I've always been attracted to men who aren't really dangerous men yet still project that kind of image. I guess it's about the allure, after all. The masculine edge thing. The really manly men always seem a little bit dangerous. I like that. Maybe that's why I've got a thing for Black men. They're so hot, strong and manly. Doesn't matter if they're five-foot-tall or seven-feet-tall, they carry themselves like warriors and kings. I simply love that about Black men. White men don't interest me. Never have, never will. I just don't find the white males attractive. And I don't hide it. White female friends of mine don't like for my preferences in male companionship and I flip them the bird. I can't stand bigots of any gender. I'm against racism of all types, and I'm very much a supporter of interracial relationships.
The way I see it, people love who they love. Color shouldn't matter. Black women date white men. Black men date white women. Asian men date Black women. Asian women date Black men. Hell, some Black men date white men. It's all good. Whatever floats your boat. The President of America is the son of a Black man and a white woman. The Governor of Massachusetts is a Black man. The Governor of New York is a Black man. The leader of the Republican Party is a Black man. The Attorney General is a Black man. See what I mean? People with outdated attitudes toward racial relations need to get with the program. Or quit bugging the rest of us progressive people. Especially if they're racially biased cops or crooked politicians with too much power in their greedy hands. Someone should vote these clowns out of office. Let people live their lives how they want to do it. Love is love. It's about who the person is, not the color of his or her skin.
My name is Amy Rosenthal. A five-foot-ten, busty and kind of plump, big-bottomed and blonde-haired Jewish chick living in the city of Brockton, Massachusetts. A 250-pound mama who can't get enough of life's twisted experiences. Just an average chubby gal living in America. My life isn't easy. Never has been. I lost eighty five percent of the vision in my left eye due to an accident when I was in trade school. Some dumb Irish cop was stopping a fight between two drunken cheerleaders and some jock. Yeah, that's when he whirled his baton toward my face. Talk about painful. That's the last thing I saw clearly with my left eye. It's not a visible flaw, though. It's an internal thing. The doctors say it's an optic thing. Whatever that means. Most folks don't find out about this condition of mine unless I tell them. I never tell them. Not because I'm ashamed but because I don't think it's anybody's damn business.
I'm a community college student working at the local fast food joint. Down in Brockton's East Side. Not far from where the old Blockbuster video store used to be. I live in an apartment building owned by Miss Brown, a well-to-do Black lady and her family. I have lots of African-American, Cape Verdean and Mexican friends. And I'm also the mother of a mixed-race son named Jason Wayne. My family turned their backs on me because I loved a Black man named Jeffrey and I turned my back on the rest of my family for being racists. Don't need nothing from them. I'm raising my son alone, according to my rules. He's not cut and I'm glad to do away with these ancient rules. Jeffrey Wayne, my son's biological father is married to an Asian gal named Miko. Jeffrey's a good man and he takes good care of his son. We're still in good terms even though he's with someone else. That's okay. I accept it now. Some relationships just weren't meant to last.
