Black Man s Guide To Power
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A Black Woman’s Power free porn video
My name is Christine Lassiter Anderson. Life has a way of knocking you down when you think you’re invincible. Three years ago, I had it all. I was married to a multi-millionaire philanthropist and investment banker, and I lived in a townhouse in Boston’s Back Bay. I drove a Mercedes and I went to A-list parties. I knew actors, supermodels and top businessmen. And last but not least, I had the privilege of being a pretty-faced, blonde-haired white woman in the United States of America. Then the Recession happened, and I lost everything. My husband Paul Anderson the third committed suicide. We lost our money, our house and our friends. He simply couldn’t take it anymore. I found myself literally living on the street.
Life on the street nearly broke me. I simply couldn’t fathom anything of the sort ever happening to me. I come from fairly upscale beginnings. My father was a lawyer and my mother was a college professor. We lived in a nice home. I was in my junior year at Northeastern University when I met Paul Anderson the third, a handsome and wealthy Jewish guy who swept me off my feet. When I looked at him, I saw nothing but dollar signs. This man was my ticket to the good life. I converted to Judaism and entered his world. The world of the wealthy Jewish millionaires who wield considerable power and influence in America and Europe. Paul promised me the world, and for a time, we had it all.
When the Recession came and we lost it all, neither of us could cope. Where do people at the top go when they’re in dire financial straits? Our friends turned on us like sharks smelling the blood of one of their own. That’s what did us in. The men and women we invited to our parties turned a blind eye to us as fate dealt us such a cruel blow. My husband ended his life, in a decrepit hotel room he rented with the last few hundred bucks we had. News of our downfall made the society pages, and the people we once called our peers mocked me and laughed at my plight. I was a young woman without money, a college degree or any family. My parents have long since passed on. I seriously considered ending my own life.
Fortunately, someone came along and rescued me. I prayed for a white knight in shining armor. Instead I got a tall, gorgeous and wealthy black woman named Chandra Joseph Brown, a former supermodel and actress who’s married to African-American entertainment mogul and reclusive billionaire Craig Brown Jr. They live in a gorgeous mansion in the city of Atlanta, Georgia. I was begging for spare change outside of the hotel room where the wealthy black couple stayed during a visit to Boston. That’s when Chandra saw me, and decided to rescue me. She brought me back to Atlanta to be her servant.
They say what goes around comes around. While I was wealthy, I was less than kind to the black servants my husband hired to take care of chores in our household. Like many white women of my former social class, I was bossy, self-centered and arrogant. Then the unthinkable happened and I was brought to my knees by a twist of fate. It took me a while, but I accepted my new condition in life. I have traded my expensive clothing for the simple garb known as a maid’s uniform. And I live in a small room near the shed of the vast mansion occupied by Mistress Chandra, along with her husband and family.
The Brown family was something else. They were a hard-working, friendly and God-fearing bunch. They overcame racism and countless other hardships to rise to wealth and power. They were a fine example of African-American pride and achievement. Billionaire Craig Brown Jr. insisted that his youngest son, Jason Brown, went to his alma mater Morehouse College instead of one of the rich white schools in the South. As for their daughter, Isabel Brown, she attended Georgia Tech, having transferred there after completing her undergraduate work at historically black Spelman College. The eldest son of the family, Jeremiah Brown, was currently attending the United States Air Force Academy. The Brown family was nice, and they were watched over by the hawk-like eyes of Chandra Brown, the family matriarch.
Chandra Brown was a nice enough woman to her friends and family but she really didn’t like me. Like many black women who rose to power, she had to compete against white men and white women to get where she was. White women like myself were given countless advantages in America simply for being who and what we were while black women like Chandra Brown had to work twice as hard. And even then, society didn’t value hard-working black women the way it valued white women. Chandra Brown forbade me from interacting with her husband and her sons when she wasn’t around. She expected me to clean her house, and then make myself scarce.
Most black women don’t like the idea of white women hanging around black men they care about. Black women thought all white women were conniving sluts who had it easy. Black women were especially wary of white women falsely accusing their husbands and their sons of sexual misconduct. In the eyes of Chandra Brown, all white women were she-devils. And lazy ones at that. I guess I fit into this stereotype at one point but right now, I was only trying to survive. I’m not a wealthy WASP anymore. Hell, I converted to Judaism after marrying my dead husband Paul. I’m just a broke-ass white chick trying to live. I really wish this black woman would give me a break. I’m not a troublemaker. However, centuries of racial mistrust weren’t about to be cleared by my friendly overtures.
