Demon cheerleaders
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Black Cheerleaders free porn video
You should have seen the way they reacted when I walked onto the field the day of tryouts. I guess they really weren’t expecting me. Like most Cheerleading squads in the United States of America, the ladies of the Easton University Cheerleading Squad were all skinny blondes. Well, I guess that’s why I decided to give Cheerleading a try. My name is Emilie Jeanne Etienne. And I wrote this song, as they say.
I’ve always been considered unusual pretty much everywhere I went. When I lived in my native City of Cap-Haitien in the Republic of Haiti, I played soccer with the guys. And they stopped holding back after I gave their best goalkeepers nightmares. Yeah, I was really good. In my teens, the family moved to the City of Montreal in the Canadian Province of Quebec. There were lots of Haitians there, and I felt at home. I made waves when I joined the men’s wrestling team at Sacre Coeur Academie. And the media went nuts when I became team captain after amassing one hundred career victories over three years.
I don’t let people stop me. I’m a five-foot-eleven, muscular and athletic, dark-skinned young Black woman in a world that seems tailor-made for skinny White chicks. I can’t afford to let people stop me or get to me. After graduating from Sacre Coeur Academie, I had offers from the best Canadian Universities. Places like the University of Ottawa, Carleton University, the University of Montreal, the University of Toronto, the University of British Columbia and McMaster University wanted me. Instead I chose to attend Easton University in the City of Easton, Massachusetts. All the way in America.
A lot of my friends were stunned when I opted to study in America. I’ve always wanted to live in America. I visited the Haitian enclave of Belray near the City of Miami, Florida, and fell in love with the U.S. So much diversity and so many possibilities. So what was there to stop me? I had Canadian citizenship and a full scholarship offer from a small New England school. I accepted it and thus my American adventure began. My parents were not thrilled, as you can imagine. My father Bertrand is a police officer in Montreal, and my mother Daphne is a fitness expert in the Athletics Department at the University of Montreal. They both had plans which didn’t involve their only daughter moving to America. Sorry, Mom and Dad. I love you and all but it’s my life. I left Quebec. America, here I come.
I didn’t experience much culture shock in America, partly because I had visited many times before. However, the town and school where I lived were radically different from the City of Boston which I had visited many times before. At Easton University, I experienced a very different world. Easton University was a school in transition. Five years prior, they were sued by the Attorney General of Massachusetts for discriminatory practices against minority students. So these days, they were on the state’s human rights watchdogs collective radars and were basically forced to diversify a bit. Easton University considers itself diverse because twenty four percent of its eight thousand students are of African-American, Asian, Hispanic or Native American descent. The school and nearby City residents weren’t exactly thrilled with this mandated influx of diversity on campus. However, Massachusetts is a progressive state. The first to elect an African-American Governor in modern times, I believe. Or was that New York?
On campus, I felt like an odd duck. I’m a Canadian gal of Haitian descent at an American school. I speak fluent French, and a heavily accented English because I grew up in the French-speaking Province of Quebec. To the African-American students on campus, I was considered strange. A lot of Black Americans think us Black Canadians are meek or easygoing. We’re tougher than we seem. We have to be. I grew up in the most bigoted part of all Canada. I had to toughen up to deal with constant verbal attacks by the French Canadians who did not welcome the onslaught of Haitians and Africans moving into all the towns of Quebec.
My senior year at Sacre Coeur Academie, I organized a fundraiser to help my beloved friends in the Republic of Haiti after the bloody Quake. We raised sixty thousand dollars online. A bunch of Haitian and Jamaican students at a Canadian Catholic school in Quebec, with no help from anyone! So believe me when I tell you that us Black Canadians are no pushovers, my dear African-American friends. What does all of that have to do with Cheerleading? I just wanted you to know who and what you’re dealing with, that’s all. Because the ladies of the Easton University Varsity Cheerleading Squad certainly didn’t, and lived to regret it.
Now, I liked the Easton University campus just fine. People were polite but distant. Easton was a quiet and boring town. Kind of reminds me of Ottawa, Canada’s paltry little capital. It’s full of fake-smiling bigots too. I hung out in the bigger, livelier and more diverse City of Boston every chance I got. It’s where I met some of the ladies and gentlemen who would become my best friends in America.
I met this tall, gorgeous young Haitian woman named Madeline Lemieux in Boston’s South End. Picture this, if you will. Six feet of curvy, coconut-brown Caribbean goddess, with long black hair, full lips, a firm chest, wide hips and legs that go on forever. Oh, and a fine, heart-shaped bottom too. Madeline Lemieux was simply beautiful. The first time I laid eyes upon her I knew we were birds of a feather. This Northeastern University student liked the ladies as much as I did. And we became fast friends. Madeline and I had drinks and exchanged numbers that very same day. She was studying business administration at Northeastern University and considered herself bisexual, though she was sort of seeing an Ethiopian housewife. I was saddened when she told me that. My dream gal was taken. So sad, but whatever. Madeline promised me we would always be friends and I later grew to value her friendship. Friends are forever, mid-afternoon lesbian romps are temporary. Or so I told myself.
