitress's lips. She then looked at her menu.

"I uh, I've never had Chinese before," Kampala admitted.

"Anything but the seafood," Scott said.

With his help, Kampala ordered the Moo Shu pork and nodded when Scott suggested the fried rice and egg rolls for Amhara. When their meals came, Scott pulled the egg rolls out of the way; they were steaming. He then took a spoonful of the fried rice and fed Amhara.

Scott's prediction was right; Amhara did not eat all of her fried rice. She did delight in dunking her egg rolls into the duck sauce that Scott ladled out for her, but mostly just sucked the sweet sauce from the shell of the egg roll.

And Scott did not get angry that Amhara did not finish her meal. He also did not demand that Kampala pay for the food she and Amhara ate.

"Oh, oh, you said you was a jock?" Kampala remembered as she cleaned Amhara's sticky hands and face.

"Uh, yeah," Scott smiled. "You kidding, right?"

"No, why?" Kampala asked, looking at him.

"I uh, I'm Scott Jeffries? U.L.D. Storm? The running back?" Scott said.

"Oh, okay," Kampala said.

"Kampala, well, I guess you're not into football, huh?" Scot laughed.

"No, not really," Kampala agreed, then brightened. "Oh, you know Darius Duncan?"

"Yeah, Defensive End," Scott agreed. "Second string, 'bout be dropped down to third string if he don't learn how run."

"What's all that mean?" Kampala asked as they walked to the door of the restaurant.

"Means he's slow as a turtle and don't take the time learn the plays," Scott said, helping as Kampala put Amhara into her car seat.

"You uh, you want come on up?" Kampala asked as she parked.

"Yes," Scott agreed.

Scott looked around Kampala's apartment with interest. He smiled when Kampala showed him Amhara's bedroom. Then he frowned.

"She uh, where's her toys? Where's her teddy bear?" he asked.

Kampala showed Scott the few toys the child had. He nodded his head, then asked where her books were.

"This is our book," Kampala said, pulling out a battered book of Mother Goose rhymes.

"I had a nice time," Scott said. "Hope we can do it again?"

"I uh, yeah," Kampala said, surprised.

Every date Kampala had ever had been on had ended up in bed. Some dates had started off in bed, which is what Darius had been hoping for.

"It uh, I uh, it all right I get a kiss?" Scott asked.

Kampala smiled and agreed to a kiss. She wrapped her arms around his muscled chest, smashing her breasts against him.

"Mm," she moaned lightly as his powerful arms squeezed her, his lips mashing against hers.

"I uh, what time y'all get up?" Scott asked, pulling his lips from hers.

"Don't know, don't have class tomorrow. About seven," Kampala said.

"Oh, give me your phone number?" Scott asked.

"She in bed yet?" Darius texted an hour later as Kampala sat at her dining room table, doing homework.

"No," was Kampala's response.

He sent a text demanding Kampala text him the minute Amhara went to bed. Kampala's response of 'Why?' generated some ugly responses from Darius Duncan.

"Know what, bitch? Done with your ass, your third string bass," Kampala said as she declined to respond to any of the man's vulgar text messages.

"You decent?" Scott asked when Kampala answered her phone the next morning.

"I what?" Kampala asked.

"Y'all dressed? Had your breakfast? Hair brushed, teeth brushed, won't scare people I come knocking on your door?" Scott explained.

"Yeah, we're just sitting watching Cajun Carl," Kampala agreed.

"Oh, God, that has got to be the stupidest," Scott laughed. "But I do love Gator and Rat."

"Yeah, Amhara loves them too," Kampala laughed.

And a moment later, there was a knock on the apartment door. Kampala saw Scott's smiling face when she looked through the peephole.

"What you doing here?" she asked.

"I was walking and I found this bear," Scott said, pulling a teddy bear from a Wal-Mart bag. "And he needed a home. Know any two year old girls think they might like him?"

"Amhara? What do you think? Think you'd like a bear?" Scott asked.

"Uh huh," Amhara agreed.

"Yes sir," Kampala corrected. "Say 'thank you, Mr. Scott.'"

