Kelly Tomboy Goddess Of Nepean

"Oh shit," I said to myself as I felt something hard poke me in the small of my back as I stood in front of the store, doing guard duty. The Super Store located near Baseline Road in the Nepean sector of Ottawa has a reputation for being quite sketchy, hence why the security company sent my six-foot-three, beefy and dark-skinned self to work there. I've stared down a lot of bad apples, and figured one of them might have come back to send a brother to Hades, if you catch my drift.

"Gotcha, Stefan, you so totally fell for it," said Kelly Coleman, and I turned around to see a five-foot-ten, bodacious and simply ravishing brunette with mischievous dark eyes looking me up and down. Damn this woman, I thought, as I smiled in spite of myself. When you have a well-deserved reputation as a prankster like I do, people tend to try to get back at you. Comes with the territory, I guess.

Usually, most people fail miserably because I can see their bullshit coming a mile away. Kelly succeeded because, well, prior to sneaking behind me and poking me in the small of my back, she sent me a picture text guaranteed to distract any red-blooded human male. Seriously, if you saw that picture of Kelly's spectacular ass in black Yoga pants, taken in front of a bathroom mirror, you'd understand.

"Blindsided by a booty shot, you sure know a Haitian brother's weakness," I replied, sighing deeply and Kelly looked at me, and flashed me that fearless smile that I liked, no, loved so damn much. I guess those psychology classes at Algonquin College really paid off for the lovely Miss Coleman. Kelly smiled back, and seemed about to say something when the sound of a throat clearing snatched us out of the, ahem, moment, as it were.

"Ahem, Miss Coleman, we're short on cashiers, could you please go to cash fifteen?" said one of the store's seemingly endless list of managers, a stocky, bald-headed white dude named Rod. The bozo looked at Kelly and I, and I swear, disapproval rolled off of him in waves. Lots of middle-aged white dudes seem to have a problem with brothers talking to white chicks, I guess.

"Sorry, Stefan, got to run," Kelly said, and she gently touched my arm before taking off. Rod looked at me, shook his head, and then walked away. Dude went to bug the gals working in the bakery, for it's part of his managerial duties to make people working at the Super Store feel bad. Nobody likes Rod, I swear. Since I'm a security guard contracted out to the Super Store by my company, I don't directly fall under Rod's command, and this irks him.

Why am I putting up with all of this? Well, I'm in my final year at Carleton University, and I can't tell you how excited I am to graduate. I've been at Carleton since September 2011 and I'm dying to get out with my Law degree. The only snag is that I owe the school a couple of grand, which I must pay before they hand me that glorified piece of paper.

Most students have like six months after their graduation day to start paying back their student loans, but since I'm a brother from the island of Haiti and not a Canadian citizen, I don't have that luxury. Long story short? I came to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, a few years back. The circumstances that brought me here were, ahem, on the dire side but I'm glad to be here.

My paternal aunt Martha Pierrot who lives in Kanata, Ontario, sent for me after the 2010 Earthquake which devastated the island of Haiti, where I was born. I'd like to think that I've adjusted nicely to life in Canada. I have a work permit and a study permit along with a social insurance card and a provincial health card, but I'm not a Canadian citizen. I've applied for permanent resident status, though. Wish me luck, eh?

Why am I telling you all this? Simply because I want you to understand the situation that I'm in. Years ago, I saw myself leading a very different life. Canada wasn't even on my horizon, but fate brought me to this place. I want to build something here. A new life. And I want Kelly Coleman to be part of that life. We met a few months ago at the Super Store, and while we butted heads at first, I found myself falling for her. Kelly, the tall, nerdy white chick who speaks fluent French, loves comic books and superhero movies, and has a soft spot for yours truly.

"Hey, meet me at Mucho Burrito at one o'clock," read a text message from Kelly, accompanied by a smiley face. I smiled and answered in the affirmative, then quickly tucked my cell phone away. The Super Store is one of the most treacherous workplaces in the world. Behind the phoney smiles, a ton of drama. The associates and the customer service managers hate each other, and tattle on each other like school chums. I honestly don't want any part of their politics. As a security guard, I'm stuck in the middle. Welcome to my life.