Madeline had a diverse circle of friends. They were cool people, especially George Armand. This tall, good-looking Haitian brother looked like Tyson Beckford’s younger brother, only hotter. He’s studying Criminal Justice at Bay State College and has been crushing on Madeline forever. They used to date but they’re just friends now. Or so they tell themselves. I could sense the chemistry between them and didn’t like it one bit but George was so friendly and generous that I grew past that. I came to treasure his friendship as well. Especially since he had a deep respect and appreciation for all Black women regardless of sexual orientation. And that’s a rare and wonderful thing in today’s world. Even a queer woman like myself can appreciate that.
The third member of our inner circle was Kenny Saint Marc, a burly, Hershey-colored Haitian brother who also hailed from Atlanta, Georgia. He transferred to Suffolk University’s MBA program after earning his bachelor’s degree from that legendary school, Morehouse College. Kenny is the married member of our little club. His wife Geraldine Jean-Francois doesn’t like hanging out with us. She’s short, chubby, light-skinned and curly-haired. Half Haitian and half Puerto Rican. Geraldine works as a Transit police officer with the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority. She’s fluent in Spanish, English and heavily accented Haitian Creole. Too bad she’s a bitch and an insatiable opportunist. Though she’s pretty, I wouldn’t touch her with a ten and a half foot pole even if she was gay or bisexual.
Yeah, I was thoroughly enjoying my time in Massachusetts with my classmates at Easton University and my Boston-based friends. Until the day I decided to try out for the Easton University Varsity Cheerleading Squad. Now, Easton University has scores of minority student athletes. I hate that term, minority. We’re people, not numbers. Especially since Blacks, Asians, Hispanics, Arabs and Natives will outnumber
Caucasians in America in less than three decades. Though still overwhelmingly Caucasian, the Confederation of Canada isn’t that far behind with this trend. The reason for that? Immigrants from Africa, China, India, Latin America and the Caribbean reproduce much faster than the Canadians of European descent. Cities like Toronto, Vancouver, Ottawa and Preston already reflect Canada’s changing demographics.
Anyhow, my decision to try out for the Cheerleading Squad prompted mixed responses from my friends. America has elected a Black man as its President, and there is an African-American Governor in Massachusetts, an Indian female Governor in the deeply racist state of South Carolina, but was America ready for Black female Cheerleaders at lily-White University campuses? Only time would tell. I wish I could have attended a historically Black college or University like Hampton University, Howard University, Texas Southern University, Tuskegee University or Spelman College. However, I’m in Massachusetts. So I had to make do with what I have. If Hampton University, a mostly Black school can choose some ditzy and paranoid White chick as its beauty queen, then I can be a Cheerleader at lily-White Easton University. Word up. That was my reasoning. Kenny called me a ‘true soul sister’ and wished me luck. Madeline thought I was doomed for failure. That really hurt coming from another sister. George told me that if the school tried to fuss over it, he would get me a good lawyer. Smiling, I went my way.
When I showed up for tryouts, I was the only Black gal. The other White chicks were nice to me mainly because they think take me seriously as competition. Until they saw me outshine the best of them. Then they got me and gave me cold stares and fake smiles. I returned every cold stare and fake smile. The Cheerleading team’s captain, a blonde-haired White chick named Bambi or something always had a nasty word for me practically every few minutes. Until I told her that if she didn’t get off my back, I’d make her famous…Jesse Jackson style. The arrogant White chick went pale and backed off. And thus the tryouts were concluded. And I joined the squad. The first Black female Cheerleader in Easton University history. How about that?
The night after tryouts, I went out with my friends to celebrate. Kenny took us to this Haitian-owned bar/restaurant called Tamboo in the City of Brockton, not far from Boston. I had a great time that night. Madeline was full of disbelief that I actually made it on the squad. Wow. And she didn’t seem too happy for me. George on the other hand was ecstatic. He bought me flowers and candy. I’m not a flowers type of chick but I appreciated the gesture. George is an awesome friend. If I was into men, he’s definitely the type of man I’d give some pussy too. He’s good-looking, patient, kind and generous. I’ve had bisexual women tell me that their boyfriends and husbands treat them better than some of the lesbians they deal with. After meeting and dealing with George, I’m inclined to believe that. Yeah, I celebrated with my friends. After that, I took my ass home. I called my parents to inform them of my latest milestone. They congratulated me and warned me to watch out around the Americans. I didn’t need to be told twice.
Just because you’re living somewhere doesn’t mean you belong. By joining the cheerleading squad, I had become a celebrity on the Easton University campus. Now, the school had all-Black or mostly Black men’s football men’s and women’s basketball teams. The baseball, cycling, tennis, soccer, golf and equestrian teams were all White, as expected. Welcome to America. The other girls on the squad didn’t exactly welcome me with warm fuzzy feelings during practice. I was getting a lot of attention from both men and women. Now, I’m not the first Black Cheerleader at a mostly White school in America. However, most of the Black women who are ‘allowed’ to show up the White chicks in domains like Beauty Contests and Cheerleading, tend to be light-skinned Black women or mixed-race women. I am one hundred percent Black. I cannot be mistaken for anything else. I’m the same shade as that Hollywood legend, the African-American actress Grace Jones.
