Butch Black Women

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We’ve all got secrets. And why shouldn’t we? It’s part of who we are. Having secrets simply means you’re a normal person. Sometimes I will never apologize for. My name is Marguerite Alexandre Jean. I’m a five-foot-eleven, lean and athletic, dark-skinned Black woman of Haitian descent living in the city of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. I teach History at Saint Joseph Academy, a private Catholic school in the Barrhaven suburb of Ottawa. I’m in my early forties, supposedly happily married to a handsome Black man named Joel Jean, who works as a police officer in downtown Ottawa. We are the proud parents of James, Elisabeth and Benjamin Jean. They’re all students at Carleton University these days. Yeah, life is okay for us. At least that’s what I tell myself.

However, it’s all a front. The truth is that I haven’t been satisfied in my marriage for a long time. My husband Armand and I no longer have any passion or chemistry between us. Honestly, I think we stay together because of the bills and for the sake of appearances. My sex drive is too much for him, I guess. He can’t keep up with me. Or maybe I am just a slut, pure and simple. I don’t know. All I know is that I’m not getting what I need from my husband. We don’t spend much time together anymore. And I like to have my fun. I like the human body and its infinite varieties. And I like sex, too. Male or female, Black and White, it doesn’t matter as long as they are hot. It’s something I hide from my family and friends. Appearances must be maintained, you understand.

Sometimes I wonder what my family and friends would say if they knew that I liked women. I am a member of the choir at the Abundant Life Temple of Ottawa. The Pastor of the church, Dr. Jarvis Saint Mathieu is a Haitian man I knew from my days at the University of Toronto. A charming guy who majored in Theology. His wife Mildred Altidor is a tall, light-skinned and short-haired Haitian woman originally from the city of Cap-Haitien, Republic of Haiti. She works as a dentist at the Place De Ville. I can’t stand that bitch or her uptight sons Ricardo and Wilson but her husband Jarvis is a nice man. There are a lot of people I can’t stand at the Abundant Life church but I go there with my family anyway. I like to be surrounded by my own people at least once a week. If you lived in the lily-white and uptight, bigoted city of Ottawa you’d understand. Abundant Life Temple is a nice enough place. It’s an Adventist Church so we go on Saturday mornings. We’ve got about three hundred people in the congregation and eighty nine percent of us are Haitians. The rest are kocaeli escort Africans, along with a few Asians and some white folks who keep coming in with weird smiles and even weirder questions.

When I was a student at the University of Toronto, I lived a very different life. My parents and I lived in the suburb of Ajax and it was a quiet town. I couldn’t stand it. So I would go to downtown Toronto for a good time. I met sexy young women and men from all over. Africans, Arabs, Asians and Hispanics. Toronto attracted all kinds of people from the immigrant populations of Ontario. I met a very cute gal named Nancy Driscoll. She was half Irish and half Black. A tall, leggy gal with light brown skin, long Black hair and pale green eyes. We had a lot of fun together. Just two young women exploring their sexuality. Nancy knew how to rock my world. We had our fun on the down low for years. Then she got married to a Jamaican businessman named Tyrone Johnson and they moved to Halifax. Last I heard, they were the proud parents of six brats. I guess she went normal on me.

I swore to myself that I wouldn’t end up one of those women who married for convenience and kept female lovers on the side. Yet that’s exactly what happened to me. After Nancy Driscoll left, I was depressed. I hooked up with guys and girls in the bars and clubs to dull the pain and loneliness I felt. During that phase, I met this Haitian guy named Armand Jean. He was studying Criminal Justice at Carleton University and aspired to work for either the Royal Canadian Mounted Police or the Ottawa Police Service. He was cute and friendly. We hooked up and he actually got me pregnant. I panicked, because I thought my life was over. Armand told me he cared about me and wanted to be there for me. Eleven months ago, I accepted his marriage proposal. Fast forward twenty years, and we’re living in the suburbs. I earned my degree from the University of Toronto and became a teacher. Armand is now a sergeant with the Ottawa Police Service. We own the duplex we live in. In the eyes of the world, we’re doing good. I’m what I always dreaded becoming. A married woman whose family and friends don’t know she’s really into women.

For the past six months, I’ve been carrying on an affair with this Haitian gal named Adele Grains. A five-foot-nine, plump, short-haired and big-bottomed, pleasantly Butch-looking Black woman whom I find quite interesting most of the time but wickedly fun after hours. Adele is married to a wealthy architect named Raul Ramos, who’s Brazilian, I think. She holds a business degree from the University of kocaeli escort bayan Ottawa and now works as a Fact Checker for the Ottawa Sun, the daily newspaper of the capital. We don’t have a lot in common, at least not in the eyes of the world. Adele’s daughter Ramona is one of the players on the Saint Joseph Academy women’s Rugby team, which I coach. I used to play Rugby for the University of Toronto back in the day. I like coaching Rugby and teaching young women the many lessons one learns about oneself through sports.

