Catalina Saint Vincent is my name. I'm a five-foot-eleven, quite curvy and delicious big-bottomed young Black woman of Haitian-American and Puerto Rican descent living in the city of Brockton, Massachusetts. Many people accuse me of being naïve because I've led a somewhat sheltered life. That's not true. I'm the most down to earth and realistic person you will ever meet. My father Raymond Saint Vincent moved to the United States of America from Haiti when he was nineteen. Like a lot of young Black men and Black women living in the Republic of Haiti at the time, he moved to America during the late 1970s to escape the then-reigning President Duvalier's paramilitary dictatorship. He's now a respected tax attorney in South Boston and the senior partner of a firm which employs thirty five attorneys.
My mother Helen Santiago is of Puerto Rican and African descent. She's a Professor of Literature at UMass-Boston. We live in a nice mansion in Brockton's quiet West Side. Ours is an affluent yet nicely integrated neighborhood. Our immediate neighbors are Jews, African-Americans, Polish-Americans, Mexican-Americans, Haitians, Jamaicans and Cape Verdeans. Mine is the oldest family on the block. My parents moved here decades ago. I have an older brother and an older sister. My brother Eric is a police officer in nearby Milton, where he lives with his wife Anna and their two sons, Gregory and Stuart. My sister Marguerite attends Wellesley College. We do alright for ourselves. I consider myself very lucky and I'm thankful to have such a wonderful family.
I have some wonderful news to share with you. The best news a young lesbian could have. I've won the heart of my beloved Amelia Jean-Baptiste, the woman I've been in love with since forever. Sometimes, you meet someone and just fall in love with them right away. I had just graduated high school when my mother Helen's old friend Amelia Jean-Baptiste came for a visit. She moved to Brockton after divorcing her husband Jake O'Shea and leaving the wealthy Black enclave of Oak Bluffs in Martha's Vineyard forever. Amelia Jean-Baptiste was a striking lady. Six feet tall, lean, with dark brown skin, short Black hair and pale gray eyes. A gorgeous gal of African-American and Irish descent. She met my mother Helen during their freshman year at Pine Manor College, more than twenty years ago. They've been real good friends since those days.
Amelia Jean-Baptiste took a teaching position at Zulu College, a historically Black private school located in the heart of Boston. The school was founded in 1981 by local civil rights activists and philanthropists and named after King Shaka Zulu, the legendary leader of the Zulu Kingdom who fought for the cause of Black Independence in South Africa during the 1800s. My parents were stunned when I decided to attend a historically Black school. I had acceptance letters from Boston College, Boston University, Northeastern University, Bridgewater State College and Curry College. I've been attending rich white schools my whole life. In college, I wanted to be surrounded by my own people. Zulu College appealed to me. An accredited school with a student body of eight thousand persons, offering associates, bachelors and masters degrees in seventy fields.
This goes to show you that Black people can accomplish great things, even though racist individuals and their nefarious institutions continue trying to slow us down. They're not relenting. Especially now that a Black man is President of America, and we have Black Governors in the states of New York and Massachusetts. Whites will be minorities in America before I'm old enough to retire. Diversity is here to stay. I wish those backwards fools would get with the program. Oh, well. All I can do is live my life and try to excel.
I've wanted to attend a Black school for as long as I can remember. However, what really bothers me is that many talented Black students value the rich white schools over the sturdy and resilient, academically challenging worlds of the HBCU. In case you don't know, HBCU stands for historically Black college or university. Top notch schools like Morehouse College, Howard University, Spelman College and Alabama State University are prime examples of what an HBCU can be. The men and women attending these schools are bright scholars. Let no one tell you otherwise. Zulu College welcomed me with open arms. At long last, I was among my own kind. Other talented young Black men and women pursuing higher education.
