Stewardess Chronicle (eBook)

A Cautionary Tale

Romonia Jean (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2019 | 1. Auflage
368 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-5439-6909-2 (ISBN)

Infos

From the occasional hookup sessions with professional athletes to placing black coffee on the tray tables of Hollywood's most controversial stars while living life in her twenties-Romonia doesn't hold back in her juicy tell-all book. The memoir of an airline stewardess who is spilling all the tea! Romonia shares her inflight experiences at 38,000 feet. When hit with a tragedy that causes a financial setback, this airline stewardess works hard for the money by securing side jobs as a nightclub secretary, restaurant waitress, and casino bartender. Keep up on the journey through the years in the life of Romonia as she tells her struggle of balancing family life, chasing after goals, and accepting her flaws while she puts faith in God to push through the trials and tribulations on her spiritual journey. This book will be a good read for those who wonders what the life of a young airline stewardess could be like. The Stewardess Chronicle: A Cautionary Tale is a story about a type of jersey chaser lifestyle. Urban culture and the metaphysical world; this book touches different topics that will keep the reader entertained.

Textauszug

Chapter One

Professional Level

Over eight weeks of screaming evacuation drills, studying medical equipment, and learning the dos and don’ts of federal air regulation—Barbie boot camp was nothing like I expected it to be, but honestly, I really didn’t know what I was getting myself into from the beginning.

At the age of twenty-five, I landed a job that offered me some stability in life, and now four years later into my airline stewardess career, I wouldn’t dare change a thing about the places I’ve been, the people that I have met or the things I have learned.

Before taking on my airline stewardess job, I was at a point in my life where it was time for me to turn over a new leaf and do something positive for myself. I started college at the age of nineteen, and three universities later, I still didn’t have my degree. My only dream before my career as an airline stewardess was to become an educated business professional, which is why I attended Florida A&M University. I switched my major a couple of times before deciding to study political science pre-law. But while outside of the classrooms, I kept true to my jersey chaser ambitions, and throughout the years, the jersey chase became one thing about my life that never changed.

Since high school days, I had a thing for jocks, and their jocks. I experienced sex for the first time at sixteen years old, because I thought it was time as everyone else was doing it. When I first went to Momma about me wanting to have sex, she lost her mind.

“You’re not getting pregnant!” That’s all Momma said to me.

So, if her fear of me getting pregnant was the only reason she didn’t want me to have sex, I figured to wear protection, and I did. By the time I told Momma the truth about me losing my virginity, I was nineteen years old and still afraid to tell her. Sex was everywhere in high school, and besides making honor roll, sex was all that my friends and I would discuss. All along the hallways the only subject students were talking about was sex. No one outside of the classrooms explained what sex meant and how you were supposed to know you were ready. I experimented with the idea of sex by trial and error.

My first impression of sex was through reading books, and it made me curious to know what a climax felt like. I began having wet dreams, and one night when I was asleep, an electrifying sensation raced through my insides making my thighs shake and my underwear moist enough for me to wake up. I knew then it would only be a matter of time before I would put those urges to rest. So in my freshman high school year, I began to get familiar with myself at bedtime, touching between my thighs. Because of my past, touching my sex at first felt funny, but after a while I learned to get comfortable with the feeling.

My introduction to my womanhood came earlier than most when I started being molested by a relative on my father’s side of the family. I was barely six years old, and I remember the uncomfortable feeling that he left in my underwear. I didn’t know the difference between a good touch and a bad touch. I don’t think my parents ever thought I would go through something like that because they never had the no-no spot talk with me. Finally when I realized something wasn’t right, I decided to tell Momma a few weeks later, and she beat the shit out of me for the delayed information. I felt like the person to blame for what happened to me, and every time that it kept happening, I suffered in silence keeping it to myself. I can still remember how the doctor had to examine me in my private area when Momma took me to the emergency room. All of the child services appointments at the house, speaking to strangers about what happened to me, made me shut down. As a young kid, I was experiencing spells of depression, and no matter how many new things my parents bought me, I still had no one to talk with about how I was feeling.

