Haitian and Male in Canada Ch 06
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Haitian Bisexuality Ch. 08 free porn video
There is nothing quite like the feeling I get when I accomplish something. As the valedictorian of my graduating class at Mansfield University in Mansfield, Massachusetts, I have quite a lot to be proud of. For starters, I am the first black male valedictorian the school had ever seen. Not once in its two-hundred-year history has a black person achieved what I’ve done. I choose to think of myself as a myth buster and record breaker. A young Haitian-American man with talent and a good head on his shoulders. The name is Alec Pierrot and I approve this message.
I stand on the podium, surrounded by my classmates along with their parents. I smile and wave at them and begin my speech. Many are those who envy me. I took all of them by surprise. As a six-foot-three, 240-pound, jet-black and muscle-bound young man, I simply don’t look like a valedictorian. A football stud, maybe. A basketball player, possibly. Valedictorians are usually preppy, female and white. No matter where you go. I guess that’s why there’s so much black media gathered here. For a poor guy from Atlanta, it can certainly seem like a lot. I take it all in stride. This is my moment. I continue with the speech. My lips are moving, and I recite the speech I wrote two nights ago. My mind however is pretty far away.
Four years ago, I came to Mansfield University on an academic scholarship. Mansfield University is one of the largest private schools in the country. Forty one thousand students, spread over six campuses. A titanic institution. Offering associates, bachelors, masters and doctorates in more than eighty fields. Mansfield University has campuses in Boston, Mansfield, Plymouth, Andover, Amherst and Peabody. The Mansfield City campus is the flagship of the university. It’s also where the founder’s tomb is located, along with the new state of the art dormitories and athletic complex.
While internationally famous for its academic rigor, Mansfield University is well-known for its athletic prowess. The Mansfield University Department of Athletics sponsors Men’s Intercollegiate Archery, Baseball, Bowling, Cycling, Basketball, Cross Country, Soccer, Swimming, Alpine Skiing, Ice Hockey, Volleyball, Golf, Tennis, Squash, Rifle, Fencing, Gymnastics, Rowing, Football, Wrestling, Sailing and Rugby. For female student-athletes, they offer Women’s Intercollegiate Archery, Baseball, Basketball, Cycling, Cross Country, Soccer, Swimming, Alpine Skiing, Bowling, Rowing, Ice Hockey, Volleyball, Golf, Tennis, Equestrian, Squash, Rifle, Fencing, Gymnastics, Field Hockey, Wrestling, Sailing and Rugby. All of our sports teams compete in the NCAA Division One.
Yeah, the place was impressive. That’s how I felt when I first came along. I was deeply impressed. Growing up in Atlanta, I thought I had seen it all. My father, Julio Pierrot is a graduate of Georgia Tech. He’s the Director of Field Operations for ATL Tech, a civil engineering company. He did his undergraduate work at Morehouse College and wanted me to go there. I love Morehouse but I had other plans. I wanted to explore life outside the South. I wanted to find myself. Have my own adventures. So I went to New England when Mansfield University offered me a full academic scholarship. My mother, Iris Joan Pierrot didn’t want me to go anywhere either. She’s a Spellman College graduate who earned her master’s degree at Georgia Tech, where she and dad met. Sorry mom and dad, but I’m a grown man now. I’ve got to follow my own path.
My own path. What is my own path? The path of the dutiful son who wants to make mom and dad proud? One thing for sure, I’m still plagued with doubt. What would my parents say if they found out what I’ve been doing at Mansfield University? Newsflash, I’m not just the smartest student in school, I’m also the Founder of the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transsexual Alliance at Mansfield University. I fought both administrators and students to get the Alliance off the ground. Nowadays, it’s in full bloom. We’ve got two hundred members. Eighty percent of the members are young white gay men and lesbian women from wealthy families. I’m one of twelve black students in the Alliance. How’s that for diversity? I was a minority in the fabulous society I helped create. Only twenty five percent of Mansfield University’s student body is non-Caucasian and most of the ethnic minority students, whether Black, Asian, Latino or Middle-Eastern, aren’t exactly supportive of gay rights.
I look down from the podium, and notice how small everyone looks from my lofty stance. I smile. I know I’m not supposed to, but it feels good. I wonder how the wealthy, usually conservative parents of these fine young people would react if I flat out told them that I was bisexual. Some would be outraged. Mansfield University isn’t exactly a bedrock of liberalism. Even though both Massachusetts and California now allow Gay Marriage. Some places simply refuse to chance. I shouldn’t think like that. Mansfield University has done a lot for me. As the top scholar of the undergraduate engineering program, I was given another scholarship. This time I would have the chance to earn my doctorate in engineering at Mansfield University for free. Aren’t they some nice people? So generous. So kind. I should not bite the hand that feeds me. Or should I?