The moment I moved in, Chandra asked experts to install cameras throughout the house. The cameras seemed like overkill, considering they had male and female security guards patrolling the premises all day and all night. When I asked one of the other servants why, the young Asian woman told me that Mistress Chandra believed in security. She didn’t want the female servants accusing the men she cared about of any funny business. She also didn’t want any of us getting away with stealing. Since she paid us good wages, I was forced to bite my tongue. Eight hundred dollars a week to clean floors and bathrooms wasn’t bad, especially during the Recession. Most of the other servant women simply went along with the wishes of Mistress Chandra. She was after all the mistress of the house.
To say that Chandra Brown was a stern mistress would have been an understatement. The woman watched me like a hawk. One time she caught me rifling through the archives room, and I caught hell. The archives room contained a documented history of the Brown family. They were of African-American, Indian and Haitian descent. And they were definitely a stoic bunch, having endured hell on two continents before rising to power in America. I don’t know what I expected to find in the archives room but this wasn’t it. It was a very accurate genealogical portrait of a very proud black family. Chandra Brown was born as Chandra Joseph on the island of Haiti in 1961. Her father was Haitian and her mother, Vina Patil Singh, was of Indian descent. They met at the University of Notre Dame in Haiti, one of the foremost Catholic schools on the island. They moved to America, where her exotic looks attracted the attention of fashionistas. She became a supermodel/actress and did a dozen movies in the 1980s and early 1990s before retiring from the public eye in 1999. She married a promising black businessman named Craig Brown Jr. and the rest, as they say, was history.
This was truly fascinating stuff. The archives chronicled the journey of Vina Patil Singh, Chandra’s mother, from the Republic of India to the United States, Canada and finally the Caribbean, where she fell in love with a brilliant Haitian student and got married. The archives also chronicled the family’s big move from Haiti to America and its impact on them. Rifling through the photos, diaries and videos of the family, I found myself moved. I was particularly moved by the diary of Craig Brown Jr. a brilliant black man who picked Morehouse College over Harvard Univer
sity and never looked back. He earned his MBA from Boston College, and then took the entertainment industry by storm, eventually becoming one of America’s first black billionaires. In Chandra Joseph Brown, he found the perfect wife and partner. She was the lioness this lion had been waiting for. They made such a great couple. Yes, I was touched by the impressive saga of the Brown family. Even Chandra was starting to look good in my eyes, though I wish she’d stop berating me by calling me a white devil every time I missed a spot on the carpet.
I was looking at the family photos and was so absorbed in them that I didn’t sense Chandra as she seemingly materialized behind me. I turned around and my blood chilled when I saw her. The tall, gorgeous black woman looked angry enough to scare Satan himself. I looked at her sheepishly, and tried to explain myself. She didn’t even give me the chance. She asked me to hand her the book I was holding and when I didn’t hand it to her fast enough, she hit me. Yes, you read right. She smacked me hard across the face. I stared at her, stunned.
My cheek stung where Chandra had struck me. I felt a deep anger rise inside of me. I don’t care who this woman is or how much money she’s got. I don’t let anyone get away with hitting me. Chandra was ready for a brawl. She stood squarely and waited for me. I launched myself at her. We wrestled furiously and fell on the carpeted floor of the archives room. For several minutes we traded insults as we fought. She had some dirty moves that woman. She grabbed my hair and yanked it while trying to gouge my eyes with her nails. I tried to get away but she decked me squarely on the chin. Stunned, I lay there. She stood over me, and told me that if she ever saw me touching her family photos again, she’d kill me.
It took me several minutes to recover, and when I came to, I was greeted by two of Atlanta’s finest. A tall burly black policeman and a short, stocky and dark-skinned Puerto Rican woman. They gazed at me with unfriendly eyes. There are lots of black and Hispanic cops in the city of Atlanta. The Brown family is considered royalty there, and they’re on good terms with the black politicians, black policemen and white businessmen who rule the city. I was a stranger to the city, and they saw me as pure white trash. I stared at Chandra defiantly, but held my tongue. The cops asked her if she wanted to press charges. She looked at me, smiled and accused me of assaulting her and using racial slurs. I stared at her, stunned again. She hit me first! I didn’t say any racial slurs, bitch is a pretty racially neutral term. I was bleeding in the chin, the nose and the mouth. I had a black eye. She was unscathed, not a mark on her, in spite of my best efforts. Yet here she was, playing victim. That woman was lying through her teeth! If looks could kill, she’d be dead. I was escorted off the property and taken to a squad car. I’m the white female servant of a wealthy black woman who kicked my ass before having me arrested by the police. How times have changed.
