Tyrone steps off the long yellow Laidlaw bus with thirty other students and looks at the school. The place looks new, with a fresh coat of paint, and the main building has three windows.

The bus ride was over forty minutes long. He never had to wait that long to go to school before. He had heard that this was some racial integration thing. All of the students in the bus are black, while most of the students at the school are white.

The 15-year-old boy makes his way to class, noting his surroundings, as he might be going to school here for at least the fall semester of his sophomore year, maybe even graduate from here. For a minute, he wishes he was going back to his neighborhood school with Roger and all of his other friends.

He looked at the number, 310, which is his homeroom. He noticed that most of the kids from his neighborhood had sat in one part of the classroom, but no empty desks in that direction. He quickly finds an empty desk and sits down, setting down his Jansport backpack. He hears many of the kids talking and generally acting immature, both the white kids who mostly are from his neighborhood and the black kids who rode on the bus with him. Tyrone is a little bit more mature, at least enough to know he is not the pinnacle of maturity.

"Hi there," says a female voice.

He looks to his right and sees a girl. The first thing he notices is how pale she is. From the top of her head grows bright red hair tied in a ponytail. Her eyes are as green as emeralds. She is dressed in a black skirt and white blouse, like all the other girls.

"I'm Tyrone," he says, smiling.

"I'm Molly," the girl replies, smiling back.

Tyrone's heart starts beating faster. After class, he looks at her as she walks away.

She glances back, making eye contact.


The next day, Molly is sitting at homeroom again. She takes the empty desk next to Tyrone.

She had first noticed that he was black. She did not have too much contact with black people before. She saw them on occasion when shopping with her mom, or saw them working as waiters and bartenders while attending country club functions with her parents. There had not been very many black students, at least, not until this year, when students started to be bussed around.

She glanced at him again, wearing the white shirt and black slacks. Tightly-curled black hair grows from his head. His lips are thick, and his nose is flat. His eyes are the color of roasted chestnuts.

"Oh, uh, hi there," she says nervously.

"Hi," he answers.

"How's it going?" she asks.

"Fine," he replies. "I had to go out to try for the basketball team. I hope they just accept me, since I played at my old school last year. Are you into sports here?"

"Uh, no. I do fashion modeling for teen magazines now; I've been doing modeling since I was six- over nine years now."

"Wow, getting your picture taken."

"It's harder than it look."

"Hey, I understand. Basketball looks easy, until you try to play it."

"I'd probably suck at basketball," says Molly.

"And I'd suck at having my picture taken all the time," says Tyrone. The bell rings, telling the students to go for their first class of the day.

"Want to have lunch with me?" he asks.


"Wow, your parents are loaded," says Tyrone, eating a slice of pepperoni pizza.

"Yeah, and I'm making money from modeling," replies Molly, as she sits with him on a bench just outside the school's cafeteria. "I guess someone growing up where you are would be impressed."

"Yeah, and most of your classmates' parents are still married."

"I know a few whose parents divorced, like my friend Chelsea, but yeah."

"Not too many dads stick around in the ghetto where I'm from. I mean, my friend Brandon, his mom and dad are still married; he was bussed here with me. And my friend Roger's older brother is married and has kids. And this dude, Big Willie, he's in the, uh, pharmaceutical business, and he makes sdure to take care of his kids."

"Pharmacy?" asks Molly, wondering about Big Willie's career. "Like Walgreens?"

"Something like that. I wonder what it's like to have a dad sometimes."

"It must be different going to this school."

"Yup. I mean, at my old school, there are only a handful of white students, and they're all immigrants from those Iron Curtain countries. I guess there are more white people there now, with this bussing program."

"Yeah, there weren't too many blacks here before. I don't think they were from out of the country, though. So, uh, when's your birthday?"

"August 12th."

"Mine's August 8th."

"No kidding," says Molly, laughing. "That's four days apart!"

And they continued to talk on and on, and the conversation flowed smoothly despite the subject switching around. It is not until they notice that their surroundings are empty that they then go to their next classes.


Most of their free time during school days are spent together. They get lost in talking to each other, and learn more about each other, learn about each other's worlds. They hear somewhat lighthearted comments about the time they spend together from classmates.

And their first kiss happens spontaneously, in the late fall. His brown eyes make contact with her green eyes, and then his thick lips meet her thin lips. They indulge in the passion ignited by their kiss. Tingling sensations rage in the lower parts of their bodies. The fact that their breath smells like today's lunch matters little to them. She then pulls back and smiles.

"Anything wrong?" asks Tyrone.