"Sounds good to me, K.C." I added, and then went back to my daily routine of pretending to be interested in the customers entering and exiting the dreaded Super Store. My job is boring ninety nine percent of the time. When the buzzers at the front door beep, it usually means something fishy is going on and I have to ask the person departing the store for his or her receipt.

Most of the customers are polite about it, but some, mainly old white dudes, seem to get mad as hell when I ask them for their proof of purchase. It's almost as if being challenged by a young black man in a security uniform irks them. I don't do racial politics. I'm just doing my job. Black or white, male or female, if you beep while exiting the store, I will stop you. Got it? Cool.

Finally, it's one o'clock and I tell Joel, the old greeter that I'm going on break. I grab my coat and rush out of the Super Store, cross the parking lot and then enter the Mucho Burrito restaurant. The plump redhead working behind the counter looks at me, a dour expression on her face. I check my cell. Should I wait for Kelly or order right away? I sigh, and then decide to order.

"Large shrimp burrito sandwich and a lemonade please," I say to the redhead, and she makes it, then rings the cash. I take out my MBNA Mastercard, and then pay. As I finish paying, Kelly walks in. clad in a black tank top, black Yoga pants and black leather boots, Kelly is smoking hot. It's cold outside but my gal can handle it. Unlike me. I'm a tropical dude, I got to bundle up to face the Ontario winter.

"Hmm, smells good," Kelly says, and she greets me with a kiss on the lips. Just a quick peck, but it nearly causes me to drop my tray. Luckily I've got good reflexes. As I speak to Kelly, I notice the redhead looking at us from behind the counter, a mixture of surprise and revulsion on her face. In Ottawa, people are quite racist but passive aggressive about it. Me? I'm the opposite. If I don't like you, I won't hide it. I'm not fake.

"Is everything alright?" I ask the redhead, and she flashes that fake smile I've grown used to receiving from Ottawa people, and shakes her head, then mumbles something about waiting for her co-worker who's on a smoke break. As if on cue, a skinny white dude wearing an apron comes in, and walks behind the counter after giving Kelly and I a weird look.

"I'll have what he's having," Kelly says to the redhead, and the skinny guy goes to the back of the restaurant. Kelly takes out her RBC debit card to pay but I stop her. Seriously, I got it. I'm an old-fashioned guy born and raised on the island of Haiti. Where I come from, guys don't usually let women pay for stuff. It's simply not our way. Canadians guys weird me out, man. One time I was at a gas station and I saw a dude stay in the car while his wife or girlfriend pumped gas. That stuff shocked me more than the high-tech stuff I recently saw in Star Wars.

"So, I've been thinking, we should totally go see Batman V. Superman," I say to Kelly, and she grins while taking a bite out of her shrimp burrito. I used to think I was the world's biggest nerd, until I met Kelly. This chick is seriously into costume play and has a ton of pictures of her dressed like Wonder Woman, or Catwoman, or even Xena Warrior Princess on her Facebook. I, um, admit to looking at them a lot...late at night.

"Hmmm, only if you agree to dress up as John Stewart's Green Lantern while I go as Hawk Girl," Kelly says, and then she lays her hand on my thigh and I gasp in shock. Even after living in Canada for six years, it never ceases to amaze me, how freaky some of these Canadian ladies are. Keep in mind that I grew up in a small town on the outskirts of Port-Au-Prince, Haiti, and my people are, ahem, conservative. Kelly is a wild woman and I can't get enough of her.

"Yes ma'am," I manage to squeak as Kelly caresses the bulge in my pants. Kelly abruptly got up, and headed to the washroom, and then, as she walked past the restaurant counter, she shot me a look. It's the let's-get-busy look, for those of you who don't know such things. I wait exactly one minute then leave my coat and backpack at the table, and tell the redhead that I've got to get something in my nonexistent car.

"No problem, sir," the redhead gal replies absentmindedly while checking out something in her cell phone. I knock on the door of the women's room, and it swings open, and I behold Kelly, minus her tank top. Her creamy white breasts stare at me, and my hands go up and reach out for them. Kelly bats my hands away, and I blink in surprise. Um, what the fuck?