"And I got these," Scott said, putting a book of fairy tales, as well as an illustrated Bible onto Kampala's dining room table.

"Thank you," Kampala said and stepped up.

Kampala gave Scott a soft kiss. Since she had not expected company, was not ready to go anywhere, Kampala did not have a bra on underneath her soft cotton top. Her breasts mashed against Scott as she kissed him.

Kampala did wonder if Scott could tell she did not have a bra on. She did notice that when her breasts made contact with his hard, muscled body, her nipples responded.

She invited him to sit; she'd make them some coffee. After she brought the mugs into the living room, they sat quietly, just watching the silly children's program that the local television station carried. From time to time, Amhara pulled her attention from the mindless chatter and talked with Mommy, with Mr. Scott.

"She uh, I usually put her down for a n. a. p after lunch," Kampala whispered, pulling her lips from Scott's lips.

"Lunch is, what? At least three hours?" Scott smiled. "Y'all ever been to the library?"

St. Elizabeth's Public Library was geared to be kid friendly. Scott walked around, sharing turns holding Amhara. At first, Kampala had felt a little self-conscious, being with a white man. But if any of the patrons or employees thought anything about seeing an African-American together with a white man, they didn't say anything.

"And out here," Scott said, pulling Kampala and Amhara to the rear of the building. "Is the playground."

"Oh boy! Look at them slides, Amhara!" Kampala enthused.

There were three slides, a six foot tall one, an eight foot tall one, and a ten foot tall one. The slide at Mouton Park was a six foot tall slide. The library's six foot tall slide had a tube halfway down the length of it and Kampala squatted down so that Amhara could see her from the top of the slide.

"Whee!" Kampala laughed as Amhara easily slid the length of the slide.

"Want try this one? Brave enough try this one?" Scott asked, taking Amhara to the eight foot tall one.

She looked up, then ran back to the six foot tall slide.

"Okay, maybe next time, huh?" Scott said, helping the child up the steps of the six foot tall ladder.

"Yes, maybe next time," Kampala agreed.

"Now, Backyard barbeque is right around the corner from here. Amhara like barbeque?" Scott asked.

Amhara was asleep in her car seat by the time they returned to Kampala's apartment. Scott carried the girl up the steps and helped Kampala put the girl down for a nap.

"Now..." Kampala said, pulling Scott into her bedroom.

"Good God, tornado hit?" Scott teased, looking around the squalor that passed for Kampala's bedroom.

"Shut up!" Kampala squealed.

Kampala did not waste time with foreplay, just pulled blouse and bra off. Scott's blue eyes opened wide at the sight of her chocolate brown skin.

Her breasts were large for her slim frame and did hang slightly from their own weight. Her areolae were the size of half dollars and were a dark purplish brown in color. The nipples stuck out nearly a half inch in their excitement.

Her waist was also slim, but bearing Amhara had put just the hint of a paunch on her belly.

Still not wasting time, Kampala slid her shorts and panties down her legs and Scott's eyes drank in the sight of her mass of black strands, her luscious hips, her sleek legs.

"Going stand there? "Kampala laughed, falling back onto her unmade bed.

Scott pulled his tee shirt off, revealing his well-muscled chest, his six pack abdomen. There was a shock of carrot orange hair on his chest and Kampala smiled, seeing the tuft of hair.

He undid his shorts and pushed shorts and briefs down his muscled legs. Kampala looked down at the seven inches of thick meat, the two large testicles, and the shock of bright orange curls.

His cock was circumcised; Kampala had not seen a circumcised cock before and wondered if this was how all white cocks looked.

Scott knelt on the floor between Kampala's splayed legs and kissed her. His hands went up and cupped her heavy breasts. Thumbs and forefingers teased and twisted her hard nipples.

His kisses had been soft, gentle kisses. Now, inside of her bedroom, Scott's kisses were strong, demanding kisses. He sucked her tongue out of her mouth, tasting her mouth. He moaned into her mouth as they kissed, hands still tugging, twisting, teasing her nipples.