Hey, there. My name is Alicia Sloan Rayshawn. I'm just a curvy and very voluptuous black woman living in Boston. I work as a nurse at Mass General Hospital. My husband Jack Rayshawn is a corrections officer down in Plymouth. He is currently studying Criminal Justice at Bridgewater State College in order to become a police officer. His father Armand Rayshawn was a member of the Massachusetts State Police until he retired a year ago. His mother Lisa Brown Rayshawn was a police officer herself and had died on the line of duty. Shot by some gangsters. We've been living together for some time now. Jack is one sexy black man. Tall, broad-shouldered and good-looking. He's going to make a fine cop someday. I love him something fierce. This summer got really hot. I got laid off, so I was spending a lot of time around the house. Sometimes, I got really bored and horny.
Whenever I'm bored and horny, I get these wicked ideas. I wish Jack were always around when that happened. I'd give him the ride of his life. Jack and I aren't like other couples. You see, my boyfriend Jack is bisexual and I am totally cool with it. In fact, I've gotten my rocks off by watching him with Luther, a good-looking older black man he knows from work. Luther is on the down low. He's the head construction worker downtown, but he's also got a wife and family. They don't know that he swings both ways. I don't know what the fuss is about. Many people think it's hot when two females get it on but they hate it when it's two men doing the same thing. What a bunch of hypocrites.
One time, I went to visit my neighbor Madeline Stone. She's a tall, good-looking woman in her late sixties. She's got blonde hair, green eyes and alabaster skin. A good-looking broad if you ask me. No, I'm not like that. I may be living with a bisexual black man, but I'm strictly straight. I'm not even curious about girl on girl stuff so don't ask. Madeline is a good friend of mine. When Jack and I moved here from Boston, she was the first person to welcome us to the neighborhood. This very friendly southern gal had raised three sons and two daughters with her husband Albert, who worked as a lawyer downtown. You wouldn't know it to look at us but we're best friends.
Part of the reason why we became best friends is because we were both living with hard-working black men. Yeah, Madeline's husband Albert was also bisexual. I've lived with Jack since I was fresh out of high school and had known about his bisexuality ever since his days as a small town football player. I can spot a gay or bisexual man when I see one. It doesn't matter how straight and manly they look. It's a gift. I guessed right and quizzed Madeline about it. Instead of being mad at me for being all up in her business, Madeline opened up to me. She told me that she had been carrying Albert's secret for years. Being married to a bisexual man was no picnic for a woman, especially if she loved the man in question.
There were the usual relationship issues, of course, and brand new ones. Madeline confided in me. She had met Albert thirty years ago. Back then, he was an ambitious rookie lawyer and she was a nurse. They had fallen in love and gotten married. Then, she found out that sometimes after work, Albert went to gay bars. She confronted him about it. He was honest with her. He was bisexual. She had thought this would end their relationship but it actually strengthened it. They worked out an arrangement. Albert could have discreet encounters with men on the side but he had to be very stealthy and safe about it. It must have worked because they were still together, decades later.
After Madeline bared her heart to me, I stared at that woman. Wow. You just never know people. I pressed her with questions. She told me that she loved Albert enough to accept his affairs. For decades, she was the only woman in his life. He had his dealings with men but there was no other woman in his life. They raised their kids and grandkids together. They had their ups and downs. Overall, they had a pretty good life together. She surprised me by telling me that she never regretted any of their years together. I was astonished. I mean, I love my Jack and all but that's because he's been upfront with me about everything. He hasn't lied to me and strayed behind my back. He told me about his bisexuality before we started dating, back when we were just friends. Back in high school, he was a lineman on the football team and I was his secret admirer.
