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Bad Romance

By: Serban



Recently Hannah had been searching on the internet; specifically looking for things to spice up her sex life with her Boyfriend. She scrolled through pages and pages of toys; sleek vibrators, thick dildos and bottles of potions and lotions that could make you tingle and twist, burn or shiver! A whole world of pleasure ready to open up to her. 

Her Boyfriend worked away a lot, and often came back too tired to pay any interest to her. She knew he wasn't cheating, and the job was too good to pass up. Maybe it would just take a little surprise to get his motor running? 

A few curious clicks later, and she found herself browsing Bondage. Handcuffs of steel or fur, soft and coarse ropes, gags and blindfolds! She was getting so turned on just scrolling through pages, throwing things into her cart. She giggles as she put in a few things particularly naughty, before something in the SALE section caught her eye.

'Self-Typing Bondage Rope

Simply wrap the rope around an object, put your hands in the loops, and tug the small string around your finger! The rope will tighten and leave you bound - unable to escape until you're freed!

[Warning: For safety reasons, rope will automatically release after 24 hours.]'

The example videos linked on site soon piqued her curiosity. Before long, her desire was bubbling between her tights as she watched clip after clip of the rope in use - and its users in use. Soon, an idea began to formulate in her head. A sordid, kinky, sexually outrageous idea! With a sly smile, she dropped in into her cart, and hit purchase.

[A few days later]

Hannah sat at the kitchen table, an assortment of torn cardboard, clamshell packaging and parcel tape strewn all around her. She eyed the equipment laid out over the table, set and ready for her plan to rekindle the passion between her and her Boyfriend. There was one box that hadn't arrived - but it didn't matter. She was too horny to wait and her Boyfriend would be back any moment now. With a sly smile, she gathered up her things and put her plan into practice.

[Hour One]

The Delivery Man knocked impatiently on the front door - he hadn't got all day. With a sigh he checked his watch; there were other parcels to be delivered today and he'd already spent too long waiting here. After knocking a few more times, to no avail, with he checked the address once more. It was correct, but he couldn't just leave it here - It needed to be signed for. 

He'd give it one last shot, but that was it - Maybe they were around back? He headed around the house to the garden gate and knocked on it as loud as he could, calling out;

"Hello? Delivery!" The gate wasn't latched, swinging open as he touched it. They must be out back. Taking his pen out of his pocket, he walked through the gate and into the back garden.

The fences of the garden were high, the trees set around them giving plenty of shade and cover. Most of the garden was grassed over, save for a short path and a stone patio. In the centre of the garden, a thick Oak tree grew straight up out of the ground, casting a pleasant, cool shadow. And tied to the tree, was a woman.

She had dark hair and fair skin, her body falling in the middle between slim and curvy. Her arms were wrapped back around the tree, tied with a rope. Her shapely legs were set slightly apart, showing off the fact the lingerie hugging her body was crotchless. It was made of panels of black fabric and intricate lace, stopping just under her full breasts, leaving them to stand naked, perky and free. Matching stockings went up to her knees, but no shoes, and lace sleeves were slipped over her arms. Her face was mostly obscured by a black blindfold covering her eyes and she was silent - a small ball gag stuffed her mouth.

The Delivery Man was frozen. He gingerly put the package on the floor and paced backwards and forwards. Training had never covered this. Should he untie her and ask for a signature? No, that'd just feel stupid. But he was running out of time, bound to his schedule. She must have heard him moving around, what looked like a smile forming over her gag, her thighs parting just a little bit more. He watches as the slit of her pussy mound delicately unzipped, her tantalizing pink flower blooming before his eyes. It dripped readily, almost shining with damp under the morning sun. His cock quickly began to stiffen in his pants, the allure of this mysterious woman getting him hot. Soon his thoughts were turning to giving her a different kind of delivery. But he couldn't. Couldn't he?

Hannah could barely contain herself - although, the rope and gag did a pretty good job of that. She couldn't see through her blindfold, but the thought of her Boyfriend watching her now, tied up like a homecoming present! She could hear him moving on the grass, stems crunching under his feet as he admired her, his new toy ready and waiting to give him the perfect welcome. As he got

closer, she could just imagine the lust in his eyes, his big cock unable to deny it, his urge to take her as his own, right now! He stops, only a few feet from her, and the tingle of a hand passing over her skin - not enough to touch, its shadow tantalizing her shoulders, and then her face. Little did she know, the Delivery Man was pausing as he went to take out her gag, his next breath ready to for some awkward explaining. But he didn't. And all she felt was his hand move down, instead hovering under her spread pussy, so wet it was practically dripping onto his palm. Her short, tidy hairs just touched his skin.

It was too late to go back now. He'd given into his urges, the allure of this beauty, exposing herself to him, soaked in her own arousal. Her cupped her pussy in his hand, the hot, slick lips spreading over his palm. Her could feel her clit in middle of his hand, being gently squashed as he slowly circled and squeezed, almost testing her needy cunt. Hannah moaned into her gag, her head rolling as her Boyfriend finally touched her, muscles coiling like a spring as just that nearly brought her over the edge. All her pent-up frustration being lovingly massaged, her love and commitment to him leaking out in anticipation. Hannah was a quivering, trembling mess of arousal and fire, her whole body trembling, the gentle motions over her clit winding her up, bringing her closer and closer to a release she hadn't been close to in so long.

He can't wait any longer. The Delivery Man unzips his pants and tugs them down, yanking his stiff cock out of his boxer shorts. Hannah can just see her Boyfriends face now; always doing that narrow-eyed, lip-biting thing, then

his mouth opening slightly as he prepares, his cock hard with lust for her, gripped in one hand. He strokes it gently a few times, all the way to its tip, before he moves his hand away, using his hips to guide it to her waiting pussy. Its thick head makes contact, fitting snug between her lips, bumping her clit as he moves it to down to her fuckhole. Then he puts both hands either side of her head, bearing down on her. His blue eyes stare at her with a swirling mix of love and horniness, as with a slow push of his hips, he takes her.

It's effortless to push inside her, the soaking cunt all too ready to accept hard dick. Her wetness glistens over her thighs and on her pussy, collecting in her sparse hairs and glittering in the sunlight. The Delivery Man almost cums right there and then. She's squeezing tight, the soft grip of her pussy feverish hot around his cock. Her tunnel clenches around his hard dick, egging it on, wanting it further in her pussy. 

She moans softly into her gag, as her boyfriends cock pushes into her, feeling so big and thick. It must be how horny she's become, making her pussy so tight. Or maybe how horny she makes him, his cock getting so big and hard!

All she can do is squirm against the tree, moving her hips, trying to wiggle down onto his cock, all to eager to be impaled on his long, thick fuckstick. Only happy to oblige, the Delivery Man thrusts up, until the nub of her swollen clit touches the base of his cock - cunt fully stuffed. He unbuttons his shirt, throwing it to the ground. Grabbing the bark either side of her head, he braces himself and pushes up hard. The noises she makes in her covered mouth are turning him on so much, urging him to pound her like the whore she is - tied up and waiting for cock. She must be such a filthy slut, ready to be fucked silly by anyone and anything. Bet she can't go out anywhere without craving cock, getting screwed by strangers.

"Fuck me!" She screams, bucking her hips down onto her boyfriend, his furious thrusting setting her pussy on fire! "Fuck your bound up little slut! Take her naked, slutty pussy! I'm just a bitch to be used by you, dominated by cock!" Although all that escapes her gag is muffled sounds of enjoyment. His strong hands move onto her shoulders, sliding down her front to grope her big, bouncing tits. Fingertips knead them, squeezing and pulling, before they clamp around her stiff nipples and tug. She almost cums! Cumming during sex!

His hands move off of her, grabbing the bottoms of her thighs and lifting her legs high. Her back moves up the trunk of the tree a little, his cock still savagely slapping her spread cunt. Her big bust at face level, the Delivery Man leans into them, closing his lips around one nipple, kissing and sucking on the sensitive little nubs. She just wants to grab her Boyfriends head, hold his head in her fingers and scream as he sucks, his cock using the pussy that's so wet for him. She can see him in her mind - his naked, muscled back, his bottom thrusting up and down as he fucks her wild. He legs spread out either side of him, shaking as she cums and cums, begging him to fill her! To stuff his cock as deep as it will go, and pump her full of sticky cum!

Her ear-splitting shriek is stopped dead by her gag, her pussy exploding into a soaking bust of wetness. her thighs shiver and shake, muscles quivering wildly all around her body, throbbing with raw sexual fire. Her head throws back, and slumps down as she cums and cums, toes curling and pussy squeezing.

