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Meet The Haitian Goddess

By: Samuelx



The sun rose over the town of Quartier Morin, about thirty miles from the major City of Cap-Haitien in North Haiti. It found Sebastien Renard in bed, sulking. The big and tall young Black man stirred restlessly. Another sleepless night. For the thousandth time he wondered what could have possessed his father, Boston Police sergeant Ernest Renard had left him stranded in this backwards town. Seriously. Sebastien didn't feel like he belonged there at all. 

Of course, his grandmother Cecilia, the matriarch of the Renard Clan would say otherwise. She told him how she remembered his birth in Quartier Morin, way back in 1987. Of course, mere months later his parents moved to Boston, Massachusetts. And they didn't return to the Republic of Haiti until 2010, after the earthquake. Sebastien was a naturalized citizen of the United States of America. He wasn't born on U.S. soil. However, it was the only home he knew for most of his life. Then, of course, his life went to hell.

He remembered Natalie O'Shea, the tall blonde chick he met on his first day at the University of Massachusetts, Boston campus. She seemed so cool and so friendly. Still nursing the wounds of his high school sweetheart, Haitian princess Vanessa Jean-Claude dumping him for a white guy, Sebastien had been drawn to Natalie O'Shea. She was cute, and didn't mind letting a guy know it when she liked him. They had some of the same classes, since they were both Criminal Justice majors at UMass-Boston. Like him, she had a cop for a dad. Sebastien was proud of his stern father, though he rarely said that to the old man. Natalie's father, Boston Police detective Matthew O'Shea was a true Blue Blood. Fifth or sixth generation Irish-American cop. Yeah, there were differences between them.

Yet he, Sebastien, had been young enough and foolish enough to believe they could overcome those differences. He hadn't realized that some things never changed. Even in liberal Boston, home of Massachusetts first African-American Governor, people frowned upon seeing Black male/White female couples. Even in the age of Obama. Sebastien and Natalie liked each other. But in the end he cared more for her than she did for him. He hadn't known that her father despised his old man ever since he got passed over for a promotion. Matthew O'Shea felt that the only reason his one-time friend Ernest Renard rose to the rank of sergeant was because of his colour. After the fiasco involving the Cambridge Police Department and that legendary African-American professor from Harvard, the Boston Police Department faced a rash of allegations of racism. In a town where ethnic minorities technically outnumbered Caucasians, the Irish and Italian leaders of the City decided to appease the locals. They did that by promoting men and women of color to positions of power. To show the ethnic population that the White folks could be benevolent leaders still, rather than be replaced by the next Black guy or Hispanic woman who saw themselves as a voice of change.

At least, that's why Matthew O'Shea believed Ernest Renard became a police sergeant. Upon discovering that his only daughter was going out with the son of his most hated rival, the old detective had been beyond incensed. He ordered Natalie to break off their relationship. In the end, always a daddy's gal, Natalie acquiesced. She dumped the guy she liked to make her racist father happy. Sebastien didn't take the news too well. That's why he went out that night, got drunk and got into a scuffle. And somehow, he ended up on the news. Because he was the son of the man who could become Boston's first Black chief of police someday. This was the beginning of dark times for Sebastien Renard and the Renard family. 

His father Ernest Renard watched his chance of becoming police chief all but vanish. He'd risen to the rank of sergeant within a mostly White police force because he was hard-working and squeaky-clean. The ethnic populations of Boston respected him. The leaders of the African-American and Hispanic populations liked him. They saw him as a voice of reason within the austere Boston Police Department. That's why the leaders of the Boston Police Department had no choice but to promote him after yet another White cop in New England attracted international attention and public ire because of institutional and individual racism. The Department punished Ernest for the mistakes of his son. And Matthew O'Shea became the next captain. A position he hadn't even been in line for, until the Department's hero screwed up big-time by risking his career to save his idiot son. In exchange for the District Attorney dropping all charges against Sebastien Renard, Ernest Renard had to forsake all chances of ever becoming police chief. He'd never be more than a police sergeant now. He might even lose that rank someday if another foul up happened. You never know. Treachery is the order of the day within the Boston Police Department. Let no one tell you otherwise.

