"Reginald, if you don't have a thousand dollars for me by the end of this week, I'm evicting you, and I swear that I'm tossing your belongings outside," said my landlord, Mr. Jacobs, and I looked at the smug, bespectacled little old white dude, and flashed him a grin a shark would recognize. Must have had the desired effect for Mr. Jacobs flinched, and I allowed myself a smile of satisfaction.
Dude is the worst landlord ever, the heating in this super old Vanier building is horrible, but he's a definite stickler for the rules when it comes to the rent. I work forty-hours a week as a security guard and make only eleven bucks per hour. I'm paying for school by myself, no OSAP. I wish I could make Mr. Jacobs understand, but the dude is quite simply heartless. Honestly, I wanted to punch his lights out but I don't need the dreaded Ottawa police after my ass, so I kept my cool.
"If I can get you most of that sum, will you stay off my back?" I said point-blank, looking into Mr. Jacobs beady little eyes, and the old dude shrugged, and then walked out of the apartment. Okay, I'll take that as a no. Great, between my tuition problems, my rent issues, and the fact that I have no life, I feel like my existence has become pure hell in recent times. Whoopee for me.
My name is Reginald Stephen Pierrot, and I'm a young biracial man living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I'm in my fifth year at Carleton University, trying to get that bachelor's degree in Commerce. I was born in the City of Halifax, Nova Scotia, to a Haitian immigrant father, Jefferson Pierrot, and Marguerite Fir, an Aboriginal mother from the Eskasoni First Nations people. Six-foot-one, broad-shouldered and athletically built, with light brown skin, long black hair and slightly angular brown eyes, that's me. A rare combination of Caribbean and Aboriginal.
If you know anything about the environs of Halifax, Nova Scotia, then you'd know that it's the Mississippi of Canada. A place where white folks are casually racist in their interactions with blacks and aboriginals, the biggest minority groups in the region. As a mixed dude, I caught the hate from both sides. I grew up getting teased about my skin color by both whites and Aboriginals, and I think that's why I have a somewhat misanthropic view of the universe. People suck. My folks love Nova Scotia for some reason but I don't.
As soon as I finished high school, I headed to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, a place I visited once during my paternal uncle Walsh's wedding to a local lady. I remember walking through the Saint Laurent Mall with my parents, and marveled at seeing so many Africans, Arabs, Chinese people and others. I swear, the minorities outnumbered the white people at that mall. I loved it, and swore to myself that I'd return to this place someday. Years later, here I am, living in Vanier, a ten-minute walk from the Saint Laurent Mall, and it's not such a wonderful life.
"Babe, what are you going to do?" My girlfriend Stacey Corneille's voice startled me out of my train of thoughts, and I looked at her. Standing five-foot-ten, with dark brown skin, long black hair and almond-shaped golden brown eyes, Stacey is a vision of beauty. Born in the City of Toronto, Ontario, to a Haitian immigrant mother and a French Canadian father, this biracial beauty took my breath away the first time I laid eyes on her while walking through the campus library. I approached her, and amazingly, this lovely gal with the doe eyes turned out to be a nice person. We totally clicked, and have been together ever since.
"I'll find a way, Stacey," I said, and I gently pulled her into my arms, and inhaled her scent. Stacey smelled of soap, and light feminine perfume, and I held her close. Stacey looked into my eyes, and silently waited. My bravado melted away, and I finally fessed up. After doing groceries and paying the hydro bill so electricity don't get cut, I only had one hundred and seventeen dollars left in my CIBC Bank account. A far cry from the thousand dollars I owed the landlord in rent. Rent is five hundred bucks a month in this hellhole, plus utilities. Welcome to my life.
"Reggie, I know you don't like it on the Quebec side but you've got to admit, rent in Ottawa is outrageous and this place sucks," Stacey said, and she looked at the apartment, then at me. I looked at her and nodded, not knowing what to say to her. Talk about a rude awakening, eh? The damn landlord showed up at my door, unannounced, and he was none too pleasant. Last night was so much better compared to today, let me tell you.
"I hear you babe," I said to Stacey, and I smiled, remembering how truly epic last night was. Dammit, I'm really lucky to have a woman like her in my life. Last night, Stacey and I went to this chic little Haitian restaurant called Creole Sensations on Montreal Road, and then came home and did the bump and grind, with a twist. Stacey isn't just tall, cute and smart. Nope, my lady love is delightfully kinky and I absolutely love her for it.
"Mofo, before I let you fuck me, you've got to eat this ass," Stacey said as she got on all fours and pulled down her boxer shorts. That's right, my girlfriend loves boxer shorts and doesn't bother with panties most of the time. Stacey is a total tomboy who plays on the women's varsity rugby team for Saint Paul University. Me? I missed the sports gene. I can play the trombone, though. Anyhow, where was I? Oh yeah, Stacey's magnificent ass was staring at me and I felt my dick harden in my pants.
"Sounds like a plan," I said, laughing, as I caressed Stacey's ass, and then kissed it. Stacey grinned, and I spread her big ass cheeks, inhaled her scent, and then got busy. I am an ass man, ladies and gentlemen. I love everything about the black female posterior. Stacey here has one of the best. I wormed my tongue into her butt hole and then began fingering her cunt while licking her asshole. Stacey giggled and pressed her ass against my face, and I sucked on her asshole, loving the way it smelled and tasted.