Her violent reactions are too much for the Delivery Man to watch. The slut cumming all over him, her pussy trying to swallow up the cock that's saying all her slutty needs. His balls twist and churn, spreading heat up into his throbbing cock, he feels the first sharp spurts deep in his shaft, until he explodes into her bound body.

He groans heavily as his cum flooded out in powerful spurts, forced high by his heavy thrusting. Each squirt of virile seed sloshes and splashes through her aching cunt, until it's so full he's pumping into liquid, stretching her walls with pressure. She lets out a guttural groan as her Boyfriend breeds her like a stallion, her toes curling as his hot, thick spooge fills her pussy, leaking out around his cock and running down her thighs. Their orgasms slowly unwind, her muscles relaxing and his balls running dry. He stands, still stuffed in her, his body sheened with sweat. She's well used and worn out, slumped down in her bonds, dripping all over the place.

With a wet splot, he draws his softening cock from her cunt, splattering the grass with his cum. It's difficult to get his exhausted body to move. Wiping the sweat off of his brow and he staggers over to his discarded clothes, struggling back into his shirt. Shaking fingers finally manage to button it, and then pop his cap back onto his head. He looks at the girl tied to the tree, leaking his seed from the her spread lips of her well-fucked cunt.

What to do with her?

If he unties her, it might be awkward. What if this is a mistake - but surely you can't tie yourself up by mistake? Can you? Has she been left like this by someone? What if he's just raped her? A little panicked, he backs away down the path, just leaving the parcel on the patio. Busy searching around for prying eyes as he hurries back to his van, he pulls the gate shut behind him. The lock bounces, not catching, and the force sends the gate bouncing back wide open... 

[Elsewhere]

Inside the house, on the kitchen table, her phone vibrates. The screen lights up, flashing a text message:

"Not going to be home today. Had a last-minute breakdown at the plant. May take another day or so to fix; the overtime is good and we need the money."

Before the screen fades back to black. 

To be continued?

Bad Romance At Carleton U



When a man stops lying to himself and rejects the lies told to him by others, he will find life much simpler. My name is Charles Joseph. My friends call me C.J. and I'm a young Black man of Haitian descent living in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. I was born far from Canada, in the Caribbean island of Haiti. My folks and I moved to Canada eleven years ago. I'm twenty two years old and study chemistry at Carleton University. I was brought up in the Seventh-Day Adventist faith, one of the stricter Christian doctrines out there. Being who and what I am, and having a religious upbringing haven't made my life easy. I know that many will judge me for this but I must be true to myself. 

My parents, Hubert and Stephanie Joseph always stressed the importance of faith and hard work in our lives. I will always love them and treasure their advice, no matter what. My dad works as a security guard and my mother works as a cashier at LobLaw's. She was once a schoolteacher in the Republic of Haiti. My folks sacrificed everything to make sure that my brother Ernest and I had a better future. My older brother Ernest preceded me by four years, and he's always been the alpha male in the family. He used to rock the football team at Saint Augustine Academy, and since he was six-foot-four, athletic and strong, ladies always flocked to him. He studied Law at Ottawa University, and now works for a big law firm in the City of Toronto. Ernest recently married a tall, blonde-haired and green-eyed Irish gal named Maeve O'Neill who he met while visiting old fraternity friends in the City of Calgary, Province of Alberta. Ernest and Maeve make a cute couple if you ask me. They're both tall and athletic, educated and driven. She's a civil engineering contractor and he's a lawyer. Sounds like a power couple to me but you can't say that to our parents, especially my mother.

There is an ugly double standard in the Black community. To most Black women, the union of a White male and a Black female is something to celebrate, but Black male and White female relationships are something they loathe and dread. Somehow, that seems perfectly fair in their minds. When my cousin Astrid married a French-Canadian guy named Jacques, the women in our family celebrated but my mother threatened to boycott my brother's wedding until dad set her straight. I told my mom that her hatred for White women in relationships with Black men made her a racist but she laughed it off, saying that Black people couldn't be resist. The logic in her reasoning escapes me, but what do I know? I'm only her son. After Ernest married Maeve, my mother grew increasingly distant toward the two of them. She said that Ernest was rejecting her along with all of Black womanhood by marrying "that White bitch". Also, for the first time in what seems like forever, my mother seemed to notice that I existed. She began taking an urgent interest in what I was doing, who I was seeing. I found that...puzzling. In hindsight, I should have realized why she took such a sudden interest in me. Until he married the White lady, Ernest had been the apple of mom's eye while I was an afterthought at best. Now, he was dead to her due to his choice of spouse, and she focused on her only other option, yours truly. Small wonder I've got issues.

If there's one thing I don't like, it's unwanted attention. You see, for most of my life, I've always been a fiercely private person. I learned early on that I was different, though for the life of me I couldn't tell you why. I've always been the guy who comes up with the most brilliant ideas in class and in church, but learned to tone it down because many resented me for it. Thinking outside the box, coming up with radical new ways of looking at existing issues and problems, that's me. People like me seldom have an easy time in this life, so I learned to hide in the name of survival. Smart people get bullied at school, forward-thinking people get shut out in church. The human species doesn't like those who are different, it seems. How does one survive and thrive in such a hostile environment?

I needed an outlet, so I turned to writing fiction. I wrote bold, provocative fiction exploring the kinds of themes most Black male writers didn't dare venture into. Interracial relationships, same-sex relationships, Black male heroism in science fiction and horror stories, those were common themes in my writing. One day I put together all of my best short stories and it turned into a five-hundred-page anthology of original fiction. I didn't tell my friends and family about it because I knew they wouldn't be supportive. Instead, I told my favorite teacher, Miss Jill Ellis, a White lady who taught business mathematics at Saint Augustine Academy during my senior year. She really liked my stories and encouraged me to seek a publisher. I found a publisher online, and they asked for a copy of my manuscript. Being naturally shrewd as a result of dealing with unpleasant people who either stifled or abused creativeness, I copyrighted my stuff both in America and Canada before sending it to the publisher. I was just covering all bases, you know?

One day, I received a letter in the mail. From the good folks of Golden Horizon Publishing. They were offering me a contract for the anthology I titled Tales of Infinity. They wanted to retitle it The Black Canadian Science Fiction Omnibus. Since they were the ones taking a chance on an unknown writer, i.e. me, I went along with their suggestion. Thus, I found myself published. The book would come out later during my first year at Carleton University. At my new school, I experienced a brand new world. Even though my family lives in a decent house in Orleans, not far from downtown Ottawa, I chose to live in the dormitories at Carleton University. I just wanted to get away from mommy dearest. I love my mother, she gave me life but...sheesh, if you met her you'd understand. I think my dad feels the same way about her because he doesn't seem to spend a lot of time with her either. He's always out with friends. Doesn't bode well for their marriage but whatever. She's always hanging out with her church friends, or she's at Algonquin College taking this course or that one. She recently became a manager at the downtown branch of Loblaw's and has become insufferable since she got promoted. I got out of the house just in time. 

At Carleton University, I finally felt free. As in free to be myself. I had a room to myself instead of having to share it with some random guys I didn't know, which was cool. I decided to study chemistry because I always excelled at science in high school and chemistry is something that I understand and feel passionate about. Carleton was a very different environment from what I was used to at Saint Augustine Academy. I was one of maybe forty or fifty Black students among the thousand or so students at that elite private school. And most of the Black students were chicks. Elitist, preppy Black chicks. How did I get into a school like that since I'm a poor Black dude? I was smart enough to win a scholarship. I also won an academic scholarship to study at Carleton University. See? It pays to be a Black nerd. The thugs and the athletic guys aren't all that. After all, Barack Obama did get himself elected President of the U.S.A. and he was a bookworm, not an NBA player. If more Black guys hit the books instead of doing the thug/macho posturing/I'm-allergic-to-school thing to impress women and their buddies, the world would be a better place. Just my two cents.

I met a lot of Black students at Carleton University, though most of them came from places like Djibouti, Jamaica, Somalia, Eritrea, Ethiopia, Brazil, Ghana, and even the good old United States of America. I think I am the only Haitian student at Carleton University, but that's okay. I wanted to reinvent myself and change my life. I met a tall, pretty young Black woman named Avalina Adewale and we began dating. Ava comes from the town of Kano in the Republic of Nigeria, where there are constant clashes between Christians and Muslims. She's vice president of the group Christendom on campus, and seemed to be sharp, pretty and interesting. I was drawn to her. In high school, I wasn't a big hit with the ladies. I had invisible man syndrome. Four years and I could count the number of dates I've had on one hand. I always seemed to like chicks who were interested in other guys. Or crazy chicks. I prayed that my luck would improve in university.