Both to punish his son Sebastien and protect him, police sergeant Ernest Renard sent him to the one place where he'd be safe from the Boston Police Department's racist goons. Sebastien found himself in Quartier Morin, his family's ancestral home in the North side of the Republic of Haiti. The place was beautiful. Lots of farm land. Lots of honest people. And he was bored out of his skull. The hard-working, God-fearing Haitian folks who lived in town were as alien to him as Martians. He spoke a heavily accented Creole, and they picked him up as a foreigner right away. What they called Diaspora, and kind of derisively too.

At least that's how he felt until he met...her. Florence Joseph. Tall, curvy, large-breasted, wide-hipped and big-bottomed, with gorgeous skin the color of charcoal. And long, neatly braided hair. The daughter of a Haitian farmer through and true. For days he watched her go about her business in town. The six-foot-tall, gorgeous Black Amazon was friendly but seemed to command an inordinate amount of respect in this small town's otherwise macho culture. And he knew it wasn't because of her raw beauty, which was only accentuated by her big, round ass. He'd never seen an ass like that. Hot damn. He watched her ride a horse to the marketplace and sell coal to businessmen to feed her old mother Arlene and her younger brother Paul. He watched her dress up in a flowery red and white dress as she went to church dutifully every Sunday with her brother and mother. She was always polite but distant to the men who spoke to her. Oh, yeah. Tall, beautiful and aloof. That was Florence Joseph in a nutshell.

And the young Haitian-American wanted that rare fish for himself. One day, he gathered his courage and approached her. She was sitting on a bench in the park near the town's church, reading a Harlequin novel. He approached her with a smile and a wave. She looked him up and down. Her eyes narrowed. Politely but with chilly overtones, Florence asked him who he was. Sebastien blanched. Did she really ask him that? Everybody in town knew who he was. The grandson of the town's mayor. The one whose parents were big-shots not only in Haiti but in the United States as well. The one with the weird accent in his strange Creole. Sebastien prudently introduced himself. Florence smiled at him, but he saw in her eyes that she wasn't impressed. She shook his hand, and then went back to reading her book. Sebastien stood there, thoroughly vexed. What could he do now? This sexy lady was pointedly ignoring him. He did the only thing he could think of. He sat next to her, and put his arm on the bench's back. Dangerously close to her shoulders. His hands accidentally brushed her shoulders. He opened his mouth to speak, but never got a word out. For, with amazing strength and speed, Florence seized him, swept him off his feet and tossed him to the ground. He landed with a thud on the dusty grass.

Hands on her hips, Florence Joseph glowered at him. In a voice like thunder, but thoroughly feminine, she told him that if he ever touched her again, she'd kill him. He looked into her eyes, which seemed to glow. And for the first time since that wild police chase across Massachusetts Highway 95, Sebastien felt fear. He mumbled an apology, still stunned by what she'd done to him. In high school he'd been both a wrestler and a football player. A tough guy. Yet somehow she just sacked him. Florence held her hand and pulled him to his feet. He sat on the bench, stunned. Without another word, she turned and walked away. Sebastien dusted himself off, more stunned than humiliated. Though that feeling would come later. He watched Florence as she walked away. And all he could think was how amazing her ass looked. Hot damn. She had moves like Xena, or maybe Buffy. Only she looked like a younger version of Pam Grier. Wow. If he wanted a piece of her before, he just had to have her now. All of a sudden, he didn't feel like leaving Haiti anymore. He had definitely found something to occupy his time. 

Meet The Haitian Goddess Deux



Sebastien Renard looked at himself in the mirror. A tall, ruggedly handsome, big and bulky young Black man looked back at him. He smiled to himself. He looked really good in a red silk shirt and Black silk pants. He was getting ready for church. His grandmother Cecilia was already waiting. Although they lived exactly three hundred meters from the Catholic Church of Quartier Morin, she always insisted they went early. Today, he was in the mood to accommodate her. For there was someone at church whom he wanted to see. That someone was Florence Joseph. The six-foot-tall Haitian Amazon who royally kicked his ass for something he didn't even do, when he approached her in the park. Damn.

Oh, yeah. He hadn't been able to forget the big and tall, sexy Black woman who gave him a whooping. Of course, getting his ass handed to him by a woman didn't happen every day. Sebastien Renard grew up on the mean streets of the City of Boston, Massachusetts. He had to deal with Jamaican, Puerto Rican and Irish roughnecks. His father, Boston Police sergeant Ernest Renard couldn't always be there to protect him. So Sebastien Renard grew up to be a father. Back at Dorchester High School, he excelled in every kind of sport he tried. Football and wrestling were his favourites, though he liked baseball and swimming as well. He discovered his talent for swimming during one summer in Cape Cod, Massachusetts.