"Only we can't do this all the time," replies Molly.

"Yeah., well we got to eat and do schoolwork and shit, ya know."


Tyrone had been right. It takes an effort of supreme will for him and Molly to concentrate on anything besides than each other. It is like a song in their head that keeps repeating itself.

Then comes the time for the school's winter formal. It had been plastered on every banner in the school for at least three weeks. The formal dance would be held in a country club. Molly mentioned that it is the country club her family goes on special occasions.

"I don't think my mom can afford a ticket," he says, talking to her in a crowded school hallway and students prepare for their next class.

"I can get you a ticket," says Molly. "I have some spending money from my modeling."

"I thought it was in a trust fund or somethin'."

"Most of it is, but I get some spending cash."

The winter formal is held on as February weekend. A ballroom in the country club is dimly lit, with a sphere at the ceiling sending out beams of colored light. A DJ stands at a booth, operating the music equipment. A table covered in white cloth has a bowl filled with red punch and plates of cheese, crackers, and hors d'ouerves. Tyrone walks in, taking in the wonder of the place. All of the students are in their finest clothes. Tyrone is dressed in an old black suit.

And then he sees Molly. She is dressed in a green dress, complementing her red hair, which is tied in a bun. He takes a deep breath; she looks more beautiful than before.

"Hi there," he says.

He speaks with her friends who accompanied her; he had spoken with them before a couple of times.

"Is your friend Brandon here?" asks Molly, who had met Brandon and even has a class with him.

"Uh, no," replies Tyrone. "He is going to the winter formal for the old school, with his girlfriend. I think it's next week."

The music plays, and most of the students start dancing. It is the most fun Tyrone and Molly had up to date.

And then the DJ plays some song by Luther Vandross. Tyroine and Molly do a slow dance together. For a few minutes it is like the rest of the room disappears.

And then they kiss., awakening even more hot feelings.


Tyrone is nervous.

It is spring break, just about two months after the winter formal. He had recent exams, for which the studying consumed much of his time and attention, actually managing to think of something other than Molly.

And now is his chance to be alone with her. He had not been alone with a girl before, let alone have sex with one. His heart races in anticipation of what might happen.

He wears a baseball cap and a polo shirt colored like those worn by UPS drivers. He looks around, seeing the nice, manicured lawns, the tall oak trees lining the streets, and the large houses set many yards back.

He reads the address numbers on the curb, and finds one that matches what he writes down. He walks a brick-paved path from the concrete sidewalk to the front door of a large, two-story house. Stucco covers its outer walls.

He rings a doorbell. For less than a minute he would have felt relieved if he got the wrong house, then he would be relieved of this stress.

Molly answers the door, and his heart races. Aside from the girl answering the door being Molly, she is wearing a short skirt, revealing her thighs. He had never seen that far up her legs before, and he hopes to see even more.

"Let me give you a tour," she says.

Upon entering, Tyrone sees the black tiled floor at the entrance. Expensive-looking vases decorate the room. There is a wet bar there with bottles full of alcoholic beverage.

"This front room is as big as my apartment," he says.

"Taske off your shoes," says Molly. "Here is our living room."

Tyrone looks around. He feels the deep, soft, white carpet, and sees white-felt couches. A varnished wooden table sits in the center, and in the corner is a grand piano.

"And here is the kitchen," she says. Sje takes him to the kitchen, which has a "island". The counter surfaces are tiled, with wooden cabinets above them. A typical stove and sink and Kenmore refrigerator is lined against the kitchen wall.

"I'll order pizza," she says.

And she does. Minutes later, the pizza delivery person arrives, and Molly tips him. The pizza is not from Pizza Hut or Domino's, but some local place.

"And here's the den," she says. The den is slightly downscale from the rest of the rooms on the first floor. They sit down on a leather couch, and Molly places the cardboard pizza box on the center table and turns on the Pioneer plasma television.

. "We have a filtered water faucet, and some Coke in the fridge," she says.

She flips through the channels with the remote as they eat the pizza. They instinctively inch closer and closer together as the plasma television shows moving color images. Tension builds up between the two with each second.

Tyrone plants his thick lips on Molly's lips. His heart beats a few beats before he pulls back. But before he catches his breath, the 15-year-old girl kisses him back. He plants several kisses as her heart races. She feels a hand touch the skin under her blouse, and she reacts by feeling his skin with the palm of her hand. Their hearts beat faster as horomones flood their teenage bloodstreams. They do this for an hour. It feels so good to them, and yet even though this is as far as they have gone, they are nervous about going further.