At first, things were fine between Ava and I. Finally I was going out with a tall, fine sister with a good head on her shoulders who seemed to appreciate a good Black man. And I am a good Black man. I'm smart, I go to church, I'm in school, I come from a good family and I stay out of trouble. I don't have any offspring and I don't have a criminal record. Hell, I've never even gotten a speeding ticket. Granted, my parents rarely let me drive the car and even then, only to go run errands for them. Ava was fun, and fearless. I remember one time we went dining at a Chinese restaurant and the waitress made us wait a long time while she served even people who walked in after we did. I was growing bored but Ava got up and walked up to the tiny Chinese waitress. She read her the riot act, man. The waitress apologized, and asked Ava what she wanted. Ava coldly told her to "ask her man" first. Wow. Ava referred to me as her man. How about that?

I was really fond of that gal, though she did weird me out by pulling away when I tried to kiss her. However, she surprised me by kissing me in the parking lot, moments later. I was blown away. Yeah, I was definitely into her. I thought we might really have something. And then this guy named Mohammed Abdullah came along. He was tall and athletically built, born of a Hindu mother and Afghan father. He was president of the Interfaith Alliance at school, and he set his sights on Avalina. Given how strongly anti-Islam Ava was after her experiences with them in Kano City, Nigeria, I thought Mohammed wouldn't stand a chance with her. When she told me that she'd fallen in love with Mohammed a few weeks after meeting him, the weekend we were celebrating our three-month anniversary, I was crushed. When it rains, it fucking pours, eh? Isn't love grand, ladies and gentlemen? 

My heart ached but I had to move on. No sense chasing a woman who doesn't want you. Avalina made her choice and as much as it pained me, I had to respect it. I chose to focus on school and work, even though my heart was torn every time I saw Ava and Mohammed walking through campus together, holding hands. Arab guys are notorious womanizers, and many of them see women as property but many western women keep falling for their tricks. I knew that Mohammed's thing with Ava wouldn't last. With guys like that, it's all about the thrill of the chase. Of course, when Mohammed left Avalina for a White chick named Brittany, I could have said I told you so but I didn't. Besides, I had other matters on my mind. I received a copy of my book from the publisher. On the cover there was a tall young Black man in a spacesuit, wielding an energy gun. In the background there was a spaceship, an assorted crew of men and women in "future" gear squaring off against some monsters. On the back cover, there was a picture of me wearing a suit and a little blurb about me, Charles Joseph. I was beyond happy, man! I was finally published! Oh, and attached to the book was a cheque for seven thousand five hundred and eighty six dollars with my name on it. How about that?

I was feeling really good, ladies and gentlemen. I ran into Ava and she told me she wanted to talk but I very politely and coldly told her that I had other things to do. Throw me away for a piece of trash like Mohammed, and you're deleted from my list, lady. God forgives and so do I, but I NEVER forget. I deposited the cheque in my Scotia Bank account, almost giving a heart attack to the lady behind the counter at the downtown branch of the institution. It's not every day that a six-foot-one, big and tall brother like myself deposits such a cheque. I didn't tell any of my friends or family members. If you're not with me when I struggle, I don't want you with me when I'm having a good time. I did call my former teacher Ms. Ellis to tell her of my good fortune. A guy I didn't answered her phone at the Saint Augustine Academy administrative office, and told me that she passed on a month ago. I felt like shit. The only person who ever believed in me died and I didn't know. The guy told me she died of breast cancer. I donated five hundred dollars to the Susan G. Komen breast cancer foundation in her name. Jill Ellis, a White lady from the City of Amarillo, Texas, who moved to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, to teach at a private Catholic school. I would never forget her. Why are good people always the first to die?

I sat there in my dorm, thinking about life in general. Jill Ellis was tall and fit, and she used to teach gym class because Mr. Armando, the gym teacher, was close to retirement and they needed someone else to fill in until they found someone permanent. I really liked her. That's when I realized that death could come for any of us at any time. I couldn't simply wait to do things. I had to get them done now. I was a freshman at university and still a virgin. That is simply not cool if you're Black and male. No, Ava never gave me any play beyond kissing and having petting while we went out. I wanted to lose my virginity. How, when I'm not dating anybody? I browsed the back pages of the Ottawa Sun newspaper, and found a promising ad. A lady referring to herself as Ebony Candy left her number there and promised an unforgettable good time. Hmmm. We shall see about that, Miss Ebony.

I showered and then called the number. I was nervous as hell. All kinds of scenarios ran through my mind. What if the number wasn't real? What if Ebony Candy was really an undercover cop and I got arrested? Shit. Was this really worth it? A sexy female voice answered after three rings. I willed myself to be calm and introduced myself as Steve. I asked her if she was into kinky stuff and she told me she was down for whatever. Her rates were three hundred dollars for ninety minutes of fun. That's alright. She was staying at a hotel downtown. I went to the ATM located inside the university center at Carleton then grabbed the number four bus leaving campus. I got off shortly before the bus got at Rideau Center, and bought some condoms at a nearby pharmacy. Then I walked to the hotel. I called Ebony Candy's number and she told me to ask to be let onto the eight floor, room six zero six. My heart thundered in my chest. The concierge, a short red-haired White chick somewhat reluctantly let me up. I went up the elevator, feeling like my heart might leap from my chest.

Finally, it got to the sixth floor and I walked to door number six zero six. I knocked twice, and heard footsteps. A young Black woman with a really cute face and big tits greeted me. Hello Steve, she said. I smiled with more confidence than I felt, said hello and politely asked her if I could come inside. She nodded, and let me in. before anything, Ebony Candy wanted her money, which I promptly handed to her. She also told me that she had some ground rules. No crazy stuff, no extreme roughness, no kissing and no anal sex. Oh, and condoms were mandatory, not optional. I nodded, and told her all that sounded reasonable. She smiled and motioned for me to get on the bed, then began undressing. Off came her gray T-shirt and sweatpants, revealing a sexy naked body. The gal had it going on, man. Nice tits. Sexy legs. And a big ass. 

Ebony Candy asked me if I liked what I saw and I nodded. Grinning, she told me to remove my clothes and I did. For a moment there I panicked, thinking my dick wouldn't work but the more I looked at her, the more turned on I became. I put on a condom, and Ebony Candy joined me on the bed. She went straight for my dick, and began sucking it with gusto. I lay on the bed, trying to relax as she worked her magic on me. I lay there, thinking about all the times I masturbated while fantasizing about sexy, big-bottomed Black females. And now I had one in a hotel room going down on me. Nice! After she finished sucking me, Ebony Candy asked me what I wanted to do next. I asked her to get on top of me and she did, lowering herself onto me. She took my cock and guided it into her pussy. I smiled. Hell yeah, I'm not a virgin anymore! Ebony Candy placed her hands on my shoulders and began riding me. 

I looked up, and admired the beautiful young Black woman riding me. Ebony Candy winked at me as she rode me. I asked her if I could touch her tits and she said yes. Grinning, I gently squeezed them. All the stuff I wanted to do for years but could never get a chick to let me do. I fucked her like this for a good while, then asked her if she was into ass worship. She smiled and nodded, and I was delighted as she sat on my face, squeezing my face between her ass cheeks. Mercifully her ass was clean. I kissed her butt, man, and I loved it. Afterwards, I took her from behind. Watching her big chocolate ass bounce under the force of my thrusts made me feel like a king. I'm not a big dick dude, but I am long, and uncut. I made good use of what I got, but fuck it, I came a little beyond halfway through our session. Ebony Candy seemed ready to call it a day, but I had other ideas. We still had twenty five minutes left.

Ebony Candy smiled and asked me if I wanted to do something else. I nodded at the dildo on her nightstand, and she giggled. I grinned and got on all fours, and Ebony Candy got behind me. She put a condom on the dildo and pushed it into my asshole, after lubricating me of course. I grimaced as Ebony Candy pushed the dildo into my ass. I masturbated countless times while watching videos of women fucking men in the ass with strap-on dildos online. It's one of my top fantasies. It felt really good to have a dildo in my ass and amazingly, my dick got hard again even though I came. Ebony Candy reached under me and stroked my cock while fucking my ass with the dildo. I groaned as she fucked me, burying my face in the pillow and loving every minute of what she was doing to me. I came, LOUDLY, for the second time that afternoon.

