From Vietnam 2 Brockton with Love

Seriously, in hindsight, Sylvain and I were completely careless that day. We freaked each other in his parents living room, without caring about who might walk in on us. What would his parents say if they walked in on us? I shudder to think. Yet as I lay on the living room couch, with Sylvain kneeling before me and licking my pussy as if it were sweet butter, I didn't think of these things. I just lay there, moaning in pleasure and urging him to keep going. With his tongue on my clit and his fingers deep inside my cunt, Sylvain had me right where he wanted me.

Later, after getting off not once but twice, thanks to Sylvain's expert tongue, I couldn't wait to taste him. Grabbing his long and thick, uncircumcised member, I engulfed it into my mouth. Hot damn, Sylvain's dick tasted magically delicious. Slow down shorty, Sylvain whispered, gently caressing my cheek. He accidentally knocked my hat off my head, like the clumsy oaf he is. I stopped sucking him for a moment, grabbed my hat and put it back on. Don't do that again, I warned, wagging my finger at him. Then I resumed sucking his dick.

Sylvain and I got our freak on, and after getting his dick nice and hard, I climbed on top of him. Sylvain caressed my face, my tits and finally cupped my ass cheeks in his big hands. Ready for me? I said coyly. Sylvain nodded, and slapped my ass. Grinning, I lowered myself onto his member, until he was deep inside of me. I rested my hands on Sylvain's broad shoulders and he put his hands on my hips. Thrusting deep into me, Sylvain licked my tits as I straddled him, riding him with all of my might. Is that all you got? I said, grabbing Sylvain and looking into his eyes tauntingly. Sylvain smiled wickedly. Shut up and ride me, he said, smacking my hard and slamming his dick even harder into me.

I don't know for how long Sylvain and I went at it, but by the time we finished, it was late afternoon. By the time we readjusted our clothes and went to the kitchen, our food was cold. Let's eat, I said, and Sylvain flashed me a wry grin. Still hungry after all that? he laughed. As we sat down to eat, after reheating the food in the microwave, and that's when Sylvain's parents, Jean-Pierre and Geraldine DesMarais came home. Salut fiston ( hello son ), Mr. DesMarais said, nodding at his son. Hello Cecilia, Geraldine said, fixing her light gray eyes on me. I smiled sheepishly and waved. Nice to see you guys again, I said.

This was super awkward. Making small talk with Sylvain's parents, whom I hadn't seen in a while, and smiling politely and joking with them. As if I hadn't just sucked their son's dicks moments ago. I excused myself as soon as I could, mumbling something about work. Mr. DesMarais hugged me goodbye but his wife Geraldine's frosty smile led me to believe I was busted. I walked out of the DesMarais household, and couldn't help smiling. Damn it, I thought. What an afternoon!

As I walked home, I inevitably passed by my old house. In spite of myself, I couldn't help staring at the offensive ceramic artifact on the lawn. Lawn jockeys are racist ornaments. They're really popular with rednecks in the South and Midwest. We don't much care for that sort of thing in New England. As I stood in front of my old house, I heard a car pull up. A beat-up old red pickup. My heart skipped a beat as my mom came out of it, with Bob. Hello Cecilia, my mom said, waving happily as if we saw each other all the time, as if we weren't estranged.

Aren't you going to say hello to your dear old mother? Bob said, crossing his arms and smiling smugly. I glared at him angrily. My mind flashed back to a long-buried memory, that time when I walked in on him and my mother doing...that. Shut up you racist piece of shit, I snarled, and stepped toward Bob. Promptly my mother stood between us. Don't disrespect Bob sweetie, she said meekly. I looked at Bob, and felt the bile rising in my stomach. Get that racist piece of trash off our lawn, I said, pointing at him.

Bob stood there, hands on his hips, smug as ever. It's my house now darling and I'll do as I please, he said, in that thick redneck accent I despised so much. Fuck you asshole, I said. My mother stood protectively in front of Bob, like the fool she was. Choosing a redneck piece of shit like Bob over me, her own daughter. Stay with him since you love him so much, I said, shaking my head in disgust. Then I walked home. What a day! I just can't escape my past, damn it.

I went home and slept, and the next day, I went to work. I worked eight hours then went home. I'm saving for two things, besides my rent and groceries, and that's my future car, and continuing my education. An associate's degree isn't worth much in today's economy. Hell, lots of people with MBAs have been out of work for a while. You read about such unfortunate souls in the Op Ed section of the Brockton Enterprise newspaper, or on Yahoo News Online. I need to go back to school. Get my bachelor's degree in criminal justice from someplace affordable and close to home like UMass-Boston or Bridgewater State University. I've only got myself in this world.

