Blac in at Carleton University

Another boring day at Carleton University. The Capital of Canada can be a quirky environment. The only place on the planet earth where I can feel both invisible and the object of unsaid, unuttered hostility at the same time. Even on a campus teeming with East Indians, Arabs, Chinese and others among throngs of Caucasian students, being Black and male makes one stand out. I would have thought I'd be used to it by now but I'm not. My name is Jean-Luc Thomas. Born in Boston, Massachusetts, to Haitian immigrant parents. Now residing in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. Odd? I know. Welcome to my life.

The Mac Odrum Library, forever a beehive of activity inside Carleton University. I sit at a computer terminal on the second floor. I log onto Fetish Life, a website that's popular with men and women interested in the BDSM lifestyle. Imagine a social network but with sexual freaks. For months now I've been chatting with this fairly interesting person. Mademoiselle Antilles. A Black woman living in the City of Winnipeg, Province of Manitoba. She was one of the first people to add me as a friend on the site. After nine months, I only have twelve friends and Antilles is the only one I speak to regularly. We've gotten to know each other fairly well. I know she's twenty two years old, and attends a school in Winnipeg. Oh, and she's of Haitian descent too. That's cool, I guess. I consider myself Haitian-American but although there are lots of Haitians in Ottawa, I feel quite alone in the Canadian capital. It's not my scene. I'm a Boston guy through and true.

Mademoiselle Antilles, who early on told me to call her Sylvia, can actually relate to my pain. She was born and raised in the City of Montreal, Province of Quebec, but moved to Manitoba because she won a scholarship to a school down there. There aren't a lot of Black folks in Winnipeg so she feels quite alone too. I can totally relate. Not that Ottawa is anything like Winnipeg. In Ottawa we have lots of Black people. Somalis. Haitians. Ethiopians. Jamaicans. Nigerians. Kenyans. And so on. I type a greeting to my lady friend, and we start chatting. We go through the usual riff raff about school, and the family. My father, Jean-Paul Thomas moved to Boston, Massachusetts, from the City of Cap-Haitien, Republic of Haiti, in the 1980s. He studied at Northeastern University, where he met my mother Altima Jeanne Saint-Preux. They got married and had little old me one bright day in early January 1987. My father's younger brother Mathieu Thomas moved to Ontario, Canada, around the same time I was born. He married an Irish lady named Mildred O'Shea and they had two daughters together, my cousins Maeve and Lillian. When I royally fucked up at Northeastern University in Boston and got kicked out, my parents sent me to live with my uncle in Canada. I enrolled at Carleton University, switching my major from Criminal Justice to Criminal Law.

I no longer live with my uncle. The guy's a jerk if you ask me but I'd never tell my parents that. They think my uncle Mathieu is a sweet guy. I have my own place in Vanier, not too far from downtown Ottawa. I work part-time as a security guard on weekends. I go to school full-time. I have one boring life. On Saturday mornings I attend a Haitian Adventist Church located not far from the Rideau Shopping Center in downtown Ottawa. All this I already told to Sylvia, also known as Mademoiselle Antilles. We talk about more fun stuff. She's kind of disappointed about a white guy she'd been dating, Lloyd something or other. He kept dodging the question when she asked to meet his parents. Apparently, she broke up with him recently. I tried to be there for Sylvia and comfort her. I kind of saw her breakup coming. For weeks now she'd been complaining about Lloyd and how he reacted, or rather, failed to react, when white folks would stare at her with hostility while they were out in public. I have dated a few white girls at Carleton University, and one East Indian gal. I'm through with interracial dating. Non-Blacks don't get it when we tell them what we go through. I'm single now, and I'm okay with it.

Mademoiselle Antilles went on and on about Lloyd, and I tried not to fall asleep at the computer. I was that bored. Finally, she said something interesting. She told me she was coming to Ottawa, and she wanted to have some fun. When I asked her what kind of fun she meant, she told me she hadn't used her strap-on dildo in months and wanted to make up for lost time. Hot damn. I was smiling from ear to ear when she told me that. I told her that I could definitely help her out. I've been masturbating to Mademoiselle Antilles pictures online for months now. She's got dozens of them. Always she wears a mask, but nothing else. Shots of her crawling on all fours, exposing her pussy and ass. Pictures of her wearing a strap-on dildo along with cowboy boots and a mask...and nothing else. Oh, yeah. This gal looks really hot. She describes herself as five-foot-ten, but I think she might be taller than that. And she's got the most amazing chocolate skin. I've got a thing for dark-skinned Black women. Especially the ones in the fetish and BDSM lifestyle. And they don't get any hotter than Mademoiselle Antilles.

I went to bed that night with a smile on my face, and a throbbing erection in my pants. Three days later, I went to Ottawa International Airport to greet Sylvia Dupont, also known as Mademoiselle Antilles. Man, her photos didn't do her justice. She looked really good. Clad in a bright red tank top and blue jeans, Sylvia looked really hot. The University of Manitoba jacket she wore fit her really nicely. She wanted to stay at hotel but I insisted that she stay at my place. When she seemed reticent, I scanned a photo of my Ontario Health Card along with my Carleton University Student Identification card. I sent both to her. So she could know exactly who she was dealing with. That gesture of good faith moved her. That's why she was coming home with me.