A lot of people were reacting to me strangely. One nerdy White guy walked up to me inside the campus library and told me I was just another example of affirmative action gone amok. I told him that if he didn’t get out of my face, I’d break his legs and shove my foot up his ass. Since I was taller and visibly stronger than him, he backed off quickly. A middle-aged Black woman at a bus stop told me she would have preferred a lighter-skinned Black woman like her daughter to join the squad. Wow. Racism within the Black community, aimed by light-skinned Black folks against darker-skinned Black folks. Will that one ever go away? I told the dumb sister that she had a slave mentality and walked away. Man, I get so tired of people bugging me. Ever since I was interviewed by that lovely Asian female reporter from CW56, folks have been walking up to me every bloody day.
My life was changing really fast, and I wasn’t thrilled about it. Thanks to some bozo on Facebook, my sexual orientation became a matter of public record. Someone found out I was queer and leaked it online. Now I’ve got tons of groups discussing my sexual life online. Why is America obsessed with Black female sexuality? I’m just a Haitian chick from Canada who likes women, thank you very much. I’m not some exotic species. I’m not that unusual. I’m a human being. Now, I’ve never exactly been closeted. My parents have known that I was queer before I even came close to figuring it out myself. And they’re okay with it, for the most part. I don’t hide my gayness from family or friends. However, I don’t broadcast it either. Being so exposed made me feel uncomfortable.
The other girls on the cheerleading squad expressed discomfort about sharing a locker room with a ‘Black dyke’. And they wrote some nasty stuff on my locker. Man, I can’t believe this crap. I’m a Black woman who loves Black women exclusively. I don’t like white girls. Never been into them. Never will be. I’m sure they’ll find plenty of others to keep them company. I love my fellow Black women. Thank you very much. I told this to Bambi and the endless parade of Heathers, Ambers and Jenny’s that she lorded over. They scoffed in surprise. The Black woman is my standard of beauty, folks. Accept no substitute.
I wasn’t doing too well, to tell you the truth. Academically, things were fine though I was stressed out. Socially, things were weird. Madeline no longer talked to me. She turned into a hater after a random Black woman and her daughters asked for my autograph one night at Westgate Mall in Brockton. I guess I had truly become a celebrity in some folks eyes. Stuff like that no longer shocked me. However, Madeline got really mad at me. And I called her some names I won’t repeat here. So we’re no longer pals. The girls on the team continued with their bullshit, but I refused to give into them and I refused to bow. I went to all the practices, delivered a killer performance on the field at game time and then went back to my dorm. I was going through hell but kept my head up and smiled. The only person to support me through all this was George. He always picked me up to go to Boston after practice, and he always knew how to cheer me up. George is amazing, folks. Truly one of the best people on the planet. He keeps trying to fix me up with random girls but I’m not ready for romance. Still, I had to give him credit for trying. He was only looking out for me.
One day, George finally introduced me to someone I found interesting. Her name is Natalie D’Avignon. Five feet ten inches tall, curvy, with short hair, dark brown skin, wide-set brown eyes and full lips. Oh, and a thick, curvy body, wide hips and a big round butt. Just the way I like them. Natalie is a biology major at Bridgewater State College and she’s originally from Tampa, Florida. This Haitian-American mama spoke English, French, Spanish a
nd Haitian Creole. And she took my breath away. When I saw her, I had to smile. My heart skipped a beat. George saw my reaction and smiled slyly. I grinned and squeezed his hand. For once, my wingman had done right. Before Natalie even spoke to me, I knew I had hit the jackpot. This lovely young lady was openly gay, and proudly butch. I don’t know if I’m butch but I’m definitely a tomboy. And I like my chicks a little on the masculine side, kind of like me. Natalie had similar tastes. Needless to say, we got along famously.
Natalie and I started hanging out casually, and given the obvious chemistry between us, we started dating. We often walk through Boston’s busy streets while holding hands. Men and sometimes women smile at us and whistle as we walk by. A pair of tall, beautiful Black women. Strong, intelligent, and fiercely independent. One hundred percent Haitian. One hundred percent female. And one hundred percent gay. We walk through the Easton University campus and get stared at too. The White chicks don’t bother me during Cheerleading practice anymore. They’re on their best behaviour. Without telling me, my Natalie had a word or two with Bambi. I don’t know what Natalie said or did but she put the fear of God in Bambi. I love my woman. She is loving yet ferocious. Not a combination you see every bloody day. I think I’m falling in love with Natalie, folks. The sex is awesome. My woman knows how to rock my world. Afterwards Natalie leaves me with that special afterglow that makes me literally purr with contentment. I love Natalie and she loves me. I can’t thank George for introducing us. He’s awesome. I told him that if Natalie and I ever get hitched, he’s going to be my best man. Why? Simply because next to my father, he’s the best man I know. My one and only best friend. The heterosexual male best friend of a proud Black lesbian. Now you’ve seen everything. I love my life, folks.
Uma
- 16.04.2020
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