Nikita Governor



Growing up in the foster care system was an adventure to say the least. A lot of kids enter at different ages, I was one of the unlucky ones, I was in the system pretty much all my life. As hard as it was, the worst part was the feeling of not being good enough. I would move to a home, and about the time I would meet friends and get half way adjusted, the system would move me somewhere else. Most kids that were put in the system as young as I was usually end up being adopted. Unfortunately, I was different, and no one wanted to accept the full responsibility of taking care of me gay porn movies tube.

I was doomed from conception. My mother was the daughter of a Southern Baptist minister. She had been a fine upstanding girl until she went to college. While in college, she became addicted to Cocaine which led to heroin and meth. She dropped out of school after her second semester because she was on the verge of being kicked out. Because of her addictions, her father disowned her, leaving her homeless.

Eventually, as so many other young female drug addicts, my mother took to the streets. She turned tricks to feed her demons. She met a guy, and they were married. Her husband would pimp her out, take her money and give her just enough drugs to keep her wanting more. Eventually she got pregnant. When she was far enough along that she began to show, her husband kicked her out.

Again, she was out on the streets and as soon as she found a John willing to be serviced by a pregnant junkie, she bought enough drugs to put her and me out of our misery. As a misfortune, to me anyway, she collapsed right outside of a hospital.

The medical staff kept her alive on life support until I was born, then my mother died. No one had a clue who my father was and when my grandfather was contacted, he came to the hospital but left shortly after pulling the plug on my mom. I was told that he did not want a bastard, drug addicted half breed to have to take care of, so I was placed into a foster home.

One of the nice nurses at the hospital named me Malo Albert after Saint Malo of Aleth, the patron saint of lost items. Due to my addiction to drugs, I had a lot of health problems when I was a baby. I was placed in a home with other babies in my condition.

As the years went by, I overcame the addictions but the drugs left me with an extreme case of ADHD, and when I was of age I was placed on medication to help calm me down. I was full of mischief and considered a problemed child.

Not knowing who my father was made things difficult. All I know is that he was a black man. I only know that because I am mixed, caucasion and African-American. As I grew up I became naturally toned and with my light skin and blue eyes, the girls all favored me from an early age.

The first foster home that I was in as I grew older was in a rural area. The older couple had a farm and they housed four kids around my age, two boys and two girls. Us kids would help them work on the farm. It was not slavery, because the man and woman would work as hard as we would everyday. The other boy’s name was Tommy and he had been on the farm for two years when I arrived. He was a white kid a year older than I was. His hair was brown and he kept it cut very short. Although he was older than me, he was shorter. His body was toned from the work on the farm.