Juneteenth

 12:39pm 6/20/22: Stacy needed a breather. So she staggered, sipping champagne from a bottle she grabbed, out of the ball room in the old Texas Cotton Plantation mansion into the hall. Unlike the ballroom she’d just left, which tonight was hosting a great Juneneinth celebration that was more like a bacchanal-nightclub than any 1860’s summer ball, the hall retained its 19th century appearance. Her drunken wandering eventually brought her to a bench. She took a long drink of the cool champagne, before she sat the bottle carefully on the bench, and drunkenly sat herself down on the bench to the right and in front of it. Stacey pondered her own appearance, as she adjusted her black thigh high stockings.

Her simi-transparent blouse had plenty of stars on it to symbolize freedom, and as a strong feminist, she wore no bra leaving her big, natural 36 D tits free to sway freely with the music. And sway tonight they had, for Stacy loved to dance, loved to drink, and on a hot, sticky Texas night, she did plenty of both. Stacy's black, high waisted bikini-panty-shorts highlighted her firm ass of average size and her trim flat stomach; she owed her gorgeous figure to years of dance class. Black thigh high stockings and black heels rounded out an outfit the fashion student and model was proud to wear, and knew made her a bell of the night. Tonight. 1865? Then, it wouldn’t have been worn even in a lady's dressing room, it was just unheard of, for any woman, black or whte. Tonight, it was right at home with the attire of all the women present, of all races, all just as sexy and drunk as her.

As the town clock struck 1am, Stacey, not for the first time tonight pulled her big, plump tits out of her top and stroked her black, curly hair.

The air was still warm in the hall, but still cool on her now exposed gourds. Her dark brown eyes were bloodshot from all the vodka, Champaign, and rum that had passed over her juicy lips, and brightened her already winning smile. She reached behind her, grabbed the champagne bottle and drank more of the cool, yet potent liquid.  The thought entered her booze befuddled mind, that aside from her outfit, her Irish Coast Grandfathers coast roots meant she had much incommon with the slaves who would have celebrated the end of slavery in this very mansion all those many years ago. The alcohol in her blood made it so she couldn't remember how many years. She wondered if any of them had gotten as drunk as she? Well, the world was still far from perfect, just ask her relatives unfortunate enough to be in Russia or Ukraine tonight, but knowing she shared the same hope for the future as those freed slaves all those years ago, she hoped they approved. And she'd drink a drink in their honor. She again brought the bottle to her lips, and drank. Then she drank a drink in hopes for the future, equality, peace. Soon the bottle was empty. Stacy carelessly tossed it off to her right, where it rolled about, luckily not breaking. As she tried to stand, she realized she was quite drunk. However, she closed her eyes, and brushed back her hair and focused.

Her thoughts were fleeting, but then she remembered her motto, the tattoo between her nape and upper back, ‘Ma limite c'est l'espace’, “My limit is space.” Then she realized she needed to use the bathroom. That would make space, so she could rejoin the party, and continue drinking and dancing. With this insight and goal, Stacy managed to stand, and using the wall for support, staggered off into the night like cotton in the wind.

1:57pm 6/20/22: The End.