Beginning in my freshman year of college, there was another black man with whom I much enjoyed the regular sexual company of. He was much beloved by everyone in the church I had joined. Everyone just called him “Mr. Jenkins”. Mr. Jenkins was many things. A pilot (a modest hero of WWII, at that), a brilliant engineer, and a man of great faith who had loved to sing in the choir. Following the death of his wife, he lived alone with his independence threatened due to a later injury which robbed him of the ability to drive a car or to walk any great distance. Because of that fall one night, after which he lay for hours on the floor helpless, the elders of the church decided to repay the many accomplishments and simple humanity that was Mr. Jenkins by making sure he’d never be helpless again. While the men of the church helped Mr. Jenkins with his house and his car, the ladies of the UMW took care of Mr. Jenkins and his many needs at home. What I didn’t know until I was scheduled to spend a long weekend taking care of him was that the responsibilities included attending to his sexual needs. When Wendy told me what was expected of me, she said that I would be expected to “make love” with Mr. Jenkins. She also asked me if I was a virgin (I wasn’t) and if I would have “any problems” having sex with a black man. (I told her I would have no problem with that. I didn’t think that as superintendent of the Sunday School, she needed to know that I’d already had intercourse with quite a few black men!) Wendy finally told me that I would be Mr. Jenkins’ “wife” during my time with him. And, that unless I was on the Pill, I would possibly become pregnant by him because he believed God intended that there be no barriers between a man and a woman when physically coupled. Wendy told me that she was pregnant by him and that several of the women taking care of Mr. Jenkins had also been impregnated by him with some giving birth to his children. Wendy went on to tell me that her time with Mr. Jenkins had made her more of both a woman and a wife to her husband. And, that she and her husband intended to raise her baby as a part of their family. That explained the number of interracial children “adopted” by families in the church. On the Friday when my first weekend with Mr. Jenkins began, I left my books in my dorm room and walked over to his house. It was too far to walk with my books and overnight bag. So, he told me that he would let me borrow his car so I could go back to the dorm for those things. When I let myself in (using the key Wendy had given me) Mr. Jenkins was in his den, talking on his ham radio with somebody in Ireland! He ended the conversation and asked me to take off my clothes. He did this as casually as one might ask about the weather. As I stood naked before him, Mr. Jenkins then asked me to hand him my bra and panties, which I did. He then manually examined my breasts, vulva, and anal areas. Using both hands, he massaged my nipples and my clitoris, making me wet. Once I was lubricated, he inserted the middle finger of his right hand into my vagina. Mr. Jenks only said, “You’re still somewhat tight. I have something much better than my finger to stretch you to fit.” He told me put my blouse and jeans back on and that I could take his car so I could get my books and clothes for church on Sunday. And, that I would receive my bra and panties upon the completion of my time with him on Sunday night. He told me not to pack any other clothes since I wouldn’t need them until I returned to the college. So, I did what I was told. I went to my dorm room and returned with my books, a blouse, a skirt, and a dress for church. When I parked his car in the driveway, and closed the back door to Mr. Jenkins’ house, walking into his kitchen with my books and clothes, he was waiting for me. Mr. Jenkins was sitting at his kitchen table drinking a beer. He was nude. After he asked me to undress and to hand him my blouse and jeans. I was then equally nude, as well. I would remain nude for the next seventeen hours until we got dressed to go grocery shopping. During that time, I would learn what it is like to be made love to by a black man, instead of just being fucked. And, what it is like to make love to a black man instead of just being fucked by him. It was during that time that I first felt the loving urges of being a wife. A wife wanting to conceive and carry in her womb, children by her husband who loved her. It is indeed possible that the first baby I lost by miscarriage was sired within me by Mr. Jenkins. From that Friday afternoon in his kitchen when I sat down on Mr. Jenkins’ erection in his kitchen, until Sunday evening after supper, I discovered sexuality within me that I never knew existed. It wasn’t like I was sexually inexperienced. Or, so I’d thought. I’d had intercourse twice with Rick, and numerous times with Al, J.D., Ronny, and the black men at the two sex parties I’d attended to that point. But, what