"Stefan Pierrot, this is a quickie," Kelly says, cocking an eyebrow, and I grin as she yanks down her Yoga pants, revealing her hairy dark bush. Licking her lips, Kelly locks eyes with me and tells me to blow her. I grin and fall to my knees, and inhale the scent of Kelly's cunt. Just like that, I began licking her pussy as Kelly leans against the washroom wall, a wicked grin on her lovely face.

I love going down on a woman, and I especially love the way Kelly smells and tastes down below. Kelly moans as I slid my fingers into her pussy, and I tease her clit with my thumb while licking her cunt. I've got my sweetie right where I wanted her. Seeing her moan and writhe like this turns me on like you would not believe. My lady is clearly enjoying herself. As I start getting into the swing of things, Kelly taps me on the head, a gesture I find supremely annoying, and I look up at her.

"What's up?" I ask, and Kelly grins and tells me to get up. I do as I am told, for I, um like it when she's bossy like that. Kelly reaches for my crotch, and I unzip my pants, freeing my dick. Kelly strokes it, and then pulls a condom out of the sleeve of her blue work shirt. I am amazed at her sneakiness, seriously. What can I say? My Kelly is all that!

"You know what to do," Kelly says coyly, and I roll the condom on my dick, and close in on her. Time to do the do, as they say. Kelly leans against the washroom sink and turns around, and I smile as her big, creamy white ass stares at me. I gently caress it, and give it a little slap. Kelly groans impatiently and presses her ass against my groin. I slide my dick into her pussy with a swift thrust, and just like that, we're one. I grip Kelly's hips as I began fucking her.

"Oh j'adore ton derriere," I whisper in Kelly's ear, and I watch our reflections in the washroom mirror. Kelly's breasts are swaying from side to side as we fuck, and instead of screaming, her lips quiver, and she backs that ass up, grinding against me. I thrust into her, loving the feel of her tight pussy on my dick. Hard and fast we go at it, until I get my nut. A knock at the door causes me to gasp, and I pull away from Kelly. We smile at each other as we hastily put our clothes back on.

"I got this," I say to Kelly, then I yell "occupied" to whatever bozo is outside the door. I hear a deep sigh, and then the sound of departing footsteps. I count to three, then exit, and then, noticing that the coast is clear, I gesture for Kelly to come out. Kelly looks at me, and smiles. I hastily kiss her on the lips, and then, like the prankster I am, come up with a plan.

"Go back to our table, I'll see you in a few," I whisper, and I exit through Mucho Burrito's backdoor, and walk around before returning to the front. While outside, I took my house keys out of my pocket, and shake them as I come in. For all intents and purposes, I look like a man who just checked out something in his car. The redhead at the counter is still checking out her cell phone, and a large, middle-aged white dude is complaining to her about some dude taking forever in the men's washroom.

"Sorry, man, some people take forever," I say to the old dude, who pays for his food, grabs it and leaves. Dude has no idea I'm the one behind his misery. Oh, well. Hope he doesn't piss himself. I return to our table with a smile on my face, and Kelly looks at me, grins and shakes her head. I reach for her hand and give it a gentle squeeze, and then just like that we resume our meal. Kelly is looking at me intensely, and I look at her innocently, like only an incorrigible prankster can.

"You're so naughty, Stefan, this coming weekend, swear I'm going to fuck you so hard your dick might break," Kelly whispers, and I nod, shrug and lean in for a kiss. As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, I am addicted to this young woman. Kelly Coleman, a tall, awkward yet gorgeous and spirited young woman from small-town Ontario has stolen my heart. I can't get enough of her.

"Promises, promises," I reply to Kelly, and playfully slap her ass as we exit Mucho Burrito. We've finished our lunch, and then walk back into the Super Store. Kelly goes to the back room, where she's going to single-headedly drag heavy stuff in a trolley that most of the store crewmen can't manage by myself. Oh yeah, my lady is quite strong. It's one of the many things I love about her. I stand guard at the front, and a bunch of old white folks, the type who like to approach minorities and inquire about their national origin, come near me. For once, I'm actually smiling. Yup, I am having a good day and nothing can get me down.