I lay there on the bed, stunned by the sheer fucking that Ebony Candy laid on me. The sexy Black gal smiled and asked me if I was okay. I was so happy that I suddenly hugged her, and kissed her neck. Thank you, I said. She smiled and nodded. I asked her if I was the first Black man she fucked in the ass with a dildo. She smiled and shook her head. I grinned, and told her I'd love to see her again. I asked her to save my number, and told her that I was very respectful and decent, and we could have a good time together whenever she was in town. She grinned and nodded, saving my number on her Blackberry. I put my clothes back on and so did she. I gathered the condoms, and flushed them down the toilet. I headed for the door, and for some reason, I grabbed her hand and kissed it again. Ebony Candy smiled and wished me a good afternoon, then closed the door. I left the hotel, feeling like a million bucks. Man, I felt GREAT!

I walked back to the Rideau Shopping Center, and was about to pay my cellphone bill at the FIDO shop when a voice hailed me. I turned around, wondering who was hollering my name. A pretty blonde-haired and green-eyed, petite white chick smiled at me. She looked familiar but I couldn't tell you her name to save my life. Hello Chuck, she said. She rolled her eyes and asked me if I remembered her. I smiled politely. Maybe I knew her from Carleton University, I thought. The mystery gal introduced herself as Allison Albright, and I suddenly remembered her. She was in the science club at Saint Augustine Academy. I smiled as she gave me a brief hug. I'm getting a lot of hugs today. What's different? Oh, yeah. I ain't a virgin anymore. Allison smiled and told me there was something different about me. I told her that I was just living life and feeling free. Now I was slowly remembering her particulars. Allison Albright graduated from S.A.A. last year, and I recalled she wanted to study at Boston University in Massachusetts, USA. What was she doing back in little old Ottawa?




Bad Romance At Carleton U



Allison and I talked while I paid my phone bill with my Scotia Bank debit card, then I asked her if she wanted to grab a bite while we caught up. She hesitated, and I felt my shoulders raise themselves in an anticipatory shrug. Allison nodded, and we went to the Rideau center food court together. We stopped by Manchu Wok and grabbed some Chinese food. I sat opposite her at a table located in the center of the room, surrounded by a ton of other people since the mall is super-busy on a Saturday. Sitting across from Allison, I noticed how pretty she was. Five-foot-seven and probably one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, with a nicely rounded butt. Not as big as Ebony Candy's but pretty damn close. Not bad. We caught up while wolfing down the Manchu Wok. Well, I wolfed it down. She took her sweet time.

Apparently, Allison met a guy named Todd Winston during our senior year at Saint Augustine Academy. The son of a wealthy American businessman visiting Toronto. He convinced her to come live with him in Boston, Massachusetts. According to her, Todd was a tall, red-haired white guy with piercing gray eyes. Her dream guy, apparently. She originally wanted to study civil engineering at the University of Ottawa but transferred to Boston University to be with her special guy. Their romance fizzled after they moved in together, and he dumped her. Now she was back in Ottawa. She tried to get back into the University of Ottawa but they wouldn't take her back after she snubbed their scholarship offer in favor of an American school. Wow. I willed my features to reflect concern rather than amazement and asked Allison what she wanted to do now. She told me that Carleton University was her only option at this point. Carleton University a.k.a. Last Chance University. Gotta love it. I smiled and gently touched her hand. Then I wished her welcome to Carleton and a warm welcome back to Ottawa. The most exciting little city you've never heard of in the continent of North America. The town that fun forgot. 

Allison laughed when I said that and I laughed too. For a moment I was distracted by how pretty she was. Her nerdy glasses were gone, and her face was pretty cute. I still have my nerdy glasses, but I have a cool goatee now so it balances out. I'm going to get new glasses soon. There's an optician place at Saint Laurent mall that I heard good things about. Allison was talking, going on and on about how stupid she had been to go away with an American guy she barely knew, when there were so many good men around. I smiled and tried not to roll my eyes. Women always go for the bad boys because they find nice guys like me boring. Serves them right when they get hurt. I didn't tell Allison that, of course. She grinned, and told me something I found surprising. Gently she touched my hand and told me that I, Charles "The Chuckster" Joseph was one of the good guys. I looked at her hand on mine and smiled. Very good, I said.

At that precise moment, guess who came walking through the Rideau Center food court? None other than Avalina Adewale, formerly of Kano City, Nigeria, flanked by two of her girlfriends, a hijab-wearing Somali chick and an Arab-looking chick with a buzz cut and leather jacket. I noticed that Avalina was wearing her crucifix again. Hmmm. I guess she lost interest in Islam right after Mohammed dumped her for a white chick. Imagine that. Who would have thought that a man from a nation that treats women like second-class citizens would discard the women in his life like Chinese takeout after doing his business with them? No one could foresee such a thing, of course. Avalina's eyes met mine, and she noticed Allison sitting across from me, our hands touching. Her eyes flashed, then rolled, and she did a certain gesture of displeasure with her lips without saying anything. She and her girlfriends walked by without saying anything. Allison looked at me and asked me if everything was alright. Apparently, to her, I looked like I'd seen a ghost. I smiled and told her I felt great. She smiled, and shook her head.

That afternoon, I got Allison Albright's digits and made plans to take her to the Blair theater the following Tuesday. It's cheap movie day and I don't have any classes in the afternoon, so...sounds good. Allison wanted to see The Expendables sequel and I was okay with that. This gal likes action movies and comic books, one of the many things I admired about her back at the academy, as I recalled. Allison and I hung out a bit after dinner, then went our separate ways. She hugged me a bit longer than she did before, and told me she looked forward to seeing me again. I smiled and nodded as she walked away. Looks like I got myself a date, folks. Cool. I went home, feeling almost giddy with the way things were going for me. I slept well, and woke up that Sunday morning feeling really good.

Sunday morning I did my homework, and watched Terminator Salvation on basic cable. I was bored as hell and had nothing to do. I called Allison and we chit-chatted for about thirty minutes. I liked talking to her. She was the same old Allison from the old days. She was really sad when I told her that our favorite teacher Jill Ellis had died of cancer. I told her about my donation to the cancer foundation in her name and Allison sounded genuinely impressed. It's for a good cause, I said. Afterwards, I lay on the couch, feeling lazy. I wanted to do something but what? I found myself reading the weekend edition of the Ottawa Sun newspaper, and found an interesting ad in the back pages. A certain cute blonde chick in the west end promised a spectacular time. Spectacular, huh? We'll see about it. I called the number and a sleepy female voice answered. We talked about the particulars. Half an hour later I had showered and left the dorm with condoms in my pocket and one hundred and twenty dollars in cash.

I took the number four bus to Hurdman station then hopped on the ninety six bus to Kanata. The ride from downtown Ottawa to Kanata took another thirty minutes. Once there, I walked to a certain building located not too far from the Kanata central bus station, and called "Blondie" again. She buzzed me in, and I knocked on the door. A minute passed, then a tall, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, skinny white chick opened the door. The gal, who introduced herself as Karen, wasn't as young as she claimed. She had to be at least thirty five if not forty. I'm not judging, though. I handed her the money, and she told me the ground rules. No kissing, no rough stuff, and it's one hundred and twenty for the half hour and a couple hundred for the full hour. Okay by me. She led me to the bedroom, and we did the deed.

I lay naked on the king-sized bed, wondering how many other dudes had lain there while I watched Karen's pretty blonde head bobbed up and down as she sucked my cock. Once she got me real hard, I was most eager to stick it in but I did enjoy sucking on her tits and fingering her cunt before working my condom-covered cock into her snatch. This time, we did it in the missionary position. I enjoyed looking at this mature white chick while slamming my cock into her pussy. She lacked Ebony Candy's enthusiasm and youthfulness but I was turned on by her dirty talk. Got my cock harder as I fucked her. Karen and I switched things up, and she got on top of me, riding me hard as I thrust into her. I enjoyed this position more, for the sight of her floppy tits and bouncing body gave me a great visual to work with. I fucked her real good for the rest of our session together, then the clock-watcher told me time was up. Damn. Snap back to reality. Alright. I smiled politely, thanked her for a good time and left. I am so not coming back. So, that's what white pussy feels like. Cool. It's alright, but truth be told, I had more fun with ebony candy. Let's hope all white women aren't like Karen here. I went back home and spent the rest of my Sunday watching movies.