Mr. Jenkins shared with me was special. Perhaps, one day I’ll write about it. The best way I can describe it is by saying that I felt a completeness of “being one flesh” with him when I was cully penetrated by him. And, and a contemplative fulfillment when receiving his seed on my cervix. What I will share now is that my sister Jeanne also took care of Mr. Jenkins during her college days before me. And, that she did conceive a baby by him. Although to this day, she won’t even tell me whether the baby was a boy or a girl. Only that the pregnancy was normal and that she gave birth to a healthy baby. I will also say that I’ve rarely felt more loved than on Sunday mornings when Mr. Jenkins and I would sit together in worship after we’d made love before getting dressed for church. As was usual when with Mr. Jenkins, I wore nothing under my dress at church. And, there were some knowing smiles from other ladies who commented that I was “leaking love”. It was Mr. Jenkins’ “love” that was leaking from me. Yes, Mr. Jenkins helped me with my studies that weekend. And, the ones that followed. My grades improved markedly each month when I spent a weekend with him to where I qualified for the Junior Year Abroad program which further expanded my horizons and my sexuality. Yes, he took me sexually many times that first weekend. And, the weekends that followed. He fucked me, made love to me, and even raped me by taking me when I was unprepared for penetration. Thanks to Wendy’s advice, this did not come as a complete surprise. It also did not come as a surprise when Mr. Jenkins insisted on always ejaculating into my vagina in the rear-entry position. And, keeping me in that position afterwards to give his sperm a chance for deeper penetration inside my body in order to fertilize me. Although he was no longer able to sustain bending his knees to enter a woman from behind as he once could, Mr. Jenkins had me kneel at the edge of the bed, so that he could take me from behind while he stood. He said my receiving his seed within me in that position would put the most sperm closest to my egg, and to allow my body to absorb his sperm. He told me that the next time I was at church to notice the number of couples where husbands and wives looked somewhat alike. He told me that this was because of the wife’s genes being altered by receiving her husband’s genetics within her by absorption of his sperm, with pregnancy making the results more pronounced. Mr. Jenkins said that he would take me so many times so that as long I lived, a part of him would remain living within me by him altering my own genetic structure. Indeed, Mr. Jenkins did take me sexually several times that night. And, the next night, as well as the next two days. When we went to bed for the night, he made love to me as his wife before we went to sleep. I was awakened in the night by him entering me from behind and making slow gentle love until he ejaculated inside of me. When I awoke, I thought it was a dream until I felt the residue of our lovemaking on my thighs and within me. My weekends with Mr. Jenkins continued throughout my freshman and sophomore years at college, and resumed when I returned for my senior year after having lived in Europe and Africa. During my sophomore year when I conceived a baby by Al, it was during a break in my weekends with Mr. Jenkins. When they resumed, he was happy that I had once again conceived a baby by a Black man although he really wanted to “get a white teenager pregnant once again” as he had years ago when it was definitely taboo. When I returned to the U.S. after having lived abroad, Mr. Jenkins was happy to hear that I had been married a man from Upper Volta and had borne children by him. And, yes, we made love that day and evening. Not as it had been because the ravages of age were finally taking their toll on Mr. Jenkins. Alas, Mr. Jenkins is no longer with us. When he passed, I went back our college town for the services. In a way, I was not surprised at the number of white women who were in the congregation that day. Out of respect for Mr. Jenkins, I wore nothing under my dress. As I sat in the pew, I wondered if any of those other women were also dressed this way out of respect and love for a man who respected and loved us. Also in the congregation were a number of interracial men, women, and children no doubt sons and daughters and grandchildren whom Mr. Jenkins sired within the women of the church. Women like me. An unspoken fellowship of sister-wives. When I completed that first weekend with him, Mr. Jenkins asked if he could have a Polaroid of me naked to remind him of what I looked like until I could return to him. I shall soon post that photo of me here in his memory. Thank you for letting me share this memory of not just a fine Christian man who proudly served his country in war only to be refused service at a lunch counter when he returned, but the man whom I consider to have been my first husband.