Black On Black Pegging Rebirth

My parents did a damn fine job brainwashing me. Seriously. A lot of people say that but I actually mean it. With every fiber of my being. My name is Amanda Joseph Saint-Cyr. I was born and raised in the City of Calgary, Province of Alberta. My father Luc Saint-Cyr is French Canadian and my mother Bella Joseph is of Haitian descent, having moved to the Province of Alberta from her hometown of Cap-Haitien, North Haiti, during the late 1980s. The first day of January 1986 I came into the world. And I've been wreaking havoc ever since. I grew up to be a six-foot-tall, fine-looking young woman with light brown skin, curly Black hair and pale green eyes. I often get mistaken for a Hispanic woman but I always tell people that I am Black. I'm a Black Canadian female. Deal with it.

In the summer of 2009 I graduated from the University of Calgary with my MBA. I tried to find decent work but 2010 ended without my finding anything in my field. I decided to explore life outside the Confederation of Canada for a while. I moved to the City of Boston, Massachusetts, and applied for a work permit. I began working for the Boston Museum of Science as a translator. Growing up in racially diverse Calgary, I was exposed to various languages ranging from French to Spanish and Portuguese. The one language my mother didn't want me to learn was Haitian Creole. I think that's part of the reason why I immersed myself in the Haitian community of Boston, Massachusetts. How I loved that fine, vibrant town. There are so many Black people in Boston, Massachusetts it's not even funny. The City of Calgary in Alberta is racially diverse but it's mostly Hispanics, Arabs and East Indians, with a few African immigrants and Afro-Caribbean people here and there. In Boston, I felt right at home.

It's in Boston that I met the young man destined become my significant other. Harrison Etienne. Second generation Haitian-American. The proud son of Haitian immigrants Cheryl and Michel Etienne. He was born and raised in the City of Boston, Massachusetts, and was attending Northeastern University's MBA program at the time we met. Something about this six-foot-one, lean and sexy Black man caught my attention as I spoke to some Portuguese tourists one fine summer day inside the Boston Museum of Science. Harrison Etienne walked into the Museum clad in a bright red silk shirt, Black silk pants and Black Timberland boots. He looked good enough to eat. I've always had a thing for tall, dark-skinned and ruggedly handsome guys. We don't have nearly enough of them in the City of Calgary and most of them are into fat White women. Seriously, there must be something in the water that Black men drink.

Anyhow, I was smitten with Harrison Etienne the moment he walked up to me. Of course, I tried to play it cool. Can't let him see that I want his fine ass. He's around six-foot-two, built like an NBA player but the Northeastern University student card hanging next to his car keys says otherwise. I've visited many schools in the Boston area, from Harvard University to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Bay State College, Emerson College, Boston College, Boston University, Gibbs College and Suffolk University. It's a University town, that's for sure. At all those schools I saw quite a few good-looking Black men. And I must say that Harrison Etienne seemed like the cream of the crop. What the hell was a fine brother like him doing unattached? I went over and introduced myself because I'm a really helpful sister. I was determined to help a brother out, as my Yankee ( that's Canadian talk for American ) friends might say.

Harrison Etienne looked me up and down, and gently shook my hand after I welcomed him to the Boston Museum of Science. Apparently, he was a civil engineering major at the prestigious Northeastern University in downtown Boston and he was working on a project. I was really helpful, even though I didn't know jack about civil engineering. I made sure I gave him my cell phone, Harrison blinked in surprise when he saw the four hundred and three area code on my cell phone. I explained to him that I had an international plan with a cell phone company in my hometown of Calgary, in the Canadian region of Alberta. In Calgary, we use four hundred and three and four hundred and eighty seven. In Boston, they've got six zero seven and seven eight one for the most part. Fascinating. That same afternoon, Harrison Etienne and I met for a few drinks. We had a lot of fun together. He was friendly, smart and totally relaxed. He had a lot of questions about Canada. To my surprise, his questions were very pertinent. He asked about the life of Black Canadian celebrities like the former Governor General, and of course the Black female Lieutenant Governor of the Province of Nova Scotia. I didn't think Americans knew anything about us Canadians. Americans live like the world is theirs and nobody else matters. Canadians seem to know more about United States history and politics than some Americans. Just to show you a thing or two about our different cultures.

Harrison Etienne further surprised me by telling me he had relatives in the City of Montreal, crown jewel of the Province of Quebec. Apparently, his maternal uncle Theodore Mathieu emigrated to the Quebec region of Canada in the 1980s. As for Harrison's parents, Cheryl and Michel Etienne, they moved to the State of Massachusetts instead. Wow. Small world. I've been to Quebec quite a few times because my father is French Canadian. It's where I learned to speak French. Unfortunately, my father never let me venture to Montreal-Nord, the Haitian sector of Montreal. Harrison asked me about my parents and I hesitated. Shall I tell him the truth?

My parents are racist as hell. My mother is one of those not so rare Black women who hate Black men with a passion and she thinks of White males as demigods and knights in shining armour. My father who is White feels deeply threatened by Black males, especially since he got passed over for a promotion which went to an African guy at the Canadian Revenue Agency in Calgary, Alberta. Dad often says negative things about Black men, and mom echoes them. My parents are racists, even though they're an interracial couple. My mother tried to raise me to see Whiteness as perfection and to loathe other Black people, especially Black males. Luckily, I had a mind of my own. I made friends with African and Afro-Caribbean students at the University of Calgary. And through them, I began getting in touch with my African roots.

