This is ugly. I don’t know where or how to begin,,,but here goes. I have a terrible affliction. I’m addicted to picking cotton. (I’m white)
It started years ago when I was living in the deep South. I was on a sail boat that was at anchor. I’d sleep up forward in the V-berth. There was a hatch just above me. The boat would orientate itself into the wind so when I opened the hatch I’d get a cool breeze that made sleeping easy…except.
….except…in the dog days of summer, the last six weeks of summer. It would be down right stinking hot. You’d sweat like a pig constantly. Usually I could sleep pretty good but not then. I’d lay there all night long sweating. Maybe I’d catch a couple of hours sleep before the sun came up. When it did it got real hot.
I’d lay there at night thinking about the poor slaves and what a hell it must have been picking cotton in the heat. The more I thought about it the worse it got till I started having this over whelming urge to purge my white guilt by picking cotton.
Then the heat broke and the urge disappeared. The next year in the dog days I started getting the urge again. It got so bad one night I rowed ashore and drove around looking for a cotton field. I drove around all night but could not locate a field. It was really starting to bother me so much I couldn’t do with out it. I just had to pick some cotton. It was like I needed a fix.
Then it got really hot and I couldn’t sleep. I jumped in my car and headed to a place someone told me had a cotton field.
I found it. Row upon row of beautiful cotton balls shining in the moon light. I started picking as fast as I could. I was sweating like a pig but was really getting into it. I didn’t have a sack so I stuffed the cotton into my pockets, then my shirt and pants. When there was no room left I just threw them on the ground. It was exhilarating.
When the sky began to lighten I laid down exhausted. It was like I had intense sex. I dosed off. I suspect that I experienced a spontaneous, nocturnal emission.
A guard woke me up and was really pissed about all the cotton on the ground. I left the field and went looking for my car. I wasn’t sure where I had left it. I wandered down the road next to the field.
I thought I heard something. It turned out to be some dark folks, a little way back into the woods. They were softly humming, “swing low sweet chariot” when along came a black sheriff who had been called by the guard. I was arrested and put in jail.
I was sentenced to six months and was put on a work gang with a lot of blacks. road work mostly. No cotton.
I was o.k. till next summer. I was alright till it got stinken’ hot then the urge would start again. I couldn’t take it and went looking for a field. This time I was smarter and took along a sack but didn’t keep the cotton I would dump it in the field and leave it. It wasn’t about the cotton. It was about the act of picking.
I liked it. I really got off on it. I was careful to hide my car and make sure no one was around. I’d do a couple of fields in a week.
Then one night I heard something. At first I wasn’t sure what it was. It seem to go away when I tried to listen. Eventually I realized what it was. It sounded like a lot of people softly humming…
Swing low sweet chariot…..!!!
I cried when I heard it. Summer was almost over and the temperatures started to drop. I only got the urge when it was real hot.
Next year I was at it again. I had been picking for a couple of hours when I thought I heard something but wasn’t sure what it was. An animal maybe. A possum perhaps. Then I heard it again.
It seemed to be coming from the next row so I took a peek. There in the moon light was a morbidly obese black woman, completely naked except for a bandanna on her head.
She was picking my cotton. Then she saw me and waddled over and introduced herself. Her name was Mabel. She asked if I wanted to pick cotton together so I said sure.
By morning we had picked a mountain of cotton. We laid down in it to take a break before I had to leave. She asked me if I had ever been with a “woman of color” before. I had to confess I had not. She wanted to know if I would like to try it on the mountain of cotton we picked. I declined.
Suddenly her attitude changed and she became verbally abusive. I decided to leave, but before I could get up she grabbed me and started groping me. She was very big and I was un-able to get up out of that mountain of cotton.
She held me down and smothered me. I got an erection. She got all excited and took me in a brutal manner. Semen and cotton are not a good combination. Sticky, sticky, sticky.
I had nightmares for a long time. In them she kept asking if I had ever been with a woman of color before. It took six months of intensive therapy to work thru it.