Those years I spent as a kid felt like they would never end, but the years rolled on, and my body began to develop. I started turning from a small girl into a young woman. My mind began to understand my body, and my sexual urges kept me up at night. My fever would run high, and I would toss in the sheets from the desire to have my first sexual encounter. I wanted to experience body heat and sweat with a guy who made my body explode from the inside out like the characters in the urban erotica books that I would read. I was ready to join in on the table conversations with my girls in the morning before classes. We’d make sure we got to school at least forty-five minutes before the first bell to have our daily girl talk sessions. I would sit and listen as they giggled about the things they did over the weekend or all the sex they had the night before coming to school. Much to my dismay, my first time wasn’t like I thought because I didn’t have the climax experience, and it didn’t happen on my second or third try either.

My first orgasm experience was given to me at seventeen years old by the finest, darkest six-foot-four beast any teenage girl had ever seen—five-star All-American #1 ranked football player in Illinois. I remember all too well the first athlete that I was smitten with. “The Six-Four Beast” is what everyone around Chicago called him. It was a powerful experience having sex with a well-known jock whom everyone looked up to and cheered for all over the city of Chicago. We stayed close, and when we both went to different colleges, we kept in touch until I found my second jock. I packed my bags and ran away from my family the first chance I got and skipped all the way to college in Tallahassee, Florida. Social media was on the rise, and my Facebook friend request got accepted by the five-star high-ranking football player from Pennsylvania at the big name university across the tracks. He was the stress reliever I needed when I would return from my days of ARMY ROTC field training where I shot rounds of ammunition from an M16 rifle with dirt up to my nose as I lay in trenches.

Unlike most of my friends at the university, I didn’t have a traditional student lifestyle at FAMU. I wasn’t out partying every day of the week until crazy hours of the night, and I couldn’t scarf down pizza as a cadet in the Rattler Battalion. I had to sacrifice some parts of my HBCU experience, because if it weren’t for the program, I wouldn’t have been able to attend the school of my dreams. Three days out of the week I would wake my roommate at ungodly hours in the morning making noise as I got ready for ROTC physical training in front of Howard Hall. First, we’d warm up with thirty jumping jacks, push-ups, and sit-ups. I’d endure five-mile ruck marches while calling off cadence songs alongside the campus dorms in full uniform before sun-up, no matter the weather.

Being a part of the program wasn’t what I wanted, but I was going to make the best of it. Joining the military was the only option my father gave me, so I tried making him proud even though I was uncertain about the contract I signed. I was desperate to get away from both sides of my family, so I did what was necessary. I made my thirty-year military-career father proud with photos I sent of his only daughter dressed in ACUs and pictures of my first college military ball that I attended in my second year with my college boyfriend.

At the start of my sophomore year of undergraduate, I fell in love with a guy who was above average on campus. He was tall, fine, and everyone around knew him. He came from a prominent black family, and I felt honored when I traveled to New York with him to meet his parents. The special treat was meeting his grandmother who was a famous jazz singer from the Duke Ellington era and the host of her very own television show, breaking barriers for women of color in TV history.

After the first year of our relationship, I started to plan our wedding ceremony in my head—especially after the first time he told me “I love you.” There I was, a girl from a broken home, never feeling loved, and I never heard the words from a man who showed me real love. He introduced me to a different world, and it changed my life. Over time, I isolated myself from my ROTC friends and college buddies as he told me to, just to keep down on the drama. However, the arguments and neglect I felt from him after cutting off my circle of peers led me to break up with him and confessing to cheating one time, even though it happened more than once. It didn’t take long for us to work things out and we continued on with our relationship.

The summer before my third year of undergrad, I made my last visit to my star football jock from across the tracks and became a faithful girlfriend. I wanted to do better, and because of all my cheating, I felt guilty and so I stayed with my college boyfriend when I knew I should have left. When my college boyfriend became abusive with his words, I took it. When he bruised my arm the first time, I overlooked it. I wanted to love him, and blamed myself for not listening to him when he would say I couldn’t do something or go to places with my friends. I thought it was love. My mother and stepfather would fight like cats and dogs yet they both loved one another, but I quickly learned that type of love was the wrong love to have. I grew up in a home where my stepfather tried to kill my mother, and I had to help clean her blood off the floors and walls of her...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 10.6.2019
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Lyrik / Dramatik ► Dramatik / Theater
• Themenwelt: Sachbuch/Ratgeber ► Gesundheit / Leben / Psychologie ► Esoterik / Spiritualität
• ISBN-10: 1-5439-6909-7 / 1543969097
• ISBN-13: 978-1-5439-6909-2 / 9781543969092