When I finally had a moment to myself, I checked my Facebook, and noticed I had two messages from Sylvain. We need to talk Celia, he wrote, and left his digits. I hesitated, then decided to call him. I expected to hear from him sooner or later. Hello Celia, Sylvain said cheerfully, answering on the first ring. I bit my lip. We need to talk Sly, I said, more than a bit uncomfortable with what I was saying. I've liked you for years and you've always been my fantasy chick, Sylvain confessed. I shook my head. I like you Sly but my life is a mess right now, I replied, biting my nails.

Seriously, I'm not good at relationships. The last guy I dated, Dillon Blackburn, turned out to be a douche bag. Tall, good-looking and sexy as hell, Dillon is originally from Haverhill. He's half Hispanic and half white, born to an Irish-American father and Puerto Rican mother. We met during my second year at Massasoit Community College. Dude was all that and a bag of chips, and he was a freak in bed, but turned out to be a controlling bozo with anger issues. He didn't hit me because I didn't give him the chance. I left him because it came to that. Ever since I've been weary of relationships.

Dude we're lifelong friends we shouldn't have fucked, I told Sylvain. If he was unwilling to see reality, then I would give him the jolting he needed. You weren't just a fuck to me Celia, Sylvain said, pleading. He paused, sighed, then continued. I've had a thing for you for years, he said. I swallowed hard, and felt a twinge of...something, deep in my breast. I like you too Sly, I heard myself say. Sylvain chuckled. Glad to hear it mamas so meet me at Tamboo for lunch tomorrow, he said, smooth and confident once more. Why do I let myself get talked into these things?

The next day, I went to the Tamboo restaurant, a classy Haitian joint on Main Street, and met Sylvain there. I wore a white blouse and black dress pants, along with my black timberland boots. The maître d showed me to my seat. I must say, Sylvain had excellent reservations. Sylvain showed up in a blue silk shirt, black tie, black silk pants and shiny black shoes. Haitian men like to dress up for everything. Looking good mamas, Sylvain said, fashionably late for our noon apartment. You're four minutes late, I chided him. Sylvain shrugged, and joined me.

As we sat inside one of my favorite restaurants, a flood of memories came back to me. The first time I set foot inside Tamboo was November 2008, the night President Barack Obama got elected. I was still in high school, but snuck in to watch the final election night results on the big screen. Also present in the room were the former Mayor of Brockton, and a ton of young Haitians, Cape Verdeans and African-Americans. It was a great night. Guess who was there with me? Marguerite and Sylvain, my inseparable companions.

Remember the first time we snuck in here? I said, looking into Sylvain's eyes. Not for the first time I noticed how pretty his golden brown eyes were. Sly smiled and nodded. Election night 2008, he said, tugging at his tie. I nodded, glad that he actually remembered. You were wearing tight black leather pants, Sylvain said, stroking his goatee. He winked at me. That ass in them pants, he laughed. I smiled and kicked him from under the table. You were such a little pervert, I said, shaking my head.

Sylvain shrugged, and took a spoonful of steamy rice. I attacked my rice and legumes voraciously, and eyed the delicious-looking oversized crap I'd selected as a side dish. I looked at Sylvain as he ate like a hungry man. Your sister and parents wouldn't approve of us together, I said. Another shrug from Sylvain. I'm nineteen and can do whatever I want, he said like the arrogant youth he was. I'm twenty one and know better, fortunately. We can have fun but no relationship, I said, firmness in my tone.

Sylvain looked me in the eye and pursed his exquisite yet manly lips. Fuck buddies? he asked, a dubious look on his face. I looked at him and nodded. We can hang out and have a good time but we're not a couple, I told him firmly. Sylvain folded his arms across his massive chest. And that's your final decision? he asked innocently. Another nod from me. Sounds good, Sylvain said, his handsome mug suddenly inches from mine. My rules, I said firmly. Okie, Sylvain said, then he kissed me.

The summer proved to be a wonderful, confusing time in my life, in no small part due to Sylvain's presence in it. What can I say? He proved to be an injection of energy and life into my otherwise dreary existence. We fuck like bunnies, and I've gone back on the pill because, well, I feel it's necessary. When the urge overtakes Sly and I, we don't always have condoms handy. No, we don't just have dinner and fuck. We genuinely enjoy each other's company. Typically, I'm a bit of a homebody, if I'm not working, I tend to stay home, writing erotic poetry ( don't judge me ) and rap songs. I'm a spoken word poet, and last year in Somerville, I won the top prize, two thousand dollars, at the Southeastern Massachusetts Spoken Word Jam.

With Sylvain by my side, I began to get out more. There's much more to Boston than I realized. I've lived half my life within the city limits and I'd never been to the Boston Aquarium, or the Franklin Park Zoo. Like I said, I only went to Boston for work, usually in my security uniform. Riding the Silver Line train from Brockton to South Station, then walking to wherever Securitas was sending me that day. Sylvain took me to the Museum of African American History. I'd been there once, on a class trip back in high school during black history month. I barely remembered the place.

