A Bisexual Haitian Tale

Something about a big woman simply gets me really hot. I don’t know if you understand what I mean. Most guys don’t feel the way I do. I see all these guys out there checking out skinny women and I shake my head because there’s almost nothing a skinny chick can offer me. I like my chicks a little bit on the thick side, if you know what I mean. I have been this way ever since I was a young man.

When I discovered the Internet, I started looking for sexual images of the ladies that I desired. Big beautiful women. Whenever I went online and had some privacy, I’d check them out. I loved watching big women of all colors going at it with men and other women. This special interest of mine went way beyond online curiosity. I checked out large women openly. Unfortunately, my buddies didn’t feel the same way. I didn’t care. I love watching big black women especially. Something about a big woman with some flesh on her bones and a really large behind really gets me going. With that being said, I set out to indulge myself.

I went out to this club one night, and I made sure that I was dressed fine. I’m a chocolate-skinned Haitian-American brother, standing six feet two inches tall and weighing exactly 245 pounds. I’m a big man myself. People call me Big Sam. It’s short for Samuel. I went to the club and I checked out the local scene. I noticed a really fine-looking chick and her friend. I checked them out. The fine-looking chick was Hispanic, tall and slender, with black hair and bronze skin. I heard somebody call her Monica. Monica was what many men would consider really beautiful but my attention was mostly focused on her friend. Nothing against skinny chicks but I like something I can hold, if you know what I mean.

Monica’s friend was a sister. A tall, dark-skinned woman with short hair. She was well-dressed, and looked good. She was also on the thick side. Like Queen Latifah. Many guys who saw her would have thought she was pretty, especially in the face, but they would have overlooked her. Not me. To me, she was glorious. I saw her sitting at the bar by herself, while her friend was chatting with some white guy. I sat next to her and started conversation. I learned that her name was Nicole Saint Joseph. Nicole was a Haitian girl, twenty years old and living in Brighton, Massachusetts. She was studying Business Administration at the University of Boston. I told her a little bit about me. She was really interesting to talk to.

I’m not the kind of guy who is very comfortable when talking to the ladies. I used to be a shy man, in another life. Talking to Nicole was so easy. I felt really comfortable around her, for some reason. If you had seen us talking, you never would have believed that we had just met. Maybe it’s because we were both of Haitian origin. I told her about my dream of one day becoming a police officer. I had already earned myself an Associate’s degree in Criminal Justice. I’d get my Bachelor’s degree someday and then head to the Massachusetts state police academy in New Braintree. Nicole seemed fascinated by what I had to say. She seemed to be really paying attention and asked some interesting questions. As the night went by, I learned more about her. I can tell you that I liked what I found out.

I hadn’t met a woman this interesting in a long time. I asked her to dance and she smiled and told me that she had two left feet. I didn’t care. I’m not exactly an expert dancer but I really wanted to dance with her. So I insisted. She nodded and took my hand. We started dancing on the dance floor. I must admit that the girl had some pretty good moves. Haitian people love dancing. It’s in our blood, thanks to our African ancestors. We absolutely love it. Nicole and I were no exceptions. We danced the night away. When the night ended, she slipped me her number. I didn’t even have to ask. I smiled to myself and pocketed it. She left with her friend, and I headed back to my apartment. I had a big smile on my face.

That was a nice night, wasn’t it? Yeah. I went back to my dorm, at Emerson College. I couldn’t stop thinking about Nicole Saint Joseph. The girl was cool. The next day in class, I typed her name in Google. You wouldn’t believe what I found out. Nicole Saint Joseph was the daughter of Haitian businessman Nicolas Saint Joseph. Mr. Saint Joseph made a fortune by selling valuable Haitian artifacts to wealthy Americans who collected Caribbean art. I was impressed. Nicole’s father wasn’t her sole claim to fame. She was also a member of Boston University’s new, all-girl wrestling team. I checked out some of her stats online. She was listed as being five feet ten inches tall and she wrestled in the 215 pounds weight class. Also, she was one of the team captains. Well, if I was mildly impressed before, I was really impressed now.