Anyhow, that was a long time ago. After a fiasco with a white chick named Natalie O'Shea and her racist cop of a dad, Sebastien's father sent him to Haiti to protect him and teach him a thing or two about character. The young Haitian-American felt bored during his first few months in the City of Cap-Haitien, North Haiti. Things only got livelier twenty four hours ago, when a Black Amazon with an amazing ass kicked his ass. A Black Amazon with a strong hand and the most perfect-looking piece of heart-shaped, plump ass he'd ever seen. And if there's one thing Sebastien knows, it's booty. Booty was the reason why he was in Haiti right now. He'd fallen for Natalie O'Shea, the only white chick he knew with a thick, round and perfect-looking big ass. He'd only been with Black women his whole life. However, after his ex-girlfriend Vanessa dumped him for some white dude, he felt like trying something new. Too bad he ended up dating the daughter of a racist cop who was the archrival of his father. Yep. 

Good luck was never part of Sebastien Renard's life experience. He crashed his first car. He had premature ejaculation during his first sexual encounter, also with Vanessa. He got his first speeding ticket three hours after his father bought him a car and crashed that same car eighteen hours later. He also blew his chance at a scholarship to Vanderbilt University for filing his application a day late and ended up going to the University of Massachusetts in Boston. UMass-Boston was an okay school but it was definitely not Sebastien's first choice. Anyhow, all that was in the past.

What mattered right now was going to church. Oh, he wasn't going to church because of the Lord. He had someone else in mind. Florence Joseph. He wanted another shot at her. Surely a woman with such an intensity about her had to be amazing in bed. Sebastien hadn't dated many Haitian girls in Boston. Mostly he went for African-American chicks along with Jamaican broads and the occasional Hispanic gal. Haitian women were really hot but way too intense for a brother. Case in point, Florence Joseph. He couldn't shake the image of her flipping him out of his mind. Someday he'd get her to tell him where she learned how to do that. He knew several forms of martial arts, plus he liked bare-knuckle street fighting. He wasn't a punk. Yet somehow she'd surprised the hell out of him. Amazing. Simply amazing.

Enough of that. He went downstairs and met his grandmother. She greeted him with a kindly smile, wearing her Sunday best. He kissed her forehead, playing the part of the dutiful grandson. Arm in arm, they walked out of the house and into the street. The dusty, quiet streets of Quartier Morin were nothing like the streets of Ca-Haitien, Haiti's second largest City, where his parents grew up and went to college. His father, Ernest Renard met his mother, Adele Jean, while they were both students. His dad went to College Notre Dame Du Perpetuel Secours and his mother went to Sisters Saint Joseph De Cluny. Single-sex Roman Catholic high schools. One for young men and one for young women. They fell in love after graduation and went on to attend Universite Roi Henri Christophe, before getting married and moving to the United States. Yep, a lot of Sebastien's family history was contained in Quartier Morin and Cap-Haitien.

He walked granny to the church, and they sat at their usual pew in the middle. The church was packed. It seemed most of Quartier Morin's population was there. Sebastien scanned the crowd, looking for one face in particular. He was so intent on his visual search that he didn't sense his grandmother's hand tugging at his arm. He turned to look at her. Granny was smiling at another little old Haitian lady. She introduced Sebastien to the little old lady, and the young guy who was with her. Sebastien shook hands with the young guy, and kissed the little old lady on the cheeks in the Haitian fashion. He smiled at them but his smile froze when he saw who joined them. A tall young Black woman of Amazonian bearing strode into the pew, clad in a bright red dress. Her long hair flowed freely on her shoulders. Her gorgeously dark skin seemed to glow. Florence Joseph. Quartier Morin's resident Amazon, all-around infamous ass kicker and untouchable woman. Sebastien's new obsession. 