Tuesday finally came, and I went to meet Allison at the Blair movie theater. She came to the movies looking real good in a red tank top and black miniskirt. We stopped at the Blair mall food court for some pizza then went to the movie theater. While we waited through the previews, she bored me with tales of how callous her ex-boyfriend Todd was during their exchanges on Facebook. Wow, she's still in touch with him? I didn't know that. The movie started, but Allison didn't shut up. She went on and on about her former boyfriend, who lived a thousand miles away or whatever distance separates Ottawa from Boston. Damn. I made a mistake. Luckily I didn't bring her to the movies on a day when it was expensive. As Allison continued to drone on and on about her ex, I excused myself to go to the washroom. I never came back. I'd get the movie on bootleg from Gordon, a Jamaican buddy of mine at school. I am so not spending another minute with Allison's dumb ass!

I hopped on the bus heading back to Carleton University, feeling stupid. I spent ten bucks on the movie tickets and another ten on pizza, and this chick couldn't shut up about her ex. She's worse than Ava! I grumbled to myself as I deleted Allison's number from my touchscreen phone. Dumb bitch, I thought. I got home, and grabbed the paper. Went straight to the back pages. A certain exotic transsexual lady named Monique was advertising her services. Hmmm. That sounds interesting. I have masturbated while watching videos of women doing guys with strap-on dildos and I occasionally jerked off while watching videos of transsexuals doing both women and men. I never thought about doing it with one for real, though. Oh, well. My cock stiffened at the thought. I gave Miss Monique a call. She told me she lived near Bronson street, which isn't far from my school at all. Walking distance, in fact. And she was asking for one hundred and fifty dollars for a full hour of fun. I'm down with that!

I showered, went to the ATM and walked to Bronson street from the school. I called Miss Monique and she texted me the building number, and buzzer number. I went in, and I was greeted by a very pretty lady. Miss Monique the transsexual stood five-foot-eight, curvy, with light bronze skin, long Black hair and pale brown eyes. She looked Hispanic, and had a big heart-shaped ass which eclipsed that of Ebony Candy, the sexy Black woman who relieved me of my virginity. I smiled at her as I handed her the cash, and off came her clothes. I admired her sexy body, from her big tits to her wide hips and big round ass. Oh, and she had a big dick too. I'm not gay or bisexual but I've always been freaky. I'm the type to try anything at least once. Miss Monique promised me to be real gentle with me, and she was.

The sexy Latin transsexual laid on the bed, put a condom on my dick and sucked me real good. She sucked my cock and licked my balls, getting me really hard. While sucking me, Miss Monique fingered my asshole. Man, it got me even harder. Next, she climbed on top of me, impaling herself on my dick. I put my hands on her hips and thrust my cock into her tight asshole. She grimaced as I penetrated her, then began riding me. I was getting my first taste of transsexual booty and I was loving it. I slammed my cock into her asshole, and she squealed in delight. We fucked for a good while, and then I came. Miss Monique lay next to me, and asked me if I wanted to try anal sex. I told her I just fucked her ass. She grinned and told me she wanted to fuck my ass, if I was up for it.

Nope, not my thing. It's one thing to let a woman fuck your ass with a dildo, quite another thing to let a transsexual lady stick her dick in your butt. Thanks but no thanks. I did stroke Miss Monique's cock while she stroked mine, and we jerked each other to a very satisfying mutual orgasm. Afterwards, she knelt before me and sucked my cock dry. She surprised me by kissing me, which did a real trip on me because the other women I've fucked never let me kiss them. Miss Monique smiled and told me she wasn't like the others. Then she asked me how my first time was. I told her I felt great, then put my clothes back on. She patted my butt, saying she hoped to tap my ass someday. I smiled nervously and shook my head. Dream on, lady. I'm freaky enough to try anything sexual but no dicks up my ass, thank you. Anything else goes, though. To me, it wasn't even about sexuality. It's a MAN thing. Doesn't matter if you're heterosexual, bisexual or gay. Let another male stick his dick up your ass and you're a bitch. I'm nobody's bitch. I wished Miss Monique a good day, then walked out. 

Tuesday night and I've got nothing to do. I noticed that Allison had called me three times, and I had three messages from Avalina as well. What did those bitches want? Seriously. Playing nice with women gets you nowhere. They will stomp all over your heart and leave you for a jerk. When you ignore them, they chase you. When you focus on them, they ignore you. They all say they aren't like that but that's the way they are. I composed a neat little message on my FIDO phone and forwarded it to both Avalina Adewale and Allison Albright. Just a few simple words, ladies and gentlemen. Are you ready for them? 

Women like Ava Adewale and Allison Albright love to walk all over nice guys like myself. They need to be taught a lesson. I wanted my message to them to reflect that. Okay, here goes nothing : I don't want you. So lose my number. Peace. I couldn't make my feelings toward them any clearer. After sending that text to both of them, I got a flurry of messages and turned off my phone. When I turned it back on the next morning, I had five messages from Ava and six from Allison. I deleted them both without reading them. I also had a message from my mother, inviting me to a church thingy this Friday night. I texted her that I couldn't because I made plans. Then I showered, got dressed and went to class. I feel good, ladies and gentlemen. Never better. How about you? 



Bad Romance/Back 2 School



Single tonight, just like the song says. I look at myself in the mirror, and barely recognize the man who stares back at me. A six-foot-one, broad-shouldered, slightly chubby but still ruggedly handsome young Black man stares back at me. The haunted look on that face, I can hardly believe it's me. It's the first Saturday of September 2012, and I've just stood up my date for the movies, a young Afro-Caribbean woman named June. Why would I do such a douche bag sort of thing? Simply because she had it coming, ladies and gentlemen. I care for her a great deal but she doesn't appreciate that about me. It seems that when a man thinks he's found a good woman and decides to treat her well, women always mistake a man's kindness for weakness so they abuse his trust and treat him like shit. Well, two can most definitely play that game. 

That Saturday started out fairly interesting. I was checking my messages on my Fido cellphone and got a message from my landlord, an old white dude named Keith. He said that my asshole of a roommate, a Haitian bastard named Lenny, informed them that after a year with me at the apartment on Donald Street, he was moving out. Hell yeah. Good riddance. I decided to put the apartment up in search of a new roommate a day ago, just in case Lenny was moving out. I'm so glad I'm going to be rid of him. He's a mean-spirited bozo who doesn't pick up after himself, and never takes out the trash, he also never does the dishes or clean the washroom. I do all those things for both of us because I'm not a motherfucking pig. Lenny has no shame. He and that portly white girlfriend of his, a Russian chick named Natasha, have definitely got to go. She doesn't pay rent because she's not on the lease but she spends EVERY weekend and holiday with us. And like Lenny, she's not the cleanest person in the world, let's leave it at that. Lenny is mouthy and mean, his girlfriend Natasha is dirty and slutty. Bad combination for me, the third guy in this unholy triumvirate. They made me feel depressed every time I came home, for real.

It seems to be my lot in life to put up with people who take advantage of my good nature. When I first met Lenny, he seemed like a cool guy. I met him through my asshole of a cousin Nicolas, a real piece of work who goes from job to job, woman to woman, mooching off of people. Well, people who let him anyway. I think by now you're getting the idea that my home situation isn't exactly ideal. Since the early days of the summer, I'd been seeing this tall, lovely young woman whom I met at the movie theater. June. You should have seen her, man. Tall, sexy and fine. Her pops is Haitian and her mother is from Trinidad. A nursing student at La Cite Collegiale. We met there, and seemed to really click. We began going out, and everything was fine with us. Finally I was going out with a chick who shared my interests. June and I got the same taste in movies. We both enjoy action movies and science fiction flicks. June doesn't go for the girly type of movies like Twilight and the romantic comedy of the week. Nah, that chick was cool for real. I honestly was starting to fall in love with her. A hot Black chick who likes to go Dutch at the movies, calls a brother fairly often and treats me good most of the time. I thought June was a keeper, man. From the month of June until the end of July 2012, those were the most magical times of my life.