I scan the crowd, and notice a familiar face among the graduating students. The face of Wanda Bernard, my former girlfriend. Ah, Wanda. So fine, so smart, and almost always angry and suspicious of those around her. She calls it vigilance. I call it paranoia. We’ve got quite a history together, you know. I met Wanda during Orientation Day freshman year. The tall, pretty-faced, delightfully curvy, caramel-skinned young woman was the daughter of James Bernard, the Dean of Students. She live on campus practically her entire life. She knew the place like the back of her hand. So even though she was a freshman like myself, she was also a tour guide. I noticed her immediately. It was hard not to. A six-foot-tall young black woman shaped like one of those legendary Ebony goddesses from Ancient Africa will catch the roving gaze of any man with a pulse. And I was a man with a pulse.
I was drawn to Wanda like a moth to the proverbial flame. I basically ‘accidentally’ ran into her quite a lot, and we talked a few times. One day, I asked her out. She accepted. Back then, she was smitten with me. I was a bit surprised. Fine young black women like her were usually drawn to thugs. I wasn’t a thug. I was a southern gentleman living in New England. My speech wasn’t ghetto. My manners were immaculate. And my diction was smooth. I went to class. I went to the gym. I went to the library. I went to church. Not very exciting, hey? I’ve never been Mister Popular. My parents instilled in me a strong work ethic. And some strong values. Values which I had yet to reconcile with my other side. At that point, I knew I was bisexual. Even though I hadn’t told anyone yet. Especially Wanda. I checked out both handsome men and sexy women when walking.
I even had a favorite type of individual of the female persuasion I felt drawn to. I liked women who were tall, busty, and a little bit on the thick side. Having a nice, round and full behind doesn’t hurt. Of course, it wasn’t just physical. I liked women who were smart, open and friendly. I liked intelligent women of all races. I’ve dated smart, funny and decent women of other races and usually had pleasant experiences. I was also fond of intelligent, good-looking, charismatic and caring black women. My mother is such a lady. So I know they exist. I’ve got some pretty high standards. I cannot and will not accept the company of anyone who’s ill-mannered, rude, crude, menacing or downright scary. You know who you are. I don’t even bother looking at anyone who falls into that category.
As for the men, I was drawn to good-looking, articulate and intelligent men of all races. I was quite fond of the sexy black studs I saw walking around the Mansfield University campus, sporting college football and
basketball jerseys. I like thick brothers. I like skinny brothers. I like muscular brothers. As long as they’re cool, smart and healthy. We can deal. What I’m not feeling is someone who’s rude, crude, dumb or downright mean. Cannot tolerate any such fool. Will tell him to hit the road.
I met a lot of fine-looking gay and bisexual black men in Atlanta. I’ve had lots of fun with many of them. I intended to continue having such adventures when I came to Mansfield University. Of course, my girlfriend Wanda Bernard had other plans. You see, Little Miss Perfect didn’t approve of my affairs. When we started dating, we became the Golden Couple at Mansfield University. I was the captain of the Men’s Fencing team, which got me a lot of media attention because I was the most talented person on the team, and also the only black fencer. Wanda Bernard was the captain of the Women’s Rugby team. Mansfield University had the oldest and most successful men’s and women’s varsity rugby teams in the country. Wanda was a popular athlete. She was considered a role model by high school athletes around the state. Also, she had been profiled on ESPN and praised endlessly for her academic and athletic prowess. That combination doesn’t make for a modest individual.
I was quite honest with Wanda Bernard about what I was into from the beginning. I don’t believe in hiding when I don’t have to. At the Saint Joseph’s School For Distinguished Gentlemen, an all-male private school I attended in Atlanta, I was fairly out as a bisexual young man. There were plenty of openly gay and bisexual guys on campus. Both student body and faculty. Wanda attended Boston Latin Academy, one of the best high schools in Massachusetts. I soon found out that my girlfriend and I had a lot more in common than being the offspring of accomplished black professionals. Once, I came by her dorm to surprise and I ended up being the surprised one. You see, I found Wanda in bed making out with her teammate, a buff rugby player named Joanna Clark. Yeah, my lovely, uptight girlfriend was a closeted bisexual. Just like me. You’d think this would have driven us closer together. But you’d be wrong.
Wanda got mad when I confronted her about it. She knew about my bisexual tendencies and we worked out a deal. I could have my fun with my male lovers, but I had to be discreet. She didn’t want a scandal. I was cool with that. The last thing I wanted was to be forced out of the closet. I wouldn’t put it past the conservative administrators of Mansfield University to throw out one of their best scholars because of his sexual orientation. Yeah, I had my fun in the shadows with my chosen lovers. I had no idea my girlfriend was into the same kind of thing I was. We had a long talk about it, once she stopped yelling at me to quit staring at her as her stocky lover rocked her world.
As Wanda sat on the bed and I paced about, she told me everything. She was bisexual and since she came from a deeply conservative family, she thought it best to keep it herself. I understood that. I was in the same situation myself. What I couldn’t understand was why she felt she had to hide it from me. She shrugged, and told me she was sorry. I knew she wasn’t. But I was willing to let it slide. We hugged, kissed and made love afterwards. And things went back to normal. Wanda and I appeared together at public events such as football and basketball games, and Homecoming dances. We also appeared at each other’s athletic events when time allowed. Always the happy couple, smiling hand in hand. At night, I embraced my men and she embraced her women. Sometimes, boredom, curiosity or loneliness drove us to bed together. Sex with Wanda was fun. It was exciting. My lady knew how to rock my world. There was almost nothing she wouldn’t try. Wanda could make a seasoned porn star blush.