Zulu College's campus was pretty neat, and lively. African-American students make up seventy three percent of the student body. Native Americans, Caucasians, Asians and Hispanics make up the remaining twenty seven percent. Not bad. I could live with those demographics. The campus was so charming. Everyone was so friendly. I visited the twelve-floor-library, the four cafeterias, the four administration buildings and the eighteen classroom buildings. What really impressed me were the athletic facilities. The football stadium could house a small city! Zulu College student-athletes competed in men's and women's Basketball, men's and women's Swimming, men's and women's Lacrosse, men's and women's Soccer, women's Field Hockey, women's Rugby, men's and women's Tennis, men's and women's Cross Country, men's Football, women's Volleyball and men's and women's Track & Field. I decided to sign up for the women's Lacrosse team. I played Lacrosse in high school and I was good at it. Why not give it a shot in college?
There were a lot of pretty young Black women at the school. Makes sense since Zulu College used to be an all-female school until 1999. That's when the board of directors voted to admit male students in an effort to boost lagging enrollment trends. A decade later, men make up forty eight percent of the student body. I'm glad to see lots of brothers on campus, but I'm all about the sisters. Especially the hot ones. Hey, I'm a lesbian, alright? You got that? Cool. Would you believe who my Introduction to Political Oratory professor was? None other than Amelia Jean-Baptiste, my mother's old friend.
The first time I saw her on campus, professor Amelia Jean-Baptiste looked good enough to eat. She totally killed it in a red silk shirt, Black silk pants and sexy high-heels the first day of classes. Hot damn. The sight of that woman made me get hot in funny places. There were eleven women and nine men in the class. The chicks looked okay. Two of the sisters, Monique and Isabel, looked hot. Robin, the only white chick in the class was alright. Ramona, a feisty Latin mama, looked very sexy. Especially with those short skirts she liked to wear. However, no one caught my attention like professor Amelia Jean-Baptiste. I don't know how I could have missed it but she had one hell of a booty on her. Thick and round, just the way I liked them. I had only one question. Was she down for my kind of action?
It's no secret that young Black lesbians like myself have a serious Jones for mature Black women. Seriously. I've got several Black female friends who are gay and bisexual and like me, they think older Black women are hot. My parents still don't know I'm a lesbian. Even though I got pictures of Black female celebrities like Ashanti, Beyonce Knowles, Lisaraye McCoy, Elise Neal, Pam Grier, Janet Jackson, Regina Hall, Drew Sidora, Candace Parker, Gabrielle Union, Vivica A. Fox, Gina Torres, Alicia Keys and Sanaa Lathan all over my bedroom wall. All of these are fine Black women whose images haunt my dreams. I love watching them on TV. Hell yeah. Can't take my eyes off them.
Professor Amelia Jean-Baptiste definitely fell into that category of super-hot Black mamas who haunt young Black dykes dreams. And I was determined to have her for myself. How did I do it? Oh, I basically began to stalk her. And she never knew what hit her. I'm cute, and I look innocent. I've got big doe eyes and I'm oh-so charming. And with a big butt too. People never see me coming. Even though I've been a top scholar my entire life, I led professor Amelia Jean-Baptiste to believe that I needed some extra attention. I'd show up at her office during office hours, and we'd have a little chat. She was friendly, and charming.
Little by little, I learned tidbits about who Amelia Jean-Baptiste was. She recently got divorced, and had apparently sworn off men. Hmm. I hear a lot of straight women say that. As a lesbian, it pisses me off royally because they almost never mean it. They bitch about men for a while, then they meet some hunk and can't wait to get into his pants. Yeah. Amelia was in a bit of a vulnerable spot at the moment. Her divorce had taken its toll on her. She still carried some emotional wounds, deep inside. I have this amazing ability for spotting people's weaknesses and then zeroing in on them like a shark sniffing blood. I knew exactly what Amelia Jean-Baptiste. She needed to feel strong, outgoing and in control again. People usually feel strong when they meet someone who requires their strength. It reasserts their sense of superiority. Whether Amelia realized it or not, she needed someone hot, inexperienced and naïve. I've been around the block quite a few times but I can still play naïve newcomer. And if that's what she needs, then that's what I will be for her.