tagGay MaleHaitian Bisexuality Ch. 12

Haitian Bisexuality Ch. 12


Many people assume that they are the only ones who have a tough life. What a load of bull! My name is Steve Darcy and I am a Haitian-American police officer and part-time community mentor living in the city of Brockton. My message is to all the people in this world who think they have it tough. Please, folks, shut the hell up! We're all bombarded with messages about Global Warming every day. Has anyone ever heard of the threat of Global Whining? It's here. It's everywhere. This tale is about how I deal with some whiners.

In my time as a policeman, I've seen it all. I know of men who abuse their wives. I've occasionally arrested wives for abusing husbands. It does happen. Even if it is not politically correct to say it. I've also had to arrest quite a few of my fellow black folks, both male and female, for petty crimes. Criminals come in all colors and genders. But in the town of Brockton, a lot of the thugs look just the way you expect them to be. It's not pretty. But it's the truth. As a black man, I am saddened. But as a cop, I just do my job. The truth is never cool in some circles. The truth is that everybody is screwed up one way or another. Black or white, straight or gay, male or female. Rich or poor. Nobody is normal. What the hell is normal anyway? I don't know. I'm a six-foot-four black man who weighs two hundred and sixty pounds. Am I normal? Who in hell knows.

Lately, there's been some changes in this cop's life. I've decided to see things in a new way, you know. Most cops I know hate their jobs. A few of them take their frustration out on their wives, husbands and families. I try not to let things get to me, you know? I hate Brockton. The city has a tiny mall. Its entertainment complex is a joke. There are few bars or clubs. Lately, the city has had some financial troubles. The mayor, brilliant asshole that he is, has ordered some budget cuts. He has slashed the budget of the public library. That pisses me off because the town library is one of my favorite hangouts. It's quiet. It's peaceful. I know all the librarians. I like the place. Now it's no longer open six days a week. Only four. That sucks. What am I going to do with my time?

I could do like everyone else and just get the heck out of town when I am bored. I could hop on the Bat Bus and go to Boston. I like Boston just fine. It's not home, though. Boston has movie theaters, large and well-funded libraries, well-funded police stations and fire departments. Boston is a college town. Harvard. MIT. Emerson College. Northeastern University. Boston College. Boston University. Bay State College. UMass-Boston. Suffolk University. Berklee College. Gibbs College. So many schools, so little time. I used to hang out at the campuses of these various schools. Way back in 2005. It was fun.

Right after graduating from Brockton Community High School, I went to Bay State University. One of the oldest schools in town. BSU was founded in 1801. It started out as a small private school and beefed up over time. In the twenty first century, BSU is one of the largest schools in North America. It has forty one thousand students, spread over several campuses. It has locations in Boston, Plymouth, Andover, Fitchburg, Peabody, Middleboro and Hyannis. I attended the Boston campus. It was closest to home. I had gotten accepted there on a student-athlete scholarship for football.

Bay State University was fast becoming the biggest athletic powerhouse in collegiate America. The Bay State University Department of Athletics sponsors Men's Intercollegiate archery, baseball, basketball, bowling, cross country, swimming, soccer, football, rugby, ice hockey, lacrosse, wrestling, rowing, rodeo, rifle, water polo and alpine skiing. For female student-athletes they offered Women's Intercollegiate archery, softball, bowling, basketball, cross country, swimming, soccer, equestrian, field hockey, rugby, ice hockey, lacrosse, wrestling, rowing, rodeo, rifle, water polo and alpine skiing. The sports teams, collectively known as the Bay State Racers and Lady Racers, compete in the NCAA Division One. I was happy to have been accepted there. BSU was unlike any school in America. Their commitment to diversity was something to behold. Thirty eight percent of the student body was of African-American descent, ten percent were Latino and twelve percent were Asian. The remaining forty percent were of Caucasian origin. And, I am pleased to say, at a time when most colleges and universities had a severe gender imbalance, BSU had an equal number of men and women on its student body. That's the school I went to.

I played in the linebacker position for the Bay State University varsity football team. It was okay, for the most part. We were a pretty good team. We held our own against the region's proven collegiate football powers such as Boston College, Harvard University, Northeastern University and UMass-Amherst. We received honors from the New England Football Conference while I was there. I majored in Criminal Justice and I really loved living on campus. For the first time in my life, I felt free. It's hard to describe, you know. I treasured every moment of that freedom. You see, I didn't always have it. It has to do with my kinsmen and kinswomen. My family was not exactly a positive influence in my life.

My mother Elaine Johnson Darcy is a misandrist. I hate to say it but it must be said. At least according to my shrink, Dr. Annabelle Carter. I've been seeing this doctor for a few months now to work out some issues. Okay, back on topic. I was talking about my dear old ma. In case you don't know what the word misandrist means, it simply describes a person who hates men. She wasn't always like this. She used to be a kind-hearted, decent woman. The teacher all the students loved at the school where she taught. She used to believe in goodness. Mom didn't always dwell in the darkness. I still love her. Now, she's turned to the dark side. When dealing with her, I am polite, but distant. She's done terrible things to people who didn't always deserve it. Mostly because of dad but a lot of her darkness is of her own making. I could go on but that's a conversation for another time, folks. My father, Franklin Darcy is what I call a functional psychopath. The man has no conscience. But he's tall, good-looking and very intelligent. He is quite charming and has a way with the ladies. And he's a successful businessman. I love him too. They're my parents, what can I do? I distance myself from them because I don't want them to destroy my life.

My sister Anne is a sociopath. She's tall, attractive and smart. She is good at reading people. She can see right through them and uses her power to her advantage. And she never feels remorse because she's got no conscience. None. Zero. She tried to kill me once, back when I was younger. I wrestled a knife away from her as she tried hacking me to pieces. I haven't trusted her since. We don't talk. I live in Brockton, Massachusetts and she lives somewhere in Florida, with some dumb guy who fell for her charms and married her. I don't care what she does. Let her be somebody else's problem for a change.

In spite of these dark influences, I was able to find some peace and love in my life. I graduated from BSU with a bachelor's degree in criminal justice. I then went to the Boston Police Academy. I got hired by the Brockton Police Department shortly afterwards. These days, I live in a big house on Brockton's West Side with my partner, career fireman James House. He's a tall, slender black guy with a sweet face. We met at church, of all places, a few years back. Yeah, back in the day, I went out with his sexy and voluptuous cousin Rachel. I was openly bisexual back then and Rachel was cool with it. I had no idea that shy, good-looking James was gay. But he was. Long after my relationship with Rachel ended, we remained pals. I'd see James from time to time. One time, he asked me out. I was stunned. I had no idea he was gay. We went out and it turns out he had a whole different side to him I knew zilch about. We fell in love. We moved in together. The rest, as they say, is history. There you have it, folks. This cop's life story. But my life isn't over yet. Like you, I take it a day at a time. And to those who read this, I wish you well. Good things can come to you at the end, if you're lucky. Good luck and God bless. Peace.

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