Then one day my picture-perfect world came crashing down. It all happened during Sophomore year. I was in the middle of a passionate affair with this tall, good-looking black football stud named Travis Coleman. He was something else. Six feet four inches and two hundred and sixty pounds of hard-bodied, chocolate-skinned masculinity. He transferred to Mansfield University from the University of Georgia. He was a southern guy like me. We instantly clicked. Travis was fine, and he was funny and smart. Not to mention passionate. We had a lot of fun together. He was a great lover. And it wasn’t just sexual between us either. We went to the movies together. I attended all of his football games. I was in love with him, you see. And he loved me. For the first time in my life, I was in love.
I explained my situation to Travis. I was locked in this relationship of convenience with Wanda Bernard. I felt like such a phony. I was two-timing the man I loved with a woman I only felt a sexual attraction to. Wanda didn’t care that I was sleeping with Travis. She made me swear to always be discreet and wear condoms. Other than that, she continued leading her life. Playing rugby. Going to class. Attending school functions. And hooking up with sexy young women left and right. I told Travis my relationship with Wanda was mostly for show. I didn’t tell him that I still slept with her. Travis went along with it. He was so trusting. He was only nineteen years old and had a lot to learn. I was a seasoned player in the game. Our relationship was fun and exciting for the most part. Until Travis slipped up and got exposed. We had a big fight over Wanda. Travis hooked up with some queer to get back at me. That queer ran his mouth. Soon, everyone on campus found out he was gay. His teammates turned on him. His friends abandoned him. And poor Travis shot himself.
I cannot tell you how it felt to hear the news. The man I loved had shot himself. All because some angry queen ran his mouth all over campus. I went to his funeral. The service went mostly unattended. I felt lost. And I also felt responsible. However indirectly, I was responsible for the misfortunes that befell Travis in the desperate, sad last days of his life. How could I make up for it? At once I knew. I would honor Travis memory. I went to the Dean of Students Office and asked my girlfriend’s father for the permission to create a Gay Student Center on campus. The scandal, chaos and madness that followed proved to be my trial by fire.
Over the following weeks, I found myself becoming persona non grata, with both students and faculty. My teammates from the Men’s Fencing team were hostile towards me during practice. My friends from my classes ignored me in the school cafeteria. Oh, yeah. And Wanda dumped me. Isn’t life grand? The faculty was less than friendly upon finding out what I was trying to accomplish. Legally, they couldn’t bar me from creating the gay and lesbian student club. However, they were far from eager or helpful. I went to the library and made informational flyers. I handed them out to everyone I ran into. Most students threw them away. Some kept them. Our first meeting was held in the deserted cafeteria inside the Student Center on a Friday night. To my great surprise, twenty people showed up. Eleven women and nine men. How about that?
And so it began. The first year we struggled to attract and retain members. Many of our members were tragic loners. Young gay and lesbian students who were less than socially adept on campus. To my surprise, we began attracting student-athletes. Roddy Brown, a big and tall black guy from the Baseball team joined us. As did Eleanor Denver, a stocky redhead from the Women’s Volleyball team. Jake, a slim, spiky-haired Asian guy from the Men’s Swim team. Janet Jenkins, a towering, bulky gal from the Women’s Rugby team. One of my ex-girlfriend’s teammates. And last but not least, Al Henry, the tall and slender, bald-headed, knife-wielding and cigarillo-chewing Texan who became captain of the Men’s Rifle team. The club vice president and most outspoken member.
I’m not going to lie, my social life suffered. Thankfully, my parents were hundreds of miles away in peaceful Atlanta, Georgia. I don’t think I
could have handled having to fight hatemongering students, hostile faculty and my own parents at the same time. I pride myself on being a strong individual but I can get overwhelmed like everyone else. I had chosen my path and I stuck to it. I quit the Men’s Fencing team and focused instead on academia and strengthening the fledgling Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transsexual Alliance of Mansfield University. Slowly, the Alliance grew. And we began looking out for each other. Homophobic men and homophobic women found out we weren’t going to be pushed around. We were a diverse crowd. Athletes. Artists. Scholars. United under one banner. Honesty, diversity, freedom and equality. That’s what the Alliance stood for. And I was its proud leader.
For years, I watched it grow. As my graduation date neared, I found two very capable individuals to run the Alliance. Al Henry, my favorite hell-raising Texan, and Lucia Sanchez, a soft-spoken bisexual woman from Mexico City. Back to the present, folks. Sorry about the long reminiscing. Just thought you ought to know something about me, that’s all. So, here I am. Standing on the podium. Delivering my valedictorian’s speech. Graduating at last. And with a scholarship offer to boot. What shall I use as a parting shot? I smile at all of them. My professors. My classmates. My few friends. My many enemies. The men and women who envy me my success