I told Harrison Etienne all that, even though we just met. When I finished, he sat and listened to me in silence. Gently, he squeezed my hand and promised me everything would be alright. I looked into his beautiful brown eyes and I knew then that I was in the presence of my future hubby. Harrison and I began hanging out all over Boston. He showed me the beauty of his hometown, and the friendliness of its people. Canadians aren't as friendly as Americans. One good thing about you Yanks, you're more honest. If you like someone, you tell them. If you hate them, you tell them too. In Canada, we're cruel and bigoted but we're awfully polite about it. I experienced a lot of racism in Calgary, birthplace of the Redneck Canadian Movement. Of course, my parents tried to steer me toward White folks but I silently vowed to only love other people of color. I dated Black guys throughout high school and university, much to the dismay of my parents. Speaking of Black guys, I really wanted Harrison. Unfortunately, he didn't seem interested in me. What the fuck?

Harrison and I were really cool, but I knew there was something strange about him. One night, he told me. And I was shocked. My dream guy told me he was bisexual. As in, attracted to both women and men. As in, NOT straight. What the fuck? I was crushed. Of course, I hid my disappointment and despair behind a placid smile. Harrison told me that he'd been aware of his bisexuality for a while, but never explored it. At the age of twenty three, he'd only been with five women and no men. I winced at that. Wow. I thought a hot guy like him would be banging a different woman every weekend. Harrison told me he cared for me, that's why he told me his secret. Looking into his puppy-like eyes, I felt for him so I gave him a hug. Inside, I seethed. Every Black man I fall for is always queer, married, or into White women. What the fuck?

Harrison and I grew closer together, and I struggled to accept him for who and what he was. A tall, gorgeous and educated Black man who considered himself bisexual. Damn. When we walked together through malls, restaurants and clubs in Boston, women looked at us. I knew they were envious. I was walking around with a seriously hot Black guy. However, inside, I was crushed. The man I was falling for could never be mine. Or could he? One night, I put the moves on Harrison. After getting him properly liquored up, of course. We both had a bit to drink, and ended up making out on my couch.

Harrison's lips were gentle but firm against mine. I had kissed him before but never like this. I wanted him so badly. Harrison gasped when I went for his dick. I shushed him and told him to relax. Then I knelt before him and took his dick in my mouth. His long and thick, uncircumcised dick. Harrison groaned as I sucked him off. Gay, bisexual or straight, a dick is a dick. And I'm the kind of woman who gives a mean head. I stroked Harrison's balls while sucking him. A sharp groan escaped his lips and he warned me that he was about to cum. And cum he did. All over my mouth. I didn't mind. His manly essence tasted magically delicious to this hungry sister.

I put a condom on Harrison's dick and climbed on top of him. And just like that, I began riding him. Harrison wrapped his arms around me and buried his handsome face between my big, firm breasts. He thrust into me with all his might. So this is the man who thinks he's gay or bisexual? From where I'm standing, he's all man. Harrison's big cock filled my pussy and I squealed in delight as he fucked me passionately. I wanted more and begged him for it. He put me on all fours, spanked my ass and fucked me. I told him to pull my hair and he did. This was Harrison at his most aggressive and I loved it. My man is so hot! We fucked and sucked the night away, ladies and gentlemen. I don't know what Harrison is. Maybe he's a confused straight guy with some sexual curiosity about the other side. Or maybe he's truly bisexual. Whatever the case might be, he tore my pussy up and I loved it. And I definitely need an encore!

After that night, things changed between Harrison and I forever. Initially, he felt guilty about sleeping with me but I told him I cared for him and wanted a relationship. He was stunned to discover that I wanted to be with him even though he was bisexual. I shrugged. Isn't it up to me as a Black woman to decide whether or not I want to be with a bisexual brother? Harrison smiled and kissed me. The following night, I decided to surprise my new boyfriend. When Harrison returned to his dorm after a late class, he found me naked on his bed with a strap-on dildo about my waist. I stroked it gently, and told him to come join me. Harrison hesitated, but I sternly told him to get his ass on the bed. Obediently he did as he was told. I smiled wickedly. This was going to be fun.

Face down and ass up, that's I took Harrison. Initially he was nervous because he'd never had anything up his ass before. Well, this was my first time fucking a man with a strap-on dildo. I was nervous too but I'm a confident woman so it doesn't show. I lubricated Harrison's asshole, and pressed the dildo against his backdoor. I asked him if he was ready for me and he said yes. Grinning, I playfully smacked his ass before sliding the dildo into his well-lubricated ass. Harrison groaned as I penetrated him. I asked him if he was okay and he nodded. I continued fucking him, happily sliding the strap-on dildo into the depths of his asshole. I really enjoyed fucking him. The feeling of power was downright intoxicating. My pussy was wet the entire time. Judging by Harrison's pleasurable moans, he was enjoying himself too. I flipped him on his back so I could look at his face while fucking him. And it was pure perfection. Looking into his eyes and drinking the look of surrender in them while slamming his ass with my strap-on dildo. Hot!

Afterwards, Harrison had tears in his eyes as he hugged me tightly, kissed me and proclaimed his love for me. Am I good or what? Yep, that was the firs t time I 'strapped' my man. It was definitely not the last. Harrison and I are doing quite well. We recently got engaged. He filed for me to become a permanent resident of the United States of America. Isn't that awesome? I'm thinking of staying in Boston. Nothing left for me in Calgary, Alberta. My racist parents be damned. I'm the daughter of a Black mother and White father, and I consider myself one hundred percent Black. Oh, and I love my Black men. The darker the better. Just ask my fiancé Harrison here. Oh, sorry. He's still sleeping on account of the punishment I dished out on his ass with my strap earlier. I'm a passionate woman, what can I say?