"You know, I've had a crush on you for ages," Steve Mondesir said haltingly as he sat across Soeur Rosie Normand, the six-foot-tall, dark-skinned, curvaceous and absolutely gorgeous Haitian MILF he'd worshipped from afar for ages. Ever since he first saw her at the Brockton Haitian Adventist Church in the City of Brockton, Massachusetts, he'd been smitten with her. Now, sitting across from her inside the cafeteria at Massasoit Community College, Steve finally manned up and told her how he felt.
"Thank you, Steve, I'm flattered," Rosie said, a jovial expression on her lovely face. It was after hours, and for once, Massasoit Community College's noisy cafeteria was quiet. Steven had been working on a criminal justice assignment in the school library when he first noticed a familiar-looking curvy beauty walking among the shelves. I'd recognize that big ass anywhere, Steve thought naughtily as he approached Sister Rosie, who'd bent over to pick up a fallen book.
"Bonsoir, Soeur Rosie, comment allez vous?" Steve asked her, clearing his throat loudly like the prim and proper, church-going Haitian he was raised to be. Sister Rosie turned around, and a lovely smile blossomed across her features. Ever since he could remember, Steve had been drawn to tall, dark-skinned women with curvy bodies and big butts. Hell, he had a homemade swimsuit calendar of tennis legend Serena Williams which he regularly masturbated to...
Sometimes, while masturbating, the young Haitian man found himself thinking of a certain lady from his church. Soeur Rosie, the tall, curvy, attractive and perennially single Haitian MILF haunted his dreams. In Steve's fantasies, he got to play with Soeur Rosie's thick Haitian booty...up close and personal. All those thoughts swirled about his head as he approached Soeur Rosie inside the Massasoit Community College library and greeted her...
"Bonsoir, jeune homme," Soeur Rosie replied, and Steve nodded, glancing at her appreciatively and grinned. They made small talk, and then went out of the library together. Thankfully, the older white lady working at the cafeteria hadn't closed yet in spite of the late hour, so Steve and Rosie were able to get some lukewarm pizzas and Pepsis. They sat alone in the campus cafeteria, and caught up. That was over an hour ago...
"But," Steve added, waiting for Soeur Rosie's response, for he was starting to get used to the script by now. Ever since his high school days, the same thing happened. Over and over again. It's like Steve was stuck in an endless loop. Whatever female Steve was interested in told him the same thing. Something about him being nice, and a great guy, but not the one for her. In the friend zone, like a boss, Steve thought, feeling utterly lost and dejected.
The big and tall, Afro-sporting young Haitian nerd found himself frustrated, especially these days. Steve was twenty years old, and so far could count his sexual experiences on one hand. Yeah, nothing to write home about. He'd been with three women in his entire life, and two of them he'd paid after finding them online. The third was a one-night stand at a buddy's birthday party. A random gal whom he never saw again. What Steve craved was a relationship with someone special...
"No buts, darling, say, want to get out of here?" Sister Rosie asked coyly, snatching him out of his reverie. Rosie smacked her full lips expectantly. Steve swallowed hard, then grinned and nodded at her most eagerly. Grinning, Steve and Rosie exited the school cafeteria together. Normally, Steve, who didn't drive, would wait for the Bat Bus which he would ride to the Bat Center in downtown Brockton, and then he would either hoof it back to his parents house on Ash Street, or catch another bus going up Main Street. Tonight, though, fate had other plans for him...
"Nice car you've got here, Soeur Rosie," Steve said as he admired the bright red Rav4 which sat at the far edge of the Massasoit Community College parking lot. Soeur Rosie smiled and shrugged, then clicked on a tiny device, and the car doors unlocked. The two of them got in, and Steve held his breath. The car was lovely, and the interior smelled really good. Steve didn't know what Soeur Rosie did for a living, but the Haitian MILF certainly did well for herself...
"Steve, if you keep complimenting me, you're going to make a Black woman blush, now, just call me Rosie," she said, licking her full lips. Steve nodded, and the car pulled out of One Massasoit Boulevard, and headed towards downtown Brockton. Steve remembered telling Rosie that he lived at the end of Ash Street, right before it turned into Forest Avenue, but she wasn't going there. When he inquired about that, Rosie laid her hand on his thigh, and smiled...