Tyrone picks up Molly and he stands, gazing into her green eyes. "I love you," he says. "I want you- all of you."

"I know," she replies. Molly takes him by the hand, walks up a flights of stairs, and into her bedroom.

Tyrone glances at his surroundings. The room is generally white, in contrast with his black skin. A white combination desk and bookcase held books and stuffed animals. A canopied bed is the centerpiece of the bedroom. The 15-year-old boy's heart races in anticipation, and his erection gets bigger. Here he is, in the bedroom of the girl whom he loves.

He kisses her, standing between her and the bed, stroking his fingers through her straight red hair. Molly in turn strokes her fingers through his tightly-curled, coarse black hair. She then gently shoves him on to her bed, and they continue kissing. They sweat.

Molly removes her blouse, revealing more of her alabaster skin, her huge tits enclosed by a lacy black bra that contrasts with her skin color. Tyrone peels off his T-shirt and jean shorts, and Molly unhooks her green skirt to the floor, revealing lacy black panties. Their skin to skin contact increases, feeling each others sweat.

Molly notices the bulge in Tyrone's Hanes underwear, and smiles. She unhooks her bra and reveals the fullness of her white tits. Large areolas cover her nipples. Tyrone reaches out and feels her tits. He plants several kisses and licks them.

Tyrone pulls down his underwear, revealing his penis, gleaming black and hugely swollen. Tightly-curled black hair covers the area above it. Molly gazes at his thick erect shaft, noticing the pulsing veins. She holds the man organ in her hand, causing it to grow even more.

Tyrone is happy with Molly touching him so, and he breathes deeply for a minute. Then she pulls down her panties, and spread her legs.

He looks at her nude body, the first time he sees a naked female in person. Molly has the face of a young girl, with baby fat still on her cheeks, and the body of a young woman, growing to express her sexuality. He concentrates his gaze on her vagina. The core of her femininity is framed by a pair of labia as white as the rest of her skin. Red fuzz covers the area just above her vagina.

"That is true beauty," he says, gazing at her girlhood.

While love is colorblind, lust definitely is not. The two teenagers are extremely aroused by the contrast of their skin colors. His skin as black as coal, her skin as white as snow.

Tyrone gets on top of Molly, and the tip of his penis makes contact with her labia. He starts to push and feels some resistance. He then breaks through the veil of her virginity, fully impaling her white girlhood with his black manhood.

"Oww," Molly says.

"What's wrong?" asks Tyrone.

"I'm not used to anything in there at all."

"My first time, babe, and it feels so good."

Tyrone and Molly lay in her bed, just enjoying the feeling of his penis inside her vagina. They feel all over each other's young bodies and plant kisses as their intimate parts are joined together.

He partially pulls out, savoring the friction of her female surface against his male surface, and plunges back in. Each of the strokes is slow. More sweat pours out of their bodies. They breathe faster. They feel the pressure build up. Each breath, each kiss, each thrust into her feminine depths, expresses their burning feelings for each other, feelings that had started when they first met each other in homeroom, and continued to grow.

They gaze down to their union, seeing his black manhood disappear into and reappear out of her white girlhood, as it delivers each pleasurable thrust.

Tyrone picks up the pace, thrusting in and out of Molly like a piston moving faster and faster with the increase in pressure, like a steam boiler getting hotter and hotter, with the fuel being seven months of memories and emotions.

"It feels so good," says Molly, as her vagina burns up. Her female muscles clamp hard down on her teenage lover's penis.

It is above what Tyrone can take. His feelings drain down to his penis, and then he erupts, sending wads of sperm blasting past Molly's cervix. "Oh yeah!" he yells. "That's it, baby!" He fires salvo after salvo, his love and passion taking liquid form. "Feels so good."

They lay together for a few minutes, just enjoying the afterglow. For that time, nothing matters except each other.

Then he withdraws from her. They gaze at their handiwork. His semen runs down her thighs, mixed with the red ruins of her virginity.

They lay together for hours. No words are needed.

"I'd better get home before it gets dark," says Tyrone, putting his clothes back on as he gazes at Molly, still sitting naked on her bed, with her thighs spread.


Sex had changed the dynamic between the two, and for the better for a few weeks. Tyrone is not a pump 'em and dump 'em guy, something he did not realize himself until after he had sex with Molly. They seemed closer together now.

In June, two months after losing her virginity, Molly had come home from the CVS pharmacy. She looks around, noticing her parents are not home yet.

What she had bought confirmed her fears, fears that manifested when she did not have her period for more than a month after that encounter, and when she noticed she was getting heavier.

She is pregnant.