I waited the mandatory three days and then I called Nicole. She picked up. She was surprised to hear me. Why was she surprised? She was a fine sister and I definitely wanted to know more about her! I asked her out on a date. She seemed hesitant. I insisted, and she accepted. I made a date with her inside the Food Court at Copley Mall. She showed up dressed in a black shirt and blue jeans. The girl looked damn sexy to me. Those jeans accented every curve in her body. Not for the first time I noticed that she had a really sexy butt. The kind of butt that many chicks in the hood possess. A bubble butt. Man, when I saw her, I was almost drooling. You can’t blame me for this, people. If you had seen her, you would have reacted the same way. I smiled and greeted her, then we headed to the Court to get something to eat.

We sat down at the center of the room and started talking. I had ordered some Chinese food and she had ordered some Mexican dishes. I offered to pay, of course, but she insisted on splitting it. I was a bit hesitant when she did that. Gentlemen, when you go on a date with a female, many times she will offer to pay, knowing that you won’t let her. It’s a mind game they play with you. Yet for some reason, I felt that she wasn’t like that. I let her split the bill with me and we sat down and ate. She told me about her life.

Nicole had lived in Haiti all of her life and had only been in the United States for a couple of years. She loved the city of Boston. She loved her new school. She also loved wrestling. She told me that she got interested in the sport way back in Haiti. She had two large older brothers who loved to play rough games with her so she loved contact sports. When she got accepted at Boston University, she joined their all-girl wrestling team. This was her third year on the team. She had twenty victories and five losses this season. She hoped to win the state championship someday.

I told her about my tough classes at Emerson College. Most of the Criminal Justice teachers were ex-cops and lawyers. Tough people. They never cut me any slack. I had five classes in total. Three years ago, I’d gotten accepted at Emerson on an academic scholarship. I had to maintain a GPA of three point three or more in order to keep it. Anything below that would cost me my chance and probably ruin my education. Nicole loved listening to me as I spoke. I found it quite easy to speak to her. I didn’t know why. Maybe it’s because she was a BBW and I loved those type of women. Or maybe it’s because she was a tomboy. I don’t know. For whatever the reason, she was easy to talk to. Also, a whole lot of fun. The girl had some jokes. I had a great time!

This is how it all began. We started dating. It was fun, in the beginning. I couldn’t get enough of this girl. Sometimes, she visited me at the dorm at Emerson. Other times, I took the train to Boston University and we chilled there. I met some of her friends. They were alright. One of her pals was a really cool guy named Matthew Blake. Matthew Blake was a tall, olive-skinned young man. He was the son of Arthur Blake, coach of the Boston University Women’s Wrestling team. Matt Blake was also a wrestler. He’d won the state championship for Boston University’s Men’s Wrestling team in the 235-pound weight class last year. I was impressed. Nicole’s other friends were interesting as well. Let’s see, who else? There’s Ricardo Sanchez, a tall and burly Mexican-American football player and also Nancy Ramirez, a biracial girl who was also the star player of the Boston University Women’s Soccer team. Man, I was impressed with Nicole, her lifestyle and her friends. I wish I knew more people like that.

I felt like my life was finally going right, you know. I was a young Black man in college headed toward a brilliant future in the field of Criminal Justice. I wanted to get out there and make a difference. I also wanted my parents to be proud of me. Franklin and Eleanor, my beloved parents, lived in Haiti. Sometimes, they visited me in Massachusetts. They were working very hard to pay for my college education. I was very grateful for that. My classes were going well. Many guys say that when they’re dating a girl, they get distracted from their academic priorities and their grades suffered. It was the reverse for me. I studied hard all week and aced my classes. I spent my weekends with Nicole and enjoyed every moment that we spent together. That’s how it was for me. I was doing fine in school. Soon I would have my college degree in my hand. I also had a wonderful young woman in my life. So what was wrong?

What was wrong indeed? I am not quite sure how to tell you this. Ever since I was a teenager, I had these feelings that I was struggling with. Before I tell you anything about them, I want to make something clear as crystal. I am not gay. I am a young man who loves women. I’ve always loved women. I wasn’t raised to be a homosexual. Yet for some reason, I had certain feelings whenever I was around certain guys. I didn’t know what to do about them. Most of you won’t understand this. I felt like it was eating me up inside. On one hand, I liked girls. I checked girls out all the damn time. On the other hand, sometimes at night I had these dreams about other guys. I didn’t tell anyone about this. I felt ashamed and I wanted it to stop. Unfortunately, there seemed to be nothing I could do about it.