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 People with outdated attitudes toward racial relations need to get with the program.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.
The town of Brockton is actually that rare New England city where someone like me can feel comfortable. The town has about one hundred thousand people. Fifty two percent of them are of African-American, Hispanic or Asian descent. Yeah, minorities are the majority in the city of Brockton. I'm forty right now. Before I'm sixty, minorities will be the majority in America. I call this progress. Out with alabaster and in with the rainbow. Two years ago, we nearly elected a Black gay man as our Mayor. I supported this unique candidate, but conservatives of all stripes rejected him. That's too bad because he was a smart guy with good ideas. I don't know why Brockton rejected him. He would have been a great mayor. At least he'd clean up the spot. Brockton is a messed up town in more ways than one, but I don't want to live anywhere else.
Recently, I met a sexy young Black man who made my blood simply boil. A tall and kind of chubby but still good-looking young Black man named Steve. He recently returned home from the Iraq War and now works as manager of a nice family restaurant. He also attends some private college in Boston. I ran into him at Westgate Mall. I guess you could say we hit it off. I really wanted a piece of Steve. I haven't gotten laid in a while. He was a real gentleman and took me out for a meal. Took me to the movies, too. We saw that science fiction flick where aliens land in South Africa. I liked Steve. I wanted to jump his bones right then and there but he insisted on doing it at his place.
Steve lived in a nice apartment in Brockton's quietly affluent West Side. Lots of well-to-do African-American, Asian, Hispanic and Caucasian families live in that area. I can't afford to live there because I make four hundred bucks a week and use half of my monthly wages for rent and the rest for basic living. I felt mighty uncomfortable walking through Brockton's west side with Steve. Lots of rich white folks live in Brockton's west side. Contrarily to what you might think, they don't like the likes of me. They consider me white trash. Steve was definitely a member of the growing upper middle class. His father George is a big-shot lawyer and his mother Martha is a professor at some private school in Milton. His brother Larry is a policeman. His sister is some corporate executive. When he told me that, I was a bit surprised. Not because he is a Black man who came from a solid background but because folks with money usually aren't all that nice. They treat folks like me like dirt. To me, a rich person is a bad seed. The kind of person who usually don't bother looking at me. They consider poor chicks like me to be inferior. I've met stuck-up rich folks of all colors. And I didn't like any of them. Steve was okay by me, though. I ended up falling in love all over again.