"You make me nervous, ma'am," Steve heard himself say, and Rosie looked him up and down and grinned. In her thirty two years upon this earth, Rosie had never met a guy who was so good-looking and smart, yet seemed so oblivious to his own qualities. For ages Rosie noticed Steve Mondesir checking her out whenever she ran into him at the Brockton Adventist Church, which was a major hub of the Brockton Haitian community. Of course, the big and tall, handsome but shy young man never did anything about it...
"Steve, my dear, you look good, and you're a young Haitian man, you are in college, you got a lot going on for you, now act like it," Rosie said, briefly taking her eyes off the road, and locking eyes with Steve. The young Haitian man nodded, and kept quiet. Noticing that the car was low on gas, Rosie pulled into a gas station on Warren Avenue, also known as Little Cape Verde by most Brockton-area people, and exited the car. Steve played around on his phone, and thought about Rosie's words. A few moments later, shouts from inside the gas station booth attracted his attention...
"Bitch, give me your purse or I'll cut you," shouted a Latino dude in a durag as he held a knife against Rosie's throat. She came running out of the booth, and this thug came after her. Sitting inside the car, Steve froze. Anger welled up within him as the thug shoved Rosie against the wall, and she looked at her assailant defiantly even while bleeding from the lip, where he'd struck her.
"You touch her again and I'll kill you," Steve shouted, as he surged from the car like a bear charging an enemy, and slammed into the Latino thug, sending him sprawling. The young Haitian nerd stood over the fallen thug, and kicked the knife away. Steve struck the other guy three times. The durag dude looked up at the towering, angry young giant who'd body-slammed him like an NFL lineman, and shook his head. Mercilessly Steve kicked him in the face, and he fell over, unconscious...
"Steve," Rosie said, and she gently laid her hand on Steve's arm. For a brief moment, Steve's eyes flashed with anger, and he didn't appear to recognize her. Taking deep, calming breaths he nodded, and Rosie talked to the gas station clerk, who called the cops. The Brockton Police came, and spoke to all parties involved. In the end, the Latino thug, Jose somebody, was taken away in a squad car, and Steve and Rosie got back in the Rav4 and left. The whole incident lasted less than half an hour...
"That was insane," Steve said, smiling and shaking his head, and Rosie looked at him. Once more, the young Haitian nerd was back to being his shy, jovial, nerdy self. Earlier, though, he turned into something akin to a lion, body-slamming the Latino thug, and he looked like he might have done more if she hadn't stopped him. In that moment when he looked at her, with the eyes of a wild animal, Rosie felt shock...and something else.
"Steve, I think you saved my life back there," Rosie said, as they pulled into Hillberg Street, deep inside the City of Brockton's quietly opulent west side. Steve looked at Rosie, and gently, tentatively brushed his fingers against her lips. They were still swollen from when the Latino thug Jose struck her. Steve's gentle touch surprised Rosie, in a good way. The young Haitian's hands were huge, like baseball mitts...
"I'm sorry you had to see that, I'm usually a very gentle person, I just don't like men who beat on women," Steve said, matter-of-factly, and when he looked at Rosie, there was an intensity in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Rosie looked at him, fascinated. A twenty-year-old, Afro-Caribbean, gentle-but-ferocious, youthful yet wise man sat in her car, and she found him puzzling...and more.
"I'm glad you feel that way, let's go to my place, we could both use a bandage or two," Rosie said, and she looked pointedly at Steve's fists, which were bruised from when he'd hit Jose the Latino thug. Steve looked at his hands and frowned, apparently surprised. Once more, his facial expression changed. Gone was the ferocity, and the assertiveness. Now, he seemed...worried.
"Damn, hope that doesn't leave a mark," Steve said, and Rosie flashed him a reassuring smile. Although she appeared calm, Rosie's mind swirled, and not just because of the harrowing attack she'd just survived. The young man in her car was someone she didn't know what to make of. From what she remembered of her psychology studies at UMass-Amherst in the early 2000s, Rosie figured that Steve might be a survivor of abuse. Such people often appeared soft and vulnerable, but with fearsome defense mechanisms...
"It won't, trust me, the worst marks are those people cannot see," Rosie said, speaking from experience. Steve looked at her, and once more, he...changed. Gone was the worry and the fear. The quiet assertiveness returned, along with a cocksure smile. Steve nodded at her, and she saw empathy in his eyes, rather than sympathy. Clearly this young Haitian man whom she saw at church every Sabbath had a lot going on...