Understand that relationships and I simply don't mix. I honestly can say that without batting an eyelash. A lot of guys say that because they're the player type. They go from woman to woman, bed to bed. They can't settle down because they don't want to settle down. Me? I was just the opposite. For real. I longed for a relationship but I just couldn't seem to meet the right gal. I'd gone on dates with chicks of various ethnicities. Black women, white women and even one Punjab chick from the Republic of India. Always I tried my best with these ladies. I'm always super friendly, generous and absolutely wonderful with the ladies who come into my life. It doesn't matter if you're just a friend, a girlfriend or more, I believe in respecting women and treating them well. I guess someone forgot to tell me that women don't appreciate men who treat them well. They prefer dirt bags and thugs to nice guys. Why is that? I don't have a frigging clue, man. I couldn't tell you why women throw away good men and take up with jerks. Is being a jerk a sign of masculine prowess in the eyes of most women? Maybe. Who knows what goes on inside their brains? Whatever. 

Anyhow, here I am at home. June and I were supposed to catch the 5 : 40 PM showing of The Expendables 2 at the Blair Cineplex in the east end of metropolitan Ottawa, Province of Ontario. It's the first Saturday of the month of September and it's still warm. It still feels like summer. The summer of 2012 belonged to a beautiful Afro-Caribbean gal named June and me, Stephen. The Boston-bred Haitian guy who fell in love with her. I called her my ebony goddess, my Cleopatra and my Nubian queen. I treated her real good. I was always respectful, generous and kind to her. I tried to protect her from her worst self. Whenever she had a problem, I was either there or I told her I wanted to be there. Taking care of every need and fear. I thought that's how a real man treats a woman, you know? Not for me all the player bullshit that so many young ( and not so young ) Black men espouse. I was the good Black man. The nice guy. The one who tries to save the day. 

How did June repay my kindness? At first she was cool, and everything was alright. We went to the movies together, dined in nice restaurants. I even showed her parts of my life I usually keep from women. I gave her a signed copy of a book I recently published through the publishing company AuthorHouse. The story of a young African-American college student and all-around nerd who falls in love with the biracial daughter of a wealthy Irishman who married a Nigerian woman. Set in Boston, the novel explores the complex issues of race, class, romance, sexuality and the intricacies of African-American middle-class life in the modern United States. The book is doing really good on Amazon.com and when I gave it to her, June seemed to really like it. Hell, she even posted a link to it on her Twitter page. Because of her I joined Twitter. I only used Facebook, as far as social networking sites went. Yeah, I would have done anything for that gal. Once upon a time.

Starting in August, my sweet June's behavior began to change. We used to call each other all the time, and then all of a sudden, the call ratio was split seventy/thirty. With me calling her more often than she called me. We used to spend more than ninety minutes a day on the phone talking to each other. What the fuck was going on? We used to see each other at least once a week. Movie, museum, bowling alley, you name it. Now I was lucky if I saw her once every couple of weeks. All of a sudden, I was lucky if I talked to her on the phone fifteen minutes a day. She became sullen, and morose. Totally withdrawn into herself, always complaining about her problems with her mother, her cellphone and computer bills, and the fact that she wasn't getting enough hours at work. I told myself to be there for her. That's what good men do. You stand there and support your lady as she goes through a tough time. You lend her your support. You don't turn tail and run. Yeah, I did all that. And you know what? June didn't seem to appreciate anything I ever did.

What did I get for all my efforts? Um, let's see. June cancelled some of our dates at the last minute, bitched at me on the phone while I was trying my hardest to help her, and ditched me to chase after some so-called friends of hers who clearly didn't give a damn about her. June doesn't let anyone get close to her. Not even her girlfriends. It seems that whoever gets close to her, she hurts, and then chases someone else. I tried my best to help her, I really did. I put aside my feelings, ignored my own needs, and put hers first. Some female friends of mine warned me about her, but I didn't listen. I put June on a pedestal. Well, um, that shit got tired really quick. Through the month of August, I was mister supportive for the lovely miss June. Well, today, the first day of September 2012, I declare that we're through. We were supposed to meet at the movies today, and she informed me of a change of plans.

No, she didn't cancel. For a change. Rather, June informed me that she wanted to bring someone else along for our date. Let me say it before you do. What the fuck? I haven't seen her ass in ages, she cancelled our date for the movies the previous Tuesday, I was hoping we'd get a chance to talk at last, and she wants to bring another bozo along? I couldn't believe this shit. I pleaded with her not to bring another guy along. As usual, June wasn't mindful of anyone's needs except her own. Look, before you people reading this accuse me of being the poster guy for jealous boyfriend magazine, understand a simple truth. There are certain times in life when a man needs to talk to the woman in his life...alone. Times when a third party's presence would be most unwelcome. I tried to stress that to June, but she wouldn't listen. She told me she expected me to be at the Blair Cineplex in Ottawa's east end at the agreed upon time, and that was that. Well, um, no bitch. I'm not your lapdog. Anymore. I don't have to go. So I won't go. 

That's why I am lying in my bed right now, trying hard not to think about June and the good times we shared in June and July of 2012. Why did she switch personalities in August? Seriously! The whole time I was with her, I was all about her. I stopped flirting with random chicks, and I stopped asking women for their numbers. I was focused exclusively on June. The gal I thought was the one for me. Dude, I guess it just wasn't meant to be. Still, I miss her. You don't give someone three months of your life and expect to just forget them in a matter of hours. Still, I've got one thing going on for me. In a couple of days, I go back to school. I'm entering my final year as a Criminology student at Carleton University. As I walked through campus earlier today, I saw so many new students. Lots of hot-looking ladies among the new faces. Arab women. Black women. Aboriginal women. Hispanic women. Indian women. Chinese women. So many pretty ladies of all hues. They're looking mighty fine. September, and I'm on a campus full of women. Somehow, I think I'll get over June. Oh, yes, ladies and gentlemen. I believe that I will. 



Bad Romance: Move Along



Step one, I exit Loblaws, where I just spent the past eight hours. Working the eleven to seven overnight shift isn't easy. I yawn as I exit the store, my dark security uniform getting wet fast as it starts to rain. Wonderful. It was dry all night and as I head home, it starts to rain. That's just the kind of luck I've got, ladies and gentlemen. I walk out of the parking lot, and cross the street. Lucky for me I live about five minutes from work, and traffic is murder this time of day. This is metropolitan Ottawa, after all. A town full of government workers and students, that's it. 

I walk in front of a Baptist church and cross myself. Been doing it for a while now. I'm not particularly religious but I received a crucifix on a rosary from a certain old Arab lady this past summer. She's a catholic from Egypt and told me that in today's world, faith matters. She shared a moving but dreadful story with me, telling me how the Arab Christians in the Middle East are under attack nowadays. Wow. I didn't even know there were so many Arab Christians in places like Egypt, Syria and Lebanon until recently. I'm moved by the plight of such people. They're being persecuted for their beliefs. I wear the rosary the old lady gave me for good luck. Wouldn't feel right to throw it away or not wear it because it obviously meant a lot to her. Starting to mean a lot to me too.

As I make my way home, a well-dressed young white lady walks toward me. She's going to work or school or something and I'm just getting home. She casts her eyes down as I walk past her. Inwardly I sigh. I know what she saw when she looked at me. I'm a big and tall young Black man. People always act funny when they see me and there's nobody else nearby. Sometimes they even switch sidewalks, if you can believe that. One time, I surprised a white woman by switching sidewalks when I saw HER coming. Then I switched back after walking past her. I turned around briefly and saw her standing there, flabbergasted by my move. Now you know how people like me feel, lady. Let that be a lesson to you. You're welcome.

I make it home at last. I remove my shoes, and my reading glasses, and toss the book Hominids by Robert Sawyer on the bed. I've been reading novels by this author. I find his work very interesting. Especially his science fiction stuff. I collapse on the bed, too tired to move, and definitely too tired to do anything except fall asleep immediately. I'm awakened by noise coming from down the hall. It's my roommate Lenny, a Haitian guy I've been living with for the past year. We don't get along. He makes a lot of noise, he's also rude and doesn't clean up after himself. I look at the black and crimson rooster on my nightstand, it's my fancy little alarm clock. It's noon. I got home at around seven ten in the morning after my eleven to seven overnight shift. Is five hours of sleep per day enough when you work forty-hour-weeks and also go to school? I don't know. I'm not a doctor. Doesn't sound like enough to me, though.

I can hear shouting coming from Lenny's room. He's having another argument with Rosa, this plump white lady he's been seeing for the past year. I don't much care for Rosa because when she's around my food tends to disappear. There are a lot of little ethnic restaurants in the east end of Ottawa. I spend too much time and money at such places. Where am I going to order from today? The nice little Haitian restaurant nearby or the Lebanese restaurant downtown, the Shawarma place, which delivers so damn fast it's almost scary? Hmmm. Shawarma it is. I pick up my cell phone. I recently switched from TELUS to FIDO. 