Florence looked simply radiant. Her eyes shone when she saw his grandmother Cecilia, whom she kissed on both cheeks. Then her eyes locked in on him. Sebastien met her gaze levelly. She looked at him then at his grandmother. If grandma Cecilia sensed the tension between them, she didn't let on. She happily introduced Sebastien Renard to Florence Joseph. Flashing a smile, Sebastien held his hand out. Surely she wouldn't flip him across the room in front of the entire church. Would she? He doubted it. Not with his darling grandma here. He smiled at her cockily. Florence narrowed her eyes, then shook his hand. In a flash Sebastien bent down and kissed her hand, a move which stunned everyone. His grandmother Cecilia laughed and playfully smacked his arm. Florence froze when his lips touched her hand. He could tell no one had ever done that to her before. And he smiled. She could be caught by surprise. Good. She pulled her hand back quickly, and smiled nervously. He winked at her. She hadn't seen anything yet.

Florence Joseph and Sebastien Renard stared at each other for several long, uncomfortable moments. Granny Cecilia cleared her throat, and Sebastien broke his gaze from Florence. The priest had arrived. Mass was starting. The ceremony went on, and he tried his best not to stare at Florence as things progressed. When she got up to go to communion, he fell into step right behind her. Hot damn. Her amazing ass looked even better up close. He smiled at her. Wow. This lady looked amazing! When she took communion, it was with closed eyes and open mouth. Sebastien smiled. Naughty ideas flooded his mind. Ideas that his grandmother would say were certain to make him hell-worthy for springing into his mind in church. Oh, well. Sebastien would gladly go to hell if he could have a shot at Florence Joseph's truly mesmerizing ass. He looked at the figure on the cross. On the rare times he prayed, he begged the Lord to convince his father to let him return to Boston. His pops had his passport. He couldn't return to America without it. Well, at that precise moment, he didn't care about his passport. He just wanted a shot at Florence Joseph...and her amazing ass.

With a wink, Sebastien swallowed the holy vessel and went back to his pew. After church ended, he helped his grandmother out of the crowded church. She was a spry old lady but there were times when she truly needed help. He noticed Florence doing the same with her family. The old lady she was helping nearly tripped over her own cane when a young buck went running past her. The bozo didn't even slow down. Where could he be going in Quartier Morin on a Sunday? Sebastien's reflexes took over. He caught the old lady before she could reach the hard floor of the church. Swept her into his arms. Before the amazed eyes of his grandmother as well as several church folks, including Florence Joseph. She went to the old lady and asked her if she could help. The old lady shook her head and looked at Sebastien with surprise and gratitude in her old eyes. She thanked him, and told Florence in a firm voice that she should have been paying attention. Amazingly, Florence looked embarrassed. She nodded quietly and bit her lip.

Sebastien was quite surprised to see the Black Amazon so humbled on his behalf by the little old lady. Was there some way he could turn the situation to his advantage? Absolutely. He told the old lady her nearly falling was an accident and not Florence's fault. He also told them he felt moved in church today, unlike any other day. And he was finally starting to feel at home in Quartier Morin. Granny Cecilia practically glowed with happiness when she heard these words. She clasped Florence's arm in excitement. Sebastien looked Florence in the eyes and told her he was truly happy to meet her and her family. He held out her hand, and this time she shook it without hesitation. There was a new uncertainty in her eyes. It took everything he had not to smile. This was too easy. 

Especially when Granny Cecilia invited Florence and company to her house for supper. Sebastien was surprised by that, but like the insatiable opportunist he was, he went with it. Florence hesitated. She looked at him strangely. She was stuck, and he knew it. Before she could say anything, her parent had answered for her. Sebastien nodded gracefully to Grandma Cecilia, then told Florence and company he'd see them soon. This time, he shook hands with Florence's family members...but he swiftly leaned closer and kissed her on both cheeks. The young Haitian woman's eyes widened. Sebastien smiled at her politely, and wished her a good day. Then he took his grandmother's arm and escorted her out of the church. He looked forward to tonight. He could feel Florence's eyes boring into his back. Did she suspect his ruse? Or was she buying his heroism and sincerity act? Only time would tell. Either way, this was going to be fun. 



Meet the Haitian Goddess Trois



Sitting at the table across from Florence Joseph, Sebastien Renard watched her eat. The big and tall young Haitian-American man smiled wistfully. Things were going pretty good. Here she was, having dinner with him and his grandmother Cecilia. Also present were Florence's younger brother and granny. Sebastien played the part of the congenial host, loving every moment of it. If only Florence didn't look so damn uncomfortable. Sebastien found himself oddly perturbed by that. The plan was to get Florence to come over, wow her and then proceed to find some chinks in her armour. All to eventually seduce the Black Amazon of Quartier Morin.