Well, this time, I definitely remembered the place. Much of American history is hidden, and that includes the contributions of America's black men and black women. My family is from Vietnam, and although we're minorities in America, we're treated better than the average black American even though they've been here longer. Unlike a lot of immigrants, I actually acknowledge the fact that if not for the civil rights movement of the 1960s, America would still have discriminatory immigration policies. In the old days, America only welcomed immigrants from western Europe. If you were African, Mexican, Asian, or anything other than white, you were straight out of luck.

Thank you for bringing me here, I told Sylvain, as we stood in front of a painting depicting Nat Turner's slave rebellion. A black man named Nat Turner led an uprising of rebel slaves in Southampton, Virginia, in August 1831. In the aftermath, fifty five whites were killed and two hundred black men and black women were slaughtered by angry white mobs. The state of Virginia, the heart of redneck country, passed tough laws restricting both slaves and free blacks. This was long before the Civil War pitting slave-owning southern states against the more progressive and supposedly humanitarian North.

When will the United States of America stop treating blacks and other people of color like they're subhuman? I honestly wish white Americans would get with the program. The problem isn't that a lot of them don't know that treating people of color with respect is the right thing to do. Like Bob Kensington, my mother's pathetic excuse for a boyfriend, they just don't care. Oh, well. I have it on good authority that America's demographics are changing.

With so-called minorities ( that means blacks, Asians, Hispanics, Arabs, and other 'ethnic' people ) poised to become the new majority, in a country that's already got a black president, what will the racists do? Well, perhaps they'll move back to Europe, but I'm told Islam stands poised to conquer that continent soon. They're already calling it Eurabia behind closed doors. All those thoughts ran through my head as I stood in front of that old painting of Nat Turner and his fellow blacks gathered and plotting their fight for freedom.

Are you okay? Sylvain asked, gently placing his arm around my shoulders. Your people have done a lot for humanity and few people realize it, I said, in a voice choked with emotion. Sylvain shrugged. Deval Patrick's our governor here in Massachusetts and Obama is our president so fuck what the bigots have to say, he said in his usual carefree style. Some would call it a cavalier attitude. To me, it's all part of Sylvain's charm. Impulsively I grabbed him by the collar and kissed him. What was that for? Sylvain asked me, once I let him breathe. I raised my eyebrows and shrugged. I do what I feel like, I laughed.

Hand in hand we left the Museum of African American History. As Sylvain and I stepped onto Joy Street, a big-booty black chick with an Afro walked by with her short white lady friend. Sylvain's eyes zeroed in on her ginormous ass like lasers, and he smirked. I elbowed him in the ribs. What was that for? Sylvain asked innocently. I glared at him. I don't ever want to catch you checking out someone else's ass, I said heatedly, my face growing hot and my heart thundering in my chest.

Sylvain looked at me, flashing that fearless smile I liked, no, loved so much. And in that moment it irritated me so much that I could have smacked the shit out of him. I thought we were just fuck buddies? he said coyly, cocking an eyebrow. I want you to myself, I said, grabbing his arm with as much force as I could muster. I care about you dumbass, I said through gritted teeth. Sylvain smiled and pulled me into his arms. Took you long enough to admit it, he said smugly, then he kissed me.

Thus, Sylvain DesMarais and I shared our first kiss as a couple. We went to his family, and announced our relationship. We surprised absolutely no one. His parents were overjoyed, though his sister Marguerite was less than enthused. Oh, well, you can't please the world. I do have some good news, though. Sylvain is always telling me to try to see the bright side of life. I'm a bit of a pessimist due to the things I've endured, but I'm trying. Anyhow, where was I? Oh, yeah, I was about to tell you some good news.

My mom finally kicked Bob out. Apparently, he attacked her while in a drunken stupor ( sorry, I've been watching the exploits of a drunken Canadian politician on YouTube ) and she had to call the police. Now mom's got a restraining order against Bob. I went to visit her as soon as I heard. The DesMarais were around when the police came to haul Bob away and they called me. I'm so sorry, Mom said, and hugged me tightly. It's alright, I said, and cried tears of joy as I was finally reunited with my estranged mother.

Sylvain made a big revelation to his family and I in late June of that year. He was transferring out of the University of Virginia because he'd gotten death threats from local rednecks for dating a white chick. As you can imagine, his parents were mad at him for hiding the truth for so long and at the school for not supporting him in the face of bigotry. I was secretly happy to hear that he wouldn't be going back to Virginia in September but managed to keep my face neutral when he delivered the news. Redneck scum will never embrace progress, I thought. I told Sylvain I supported his decision and in time, his parents came to accept it. We decided to apply to the University of Massachusetts in Boston together, and I'm happy to say we both got in. In August, we moved into an apartment not far from our new campus, and began our lives together. All's well that ends well, wouldn't you say?