Let me be the first to tell you a bit of awful truth, ladies and gentlemen. Cell phone companies in Canada suck, big-time, and here in northern Ontario, they drain you dry. I just received a text from FIDO saying I owe them one hundred and seventeen bucks. Isn't that nice? The little Asian dude I got the phone from at Rideau Shopping Center assured me that I'd only be charged seventy bucks a month. I don't make tha t many calls. I don't have a girlfriend and I text my guy friends rather than call them, for the most part. So where are these surprising phone bills coming from? Outrageous I tell you. It's like the cell phone companies want you to get into debt over their diabolical devices which you can't live without. I call the Shawarma place and order the usual. A mixed plate, chicken and beef, with rice and lots of hummus and definitely no salad. Oh, and I don't need a drink because I've got that in the fridge, I think.

Now, you might wonder why a guy who works security at Loblaws doesn't have much in the way of groceries in his home. I do have groceries. I have tons of soup, cornflakes and other stuff, but it doesn't taste very good. It's cheap, though, that's why I buy it. I just don't enjoy eating it. I've got way too many bills to worry about. My rent costs five hundred a month, and I've got a fifty-dollar-a-month Hydro bill. Between my rent, my cell phone, my Hydro and other living expenses, I'm always running a little short. Working forty hours a week at twelve bucks an hour doesn't cut it, man. It really doesn't. Oh, and I've got my fees at Carleton University to worry about. If everything goes right, I'll have my degree in Law soon. That's the potential silver lining underneath all the muck, you know? Part of what keeps me going.

I am snapped out of my reverie by the buzzer. It's the Shawarma delivery guy. I head downstairs, and see that it's Khalid. A short, stocky, dark-skinned guy. He's half Black and half Arab, and always complains about how they treat him at the Lebanese restaurant where he works. I always tell him that my job is always hiring and he always laughs it off. Whatever. I greet Khalid warmly because he's a chill guy. He hands me the packet containing my food. The order printout says seventeen dollars. I pay, and give two dollars to Khalid because I know what it's like to have a crappy job one does just to pay the bills. Khalid asks me how June is doing. Ah, Khalid, why did you have to go there?

June is a tall, beautiful young Black woman I was dating for most of the summer of 2012. We met at the movie theater, and just clicked. She was half Haitian and half Trinidadian. We got along wonderfully in June and July, but our relationship changed in August. We began seeing less of each other, and stopped getting along. I still liked her and kept trying to fix our relationship but she just didn't seem to give a fuck. She stopped trying. There were lies and deceit on both sides but long story short? We're not together anymore. I tried so hard, put aside my pride and always put her first. I was always there for her, even when my guy friends told me I was whipped and my female friends from school and work told me June was shady and didn't deserve someone like me. In the end, I gave up because a relationship is supposed to be about two people. If one person is trying to fix things, and the other doesn't care, it's doomed to fail. I'm through with June, but she's still leaving messages on my phone. She calls me now more than when we went out. Why is she doing this? What's her game? When I was all about her, totally focused on her, she treated me like shit. Now that I'm moving on, she's borderline obsessive. Why? Women! I smile politely at Khalid and tell him that June is doing fine. He smiles, nods and leaves. 

I walk back upstairs, and feast on some delicious Lebanese food. I like the Lebanese people. They have a church located not far from me. Lebanese ladies are gorgeous. Lots of them at Carleton University. They seem to go mainly for Arab guys or White guys, though. I've rarely seen Arab women with Black men. I eat my food, and wash it down with some orange juice. I then head to the shower, and frown as I see hairs left there by Rosa, Lenny's girlfriend. Thank God the bozo is moving out at the end of September. Two new guys are moving in, a pair of brothers from Burundi, Constantine and Abraham. I get along fine with Constantine. Abraham seems okay. I don't know. I'm a lousy judge of character. We'll see. I brush my teeth, then shower. I go back to my room, and get dressed.

I look in my closet, and realize that most of my clothes have been worn. Going to have to do laundry soon. I pick up a long-sleeved red T-shirt featuring Fat Albert and a pair of Black pants that I usually wear with my security uniform. I look at my window, where twin flags stand side by side. I have two flags at home, a Haitian flag and an American flag. I was born in Haiti and grew up in the U.S. The City of Brockton, Massachusetts, was my home for more than a decade, before I moved to Ottawa City in provincial Ontario, Canada. I say a silent prayer for U.S. President Obama, past whose picture I walk as I exit my apartment. Lenny and Rosa have stopped arguing, and judging by the mattress thumping I'm hearing, they're making up. Lenny is an asshole of the worst caliber, and he's on welfare yet he gets more women than me. Either women always go for the bad guys or the universe is out to kick my ass. Whatever. I take a deep breath and exit.

I walk to the bus, and catch the number nine heading to Hurdman station. From there I'll catch bus number four heading to Carleton University. The bus is packed. I see a familiar face. It's Katrina. The tall, dark-haired and slender, alabaster-skinned beautiful young woman I met this summer. She goes to my university too. Studying business or something. Katrina is half white and half Arab. She looks like a model. We were getting really friendly after I met her at Hurdman in July, while I was coming home from my old overnight security job in Kanata and she was heading to her job at some government office downtown. Katrina seemed really cool at first, and we were really friendly for July and most of August. Recently, um, when I looked her up on Facebook, I saw that we were no longer friends. She kind of removed me. Sans explanation. Whatever. I smile politely at her and ask her if everything is alright. We chit chat about school and stuff, then she gets off the bus and goes her way and I go mine. She isn't heading to school right now, but I have class at three. It's already two forty when I board bus number four. Damn.

On the bus ride to school, I crack open my copy of the novel Hominids by Robert Sawyer. As I'm reading, a young blonde woman sitting near me cracks open a comic book. I notice that there are Black characters on the pages and ask her what the book is about, for I'm curious. She smiles and tells me that she's reading Marvel Comics The Black Panther. Wow. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed white chick is reading The Black Panther. She tells me that she became interested in the comic book character after watching the BET television miniseries. Hmmm. Interesting. I smile and command her on her good taste. I'm Jen, she says, extending her hand. I smile and introduce myself as Steve. And I'm definitely pleased to meet her. 



Bad Romance: Strap-On Night



The last Saturday of August 2012 came, and I found myself feeling blue. The name is Steven, and I'm a big and tall Black man living in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. I was born in the town of Cap-Haitien in the Republic of Haiti and raised in the City of Boston, Massachusetts. From 1999 to 2009, I lived in the heart of New England but in mid-November 2009 I moved to the region of Ontario, Canada. Family troubles, and economic difficulties drove me from the lovely New England which I loved to seek greener pastures elsewhere. I adjusted to life in Canada even though it wasn't easy. The life of a Haitian-born American guy in the Confederation of Canada isn't easy but I would like to think I managed fairly decently. 

Since moving to the City of Ottawa, my life has changed. I learned to speak French and Haitian Creole in my native Haiti but spent years without using either language while living in America. In the Capital of Canada, they both came back to me pretty quickly. I began searching for my place in that ever-changing world which is Canada, I guess. I was seeing a tall, beautiful young Afro-Caribbean woman for most of the summer. June. I met her at the Blair Cineplex in the east end of Ottawa, when I went to see the movie The Dictator. We met there, and totally clicked. We exchanged phone numbers and began seeing each other. I can honestly say that in my twenty five years upon the earth, I have never met someone I got along with better. June was wonderful, and we had similar tastes in movies, comic books, and other things I found interesting.

The gal was friendly, generous and open. When we went out, we often went Dutch, though with my old-school instincts I had to learn to compromise. It's a new century and sometimes on a date, a gal wants to pay and she can if she wants to. June was amazing, and I honestly was starting to think of her as my other half. We got along wonderfully, and we thought along the same lines. She studied Police Foundations at La Cite Collegiale, a French-language community college located in the east end of Ottawa and I am studying Criminology at Carleton University in the southern bend of Ottawa. We seemed like a good match. I'm originally from Haiti as I mentioned before, and June came from the Caribbean as well. Her father is Trinidadian and her mother is Haitian, making her at least partially one of my people. I was really fond of her, but in time our relationship began to break down.

From the beginning of June until the end of July, things were simply wonderful between June and I. She warned me that our relationship was going to change in August, because of external factors. The whole time we were going out together, June told me that she was working as part-time staff at a certain retirement home/hospital near downtown Ottawa. Apparently her hours got reduced or so she told me, and she said she didn't have much money for going out anymore. I told her that she mattered to me and I'd be more than happy to cover our expenses when we went out. Little miss independent woman simply wouldn't go along with that, and for this and a few other reasons, we began seeing less and less of each other. This began to really bother me and I told her as much. June promised me she'd try just for me, but things still didn't improve between us. That's a sad state of the affairs because I liked her very much.

For the month of August, I didn't see much of June but for those times we did see each other, I tried to make our relationship work. As a lot of my female friends pointed out when I told them about my struggles with the turn my relationship with June had taken, I was the only one trying. And the thing about relationships is that they're supposed to be about two people. I really liked June so I tried and tried, remembering how wonderful things were between her and me during the months of June and July. I thought we could recapture that fire, and I tried my best. I was extremely patient with her. I met other guys and gals who showed some interest in me. Most notably this Asian gal named Andrea who has been after me for a while, and this biracial Montreal chick at school, Wanda-Lynn Coleman. I turned them all down because I thought what June and I had was special. I guess I was blind to her faults, because at the end of August, our relationship came to a sudden ending.

You see, the last Friday of August 2012, June and I had plans to see the movie Expendables 2 at the Blair Cineplex, the place where we met. Guess what happened? She told me she couldn't make it because she had to go to work. I ended up going to see the movie solo. Guess who I saw sitting inside the Blair Shopping Center with two of her friends, laughing and eating Chinese food when she was supposed to be at work? None other than June. The bitch lied to me, man. I walked away that day, crestfallen. When it comes to women, I sure know how to pick them, eh? I was ready to give June my heart and she did this to me. I guess she wasn't ready for a serious relationship. Um, she could have told me. I mean, seriously, why the games? Oh, well. I felt really bad but I wasn't going down like that. I asked my friends, especially my lady friends Fatima and Wanda-Lynn, what they thought I should do. They told me to cut June out of my life because she was a lying bitch and didn't deserve me. You know what? Sounds good to me!

I stopped calling June, I blocked her on Facebook and Twitter, and tried to shut her out of my life. Guess what? She began calling me a lot more than she did before. Just like my female friends thought she would. I had her number. I didn't want to speak to her, or have anything to do with her. That woman played me for a fool. I needed to get her out of my system because I did think about her more than I thought I should, even after our breakup. I was told by my good friend Wahid, a Lebanese guy from the Arab church near my apartment in the east end, that the best way to get over a woman was another woman. I sat inside the university library, browsing online. I needed to get June off my mind. Absentmindedly I began looking at escort ads in Ottawa. A sexy chick offering no-strings-attached sex for money just might be what I needed. I used escorts before I met June. I stopped because I had feelings for her. Now I knew better. I wanted to get back to the wild side.

I browsed through dozens of escort ads until I came across a promising one. A feisty, big-booty young Black woman whose ad said she aimed to please. The name? Miss Keisha. Probably not the name her mama gave her but whatever. I called Miss Keisha and asked her if she'd be down for some fun the last Friday of August 2012. She told me that she couldn't, but she'd be free on the following Saturday. I was okay with that. Saturday night around eight I walked ten blocks from my apartment to the nearby Scotia Bank, where I withdrew 120 dollars. Then I walked to the normal-looking house where Miss Keisha and ladies like her did their thing. I called to let her know that I was there, and I was let in by some Hispanic dude. I went upstairs, and finally met with the lovely Keisha. And she was lovely indeed. Five-foot-nine, thick and sexy, with dark brown skin and neatly braided hair. A fine-looking young Black woman. She smiled when she saw me and I introduced myself as Steve. We talked about business. For regular intercourse she charged one hundred and twenty dollars for a half-hour session, as advertised online and on the back pages of a certain sunny Ottawa newspaper. 

I told Keisha what I had in mind, and she smiled at me. Apparently, kink and domination, along with all things related to fetish and BDSM were right up her alley. I didn't know there were young Black women into BDSM. Nice. Keisha and I got started with our fun. I got undressed in the room and lay on the bed while she went to grab her toys. She came back with her strap-on dildo and some lubricant and condoms. I was wearing my birthday suit. Just a six-foot-one, 250-pound, buck-naked Black man. Miss Keisha smiled when she saw me, and asked me what I wanted to do first. I grinned and knelt before her. First I sucked on her condom-covered shiny ebony strap-on dildo like my life depended on it. She grabbed the back of my head, making me gag on her dildo. I liked that she was a bit forceful, makes the whole thing a bit more real, you know?

Miss Keisha berated me nastily while I went down on her, just the way I liked it. After sucking her dildo, I sucked on her toes while she pinched my nipples. They're kind of sensitive even though I'm a guy so I asked her to be gentle. She promised to be gentle, with a sadistic gleam in her dark brown eyes. Later, she tied me up on the bed, raised my legs in the air as I lay on my back and slid her strap-on dildo into my well-lubricated asshole. While fucking me in the ass with her dildo, Miss Keisha pinched my nipples. Ah, man. I thought I told her not to do that? Miss Keisha laughed and twisted my nipples while pounding my ass with her dildo. She fucked me real good in that position, then removed my bindings. Oh, have no fear. She wasn't done with me yet.

Miss Keisha put me on all fours, face down and ass up, then she took me like this. She spanked my ass real good, tugging at my butt hairs and squeezing my cock and balls as she prepared me take an even bigger dildo up my ass. This time, she fucked me with a big strap-on dildo which she claimed was modeled after the sexual endowments of African-American porn star Lexington Steele. Man, she almost killed me with that thing. Miss Keisha applied enough lubricant to my ass to lubricate a truck, then she pushed the dildo into my ass. She thrust the dildo deep into me after initially promising me she'd be gentle. She lied! Gripping my hips tightly, she began fucking me with deep, powerful strokes. I screamed, I howled, and I begged for mercy. I enjoyed everything she did to me, and then some. In the end, I had tears in my eyes. It was THAT good!

I walked out of the room feeling really good. Miss Keisha offered me a towel and asked me if I wanted to take a shower. I nodded, and thanked her for a wonderful time. I showered for ten minutes, then dried myself, got dressed and left. Before I left, I gave Miss Keisha a hug which she returned with a grin. I told her to save my number because she was so damn good I wanted a repeat performance. She smiled and told me everything was cool, and she looked forward to seeing me again. I walked out of the house feeling like a million bucks. I winked at two Arab guys who were going to the house, doubtless to use the services of other ladies of the evening like Miss Keisha. They smiled at me and went their way. I felt great, until I realized that I left my Scotia Bank card somewhere. It wasn't in my wallet. I realized that when I went to the gas station across the street to buy some candy. Oh, shit!

What was I going to do? I called Miss Keisha and her cell went straight to voice mail. I texted her, asking if she had seen my card. She told me that she would look, and I waited. Nada. She couldn't find it. She texted me again, asking me to retrace my steps. I thought about it. Where had I gone? I walked from my apartment in the east end of Ottawa to the French Avenue where Miss Keisha's house of delights was located. I stopped at the Scotia Bank ATM to get some money to pay for her services. Oh, shit. I must have forgotten it inside the ATM! Too bad I realized that when I was halfway home, and AFTER I had called the Bank of Nova Scotia to report my card lost and cancel it. 

My phone was ringing. It was Miss Keisha but I didn't feel like picking up. I felt a bit down after losing my card. I had plans to meet my buddies Sam and James at a pub downtown. I walked back to the ATM, and guess who I found there? None other than the lovely Miss Keisha. She smiled at me and handed me my card, saying that she thought I might have left it there when she came down during a smoke break. She was the one who just called me, to let me know she found my card. Wow! I looked at this young Black woman, my heart filled with mixed emotions. I took the card from her and thanked her, and she smiled and hugged me. I promised to see her again, then went home. What a night! What a woman! I'm definitely going to see Miss Keisha again. I can't believe how awesome this chick was. I wished her goodnight via text and she wished me well, then clicked off. I was smiling from ear to ear. My Scotia Bank debit card was fucked up by my own fault, and I had to scrap my plans to drink with James and Sam downtown, but I felt good. After all the lies and dishonesty from my ex-girlfriend June, I was understandably jaded about womankind. I guess I finally ran into an honest woman, Miss Keisha, in the last place I'd expect. Wow. Guess you really can't judge a book by its cover. I'm looking forward to my final year at Carleton University, ladies and gentlemen. It's going to be the best one yet!