In high school, Jack was dating this heifer named Nikki Gilbert. Think blonde hair, big tits, big ass and no brains. I always wondered why a smart young man like Jack would be spending time with the likes of Nikki but hey, I thought the answer was bleeding obvious. She was hot, and definitely a football groupie. They had their fling. I had met Jack years ago when he and his father moved next door to me. He was so tall and gorgeous that I was taken with him immediately. I was a chubby tomboy with braces back then. I was on the girl's soccer team and I was one heck of a goalie but although I had lots of male friends, I didn't have a boyfriend. The boys liked hanging out with me. I liked sports, comic books, action movies and video games. I wasn't a drama queen, had a stoic disposition and loved playing rough. Sometimes, they forgot that I was fundamentally different from them. Most of the time, I liked it. Until they started noticing the gals, and forgot about me. Hey, I still loved my boys but still...
I remember precisely the moment when Jack and I became more than friends. It happened just after that whole mess with Nikki. You see, Jack had a best friend named Gregory Kilpatrick. Dear old Greg was a tall, athletic young black man. He played for the school's basketball team. When Jack met him, his world changed. You see, Jack had been struggling with same-sex desires for years and hadn't shared his pain with anyone. Then, he met Greg. The sexually experienced, gorgeous young black athlete. They started hanging out. One night, Greg showed Jack the wonders of man-to-man sex. Nikki the bimbo didn't stand a chance afterwards. Jack dumped her. Well, Nikki didn't take kindly to being dumped. She began stalking Jack and one day, she caught him and Greg kissing. That's when all hell broke loose. The news spread faster than wildfire.
What followed was a very difficult period in Jack's life. He had it all. He was a good-looking, eighteen-year-old black man. A brilliant student and outstanding athlete. He could have gone to any college he wanted to. Lots of brilliant, good-looking young black men play college football and basketball. Many of them get their college degrees and become very successful. Then, they have to practically fight off the chicks who want them! Well, my Jack could have had all that, but something came along to take it away. Nikki Gilbert and her big mouth. She turned the entire high school against its most popular student. Jack had become an outcast overnight.
All of a sudden, young men and women who looked up to him gave him cold stares in the hallways. Teachers who praised him gave him dubious looks. His football coach who practically worshiped him weeks before now eyed him coldly. Girls who once wanted him looked at him like he was an alien from another planet. His own teammates treated him like he was a freak. They roughed him up during practice. All because he was suspected of being queer. As for Greg, he had transferred to another school. Last I heard, he was playing college ball at a division one school.
Jack didn't know who to turn to. His father still loved him but their relationship was now strained. Armand Rayshawn hadn't raised his only son to be a queer. That's precisely what he said to Jack one Sunday morning, loud enough for all to hear in our Catholic church. Jack's world was falling apart. The poor lad didn't have a chance. One day, I went to visit him. I knocked on the door. He came and opened it. The first thing I noticed was that he was shirtless. His muscular torso looked positively sexy. He had well-cut abs, very little chest hair and was very appealing. I involuntarily licked my lips. His handsome face was grim, though. I could tell that he was in no mood to talk to anyone but I still wanted to talk to him. Since the news broke out at school, he hadn't returned my phone calls. At lunch, he sat alone. In the hallways, he stared straight ahead and didn't seem to notice anybody. I could understand him wanting to ignore the fools who mocked him for being who and what he was. But I wasn't one of them. I wanted to stand by his side through his ordeal. I already got flack at school for being the chubby goalie, so what did I care what others thought of me? It couldn't get worse for me.
Back on topic. Jack stared at me a long time before he let me in. I entered the Rayshawn household. I had been there many times before. I looked around. Here and there were familiar faces and familiar places. By faces I meant the pictures of Jack and his parents on the walls. I looked at the carpeted living room floor, where Jack had wrestled me one afternoon. This six-foot-three, 240-pound lineman had almost broken every bone in my five-foot-ten, weight-is-unmentionable body. Yeah, I liked playing rough but sometimes, my male friends forget that I wasn't made of steel, like they sometimes seemed to be. Jack led me to the kitchen, and offered me a drink. I took the Pepsi he offered, and tried not to stare at his half-naked, muscular body.