Granny Cecilia talked incessantly about the situation in the Republic of Haiti. She didn't care for the American soldiers presence in the City of Cap-Haitien, and their inaction during the Cholera Crisis which gripped the island nation in 2011. Sebastien didn't really listen. He was too busy staring at Florence Joseph. God she was beautiful. So tall and sexy, curvy and gorgeously dark-skinned. With her neatly braided dreadlocks, full lips, round face and sparkling dark eyes, she was the epitome of loveliness to him. Too bad she seemed offended by his mere presence. He nearly sighed. Okay, he'd gaffed when they first met. He wanted to make amends, and get to know her better. Every man makes mistakes. Shouldn't he get another chance?

Sitting across from Sebastien at the dinner table, Florence slowly picked at her food. Laughing nearby was Granny Cecilia, a wise and wonderful little old lady whom she'd known her entire life. Grandmother to Sebastien Renard, the cocky American punk whom she'd drop-kicked a couple days ago. Seated next to his grandmother, Sebastien looked really good in his 'churchy' clothes. And he'd been so polite and friendly since the church incident. The one where he helped her relative, and impressed her family with his kindness and quick reflexes. It was hard for her to believe that this suave and friendly guy was the same bozo who'd gotten on her bad side days ago. The Sebastien who sat across from her was polite and friendly. And he doted on his grandmother with true love in his eyes. Hmmm. Had she been wrong about him?

Perhaps, perhaps not. Florence thought of all the men she'd known in her twenty-odd years living in Quartier Morin, North Haiti. Ever since her parents died, she'd been forced to grow up very fast. Her survival and that of her younger brother depended on it. Her grandmother helped, but there was only so much the old lady could do. Florence grew up fast and hard. She learned to defend herself from the wicked men who simply couldn't keep their hands off her, years before she should have been on their radar. She became a fighter, and a fearsome one at that. Her father's old friend Laurence, a former member of Forces Armee D'Haiti ( the Haitian Armed Forces) taught her how to fight. It wasn't enough that she was tall, and strongly built. It was her skill at hand to hand combat which gave her the edge over most opponents.

Life had been okay for her lately, even though her beloved country was going through a truly tough time. Florence Joseph had finally gotten accepted at L'Universite Roi Henri Christophe, one of the top Universities in the Republic of Haiti. Given her stellar grades, she'd gotten a partial scholarship. Even with the 2010 Haiti Quake and the chaos which gripped much of the country, the men and women who ran the City of Cap-Haitien's Colleges and Universities were determined to preserve the country's education system. Institutions of higher education like University of Roi Henri Christophe, University Chretienne Du Nord, the Law School of Cap-Haitien were beefed up. For scores of students from the Quake-damaged Universities in the City of Port-Au-Prince were now flooding to Cap-Haitien and other major cities of Haiti for higher education. 

Yep, Florence had been beyond thrilled when she received the letter of admission from University of Roi Henri Christophe in the mail. Tears threatened to well up in her eyes when she thought of how proud her parents would be. For the past two years she'd been working every job she could get her hands on to help pay for school. She offered her services as a paid tutor to students from schools like College Notre Dame Du Perpetuel Secours, College Regina Assumpta, Brothers of Christian Instruction Academy, Sisters of Saint Joseph De Cluny Academy and many others. And when that work dried up, she went back to working in the countryside. Her daddy had raised her to be a tough gal. She didn't consider riding a donkey to sell coal in the dame streets to be beneath her. Certainly she intended to do more with her life. However, she needed the money to pay for her University education. And there was simply no other way. So you had better believe that whatever work would help her fulfill her goal was done happily. 

Yeah, she was no stranger to hardship. Which is why she had no patience for the likes of Sebastien Renard. He looked like he'd been fed with a silver spoon his whole life. His parents were wealthy members of the Haitian Diaspora in Boston, Massachusetts. They had money, and obviously doted on him. In spite of having so many advantages in life, Sebastien had screwed up. That much was clear. Many Haitian families living in places like the United States of America, Canada and even Europe would send their wayward sons to Haiti for some tough love after they screwed up. The Haitians at home called these troublemaking offspring of the Diaspora "timoun gate". A Haitian term meaning spoiled brats. And that's exactly what Sebastien was, whether he admitted it or not. Florence looked at him through narrowed eyes. She wouldn't trust this well-dressed clown as far as she could throw him. No matter how sweet his grandmother was. Believe that.