So, here I am. It’s been two years since the death of my husband. One year since I lost everything. My house. My car. My money. My good name. I’m living in a modest room in one of Atlanta’s roughest neighborhoods while my nemesis, Chandra Joseph Brown, lives in a palace-like mansion with her husband and family. I have a criminal record now, and no one will hire me. The African-American prosecutor didn’t take kindly to white trash like myself getting into a fight with a wealthy black woman who’s considered royalty in Atlanta. A city that’s basically black-owned and operated. I didn’t get much sympathy from the men and women of the jury either. The black jurors saw me as just another white chick who thought she could get away with everything and the white jurors were alienated by my Boston accent and apparent lack of respect for the South. I got mad during the trial and called them all a bunch of losers. They didn’t take kindly to that and sentenced me to a year and a half at the women’s prison. I got out and found myself alone in the world, as usual. I’m down to the last three hundred bucks I saved before Chandra kicked my ass and had me locked up. I don’t know what I’m going to do but anything is better than living in Chandra’s shadow. That woman gives me the creeps.
Chandra Joseph Brown visited me once at the Lee Arrendale State Prison, a women’s prison in Alto, Georgia. As you can imagine, the black princess came to gloat. She enjoyed watching me in one of those filthy gray ( they don’t wear orange anymore ) jumpsuits they make all the female inmates wear. I looked her in the eye and asked her what she wanted. Chandra told me that she was thrilled to see me ‘in my place,’ whatever that meant. Looking into her eyes, I saw a very cold and ruthless person. Chandra had major issues. She hated white women with a passion, and thought we were all lazy whores whose butt society kissed all day long. Never mind that I was homeless on the streets of Boston when I met her. Does it sound like I’m leading La Dolce Vita?
I asked her that but Chandra wasn’t done gloating. She told me she was thrilled that I now had a criminal record and nobody would hire me. I told her nobody was hiring anybody since we were in a damn recession. Looking at her, I wondered where her hatred of white women came from. She told me that all her life she watched white women get everything handed to them while black men and black women had to work three times as hard to get anywhere. Now that she had wealth and power and I lacked both, she reveled in the reversal. She also bragged about the current success of black politicians in many of America’s cities, from the U.S. Congress to the Governors Offices, the Mayors Offices and the White House itself. Chandra smiled wickedly and told me that we were at the dawn of a new age of unprecedented black political power. And the other minority groups in America were growing closer as they started to view each other as allies and the white majority as the oppressors who mistreated them collectively. I grinned and told her she and her super rich black buddies were still minorities. She laughed and told me that soon, minorities of every stripe would outnumber whites, and gain unprecedented political and socio-economic power as they basically replaced WASPs like myself as the dominant class. That really pissed me off, so I told her that as soon as I got out, I’d find myself a white guy and make me some brats just to delay the whole minority-as-majority phenomenon.
A cold light crept into Chandra Joseph Brown’s face, and she told me that I’d lost that option ages ago. I stared at her, shocked beyond belief. With a cool smile, she told me that I should have watched what I ate. When I asked her what she meant by that, she told me I wouldn’t be able to bring more alabaster-skinned oppressors into the world, and she saw this as a good thing. Cold sweat crept up my spine as I realized the implications of what she was saying. Had that bitch taken away my….no, no way. This couldn’t be true. A visit to the neighborhood health center proved my worst fears true. A quiet little infection acquired through my food had altered my body forever and I was no longer be able to procreate. The doctors couldn’t understand it. I understood it all too well. Chandra had crossed the line. That bitch had gone too far. I’m going to get her if it’s the last thing I do. Not today, not tomorrow but someday. Yes, someday. For now, I’m gonna do whatever it takes to survive. I’ll do odd jobs, beg for change or even become a prostitute if I have to. Someday, Chandra will pay. My vengeance will be sweet. Yes, it will. I will savor it when that faraway day comes at last. It gave me something to live for.
Lianne
- 11.06.2022
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