Saint Joseph Academy is the most diverse private school in the entire city of Ottawa, with forty six percent of its students identifying as visible minorities. For those of you who don’t speak elitist Canadian, visible minority means non-White person living in the Confederation of Canada. That’s what the supposedly open-minded and multicultural White Canadians call those of us who are descended from Arabs, Africans, Asians, Hispanics or Aboriginal peoples. Such a nice term they’ve got to describe us, eh? Needless to say, I’m not in love with that terminology. Welcome to life in Canada.

Anyway, I met Adele at a Rugby game and I guess we clicked. She asked me out to a coffee date so we could talk about her daughter’s performance on the Rugby team. Little did I know that she was more interested in me. Adele is bisexual and her husband Raul is completely unaware of it. Just like my husband Armand has no idea that I’ve been sleeping with women throughout our marriage. Adele and I have these little get-togethers when nobody else is around. You’d be surprised how many married women lead secret lives. The kind of secret lives that would stun their husbands and families. I don’t feel guilty about what I do. I need something my husband can’t give me. I’m not hurting anybody. I’m just having some fun, that’s all.

I like these fun little hook-ups with Adele. I need to feel a woman’s lips against my own, and a woman’s hands on my body. I need it every once in a while. Otherwise I might go crazy. Adele is a lot of fun. She’s got a nice body on her. I tell her this every time we get our freak on. I love to lie down on the couch while she sucks on my toes and fingers my pussy. Adele has a foot fetish. She loves tall Black women with long legs. Well, I’m cool with that. And she is really good at licking and fingering my pussy. Adele is the reason why I shave my pussy at least once a week. My husband Armand doesn’t care. He’s banging a blonde-haired fat white chick named Denise, the wife of a police buddy of his. We both pretend izmit s─▒n─▒rs─▒z escort I don’t know about it. As long as Armand is discreet, I don’t care who he fucks. We haven’t had sex since George W. Bush was in the White House!

Adele is the person I turn to for sexual satisfaction. And my favourite Haitian diva definitely does not disappoint. She is a real rough rider who sometimes ties me up on her bed and fists my cunt. I scream loud enough to wake the dead when she does me like this. It’s amazingly intense. Sometimes, she ties up my breasts and smacks them really hard. Adele introduced me to the joys of fisting. She also loves to spank my big butt and occasionally leaves bluish marks on the dark brown skin of my round heart-shaped buttocks. I don’t mind the marks. Just like I don’t mind the soreness after she’s fisted my cunt seven ways to Sunday. It’s worth it. Occasionally, Adele brings her toys into the bedroom and I love it. When she wears the strap-on dildo, my favourite diva looks dangerously sexy. I love giving her head while on my knees. Adele loves it when I suck her strap-on dildo. Afterwards, she puts me on all fours and fucks me doggy-style while smacking my ass. I love it when she slams her dildo deep into my cunt. It feels so fucking good.

Adele is a freaky mama and I never know what she’s doing to do. One time, she was licking my pussy when she suddenly shoved two fingers up my ass. Talk about surprising. I gasped in shock. Adele just smiled and continued fingering my ass. It was a bit strange but I liked it. I am no stranger to anal play. Adele and I have thoroughly explored this neglected fetish of mine. She loves to lubricate my ass with lotion before gently sliding dildos and fingers up my butt hole. I like getting it in the ass. Especially when Adele wears the strap-on dildo and plunges it up my booty. Who says Black women don’t like anal sex? Many of us do. And my Adele knows exactly how it’s done. I always have fun with her.

After our fun hook-ups, sometimes we go shopping. Adele’s hubby and family know that we’re friends. They just don’t know the extent of our unique friendship. Lately, Adele has been taking her family to Abundant Life Temple. That means we get to spend more time together. I wish we could be together always. Sadly, I know it’s not meant to be. I won’t even seriously entertain the idea. It’s just sometimes I like to fantasize about, that’s all. Adele’s life with her hubby and daughter matters too much for her to jeopardize. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve grown semi-comfortable with my life in the suburbs. It’s not perfect but it’s all I’ve got. Can two queer Haitian women live together and love one another in Canada? That would really be something. Would my life have turned out different if Adele and I had met twenty years ago? Maybe. Maybe not. I guess we’ll never know.

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