I drove her from the airport to my place. I live in a two-bedroom apartment on Donald Street near the Park in Vanier. It's not much but it's home. The place is neat because I'm a clean freak. I showed Sylvia her room. I also told her I ordered some food from Shawarma King, the best restaurant in Ottawa in my sincere opinion. This stocky, dark-skinned guy named Ahmed brought me the food, and I paid with my Royal Bank of Canada credit card. I gave the guy a nice tip, then picked up the two food boxes. Shish Kebab for Sylvia, and a mixed chicken and beef plate for me. With four cans of Pepsi. Yummy, eh? Sylvia and I sat in my dining room slash kitchen and ate. We talked about all kinds of stuff. Sylvia seemed to like Ottawa. I found that funny. She told me Winnipeg was the whitest place ever, and I ought to be thankful that I lived in Vanier, surrounded by Somalis, Arabs and other minorities. I smiled at that, humoring her.

Once we finished eating, Sylvia and I went out for a walk. The weather was unseasonably warm for March. We walked through Vanier together, and ended up at the Saint Laurent Mall. Being a woman she just had to go inside. We ended up buying a lot of stuff at Fair Weather and that Italian men's clothing store. Luckily I had my credit card and debit card with me. We went back to the house, and talked some more. I was in no rush. Am I attracted to Sylvia? Yes. Do I like her? Yes. It's a dream come true, being with her in my apartment. However, I was also nervous. I'm six-foot-four, chubby, Black and nerdy. With thick glasses and everything. What if she was disappointed in me?

As we sat in my living room watching Dexter reruns, Sylvia gently touched my thigh. I froze. I looked at her and she looked at me. Smiling, she kissed me. I was hesitant at first, but I kissed her back. Next thing I knew, we began making love right there on my couch. What a pair we were. A Black man and a Black woman making love while Dexter, America's favorite serial killer, hacked a mustachioed Hispanic guy to death to preserve his identity and stop a rival. I kissed Sylvia passionately, and she climbed on top of me. I caressed her breasts and suckled on them gently. They tasted really good. Sylvia licked my neck and chest, and played with my chest hairs. I caressed her big, round buttocks and she grinned, telling me to smack her ass. I did just that. We continued to do our thing. She pulled a condom out of her purse, unwrapped it and put it on me. It fit snugly over my seven-inch, uncircumcised dick. Then Sylvia grabbed my cock and put it inside of her. And just like that, our bodies were joined.

I held Sylvia by the hips as I thrust into her. She moaned as we made love passionately. My sexy Haitian goddess went buck wild as I fucked her. She urged me to go harder and faster. Like I needed any encouragement. We were in March 2012 and the last time I had sex, I think it was in December 2010! You had better believe this brother wanted to make up for lost time! Sylvia and I fucked all over the living room, in all kinds of positions. I put her on all fours, face down and ass up. I playfully smacked her ass before fucking her like that. Sylvia told me to pull her hair and I yanked it while thrusting my cock deep inside of her. Man, we went at it for hours and used up three condoms. Or was it four? Whatever. When I was spent, Sylvia had another idea to get me back in the game. She went to the guest room and came back with three very special items.

When Sylvia came back, she was still gloriously naked but she wore the mask she often wore in her online pictures. Oh, and she had a strap-on dildo and a can of lube in hand. Smiling, she told me that Mademoiselle Antilles, the Black Dominatrix, wanted to fuck some ass. I smiled, and told her I had an ass that needed fucking. I assumed the position when she told me to do so. Face down and ass up, that's the way my sexy Haitian mistress likes to fuck her male slaves. Sylvia applied lubricant all over my anus, then pressed the dildo against my ass. She asked me if I ever had anything up my ass before. Truthfully I told her no. Mademoiselle promised to be gentle, then pushed the dildo into my ass. I gasped as Sylvia's dildo slid into my asshole. That thing felt huge!

Mademoiselle Antilles held my wide hips tightly as she worked the dildo into my asshole. I groaned as she fucked me. It hurt a bit but after a while, it began to feel good. Sylvia flipped me on my back and fucked me like this, looking into my eyes as she fucked me. I stroked my dick, which regained its hardness as Mademoiselle Antilles pumped her dildo into my butt. She told me in accented Haitian Creole that I was the first Black man she was fucking with her strap-on dildo. As a Black Dominatrix, this was a special moment for her. I told her to commemorate the moment by breaking my ass. Words she would make me almost regret...for she pounded my ass for the better part of an hour before I begged her to stop!

When all was said and done, Sylvia and I lay on the couch, and she cradled herself in my arms. I looked at the sky outside my apartment window. Outside, dusk had fallen. It was night. A starry night in Ottawa. And there was a full moon too. I pointed that out to Sylvia, and she smiled. Gently, she kissed me then went to sleep. I silently thanked my lucky stars. I'm not the kind of guy things like that happen to. As a church-going, university-educated Haitian-American guy with good manners and a shy demeanor, I'm often invisible to women. Or they consider me the Nice Guy Type. Well, it looks like my lonely nights are over for the time being at least. Sylvia is staying with me for March Break. What happens next, God only knows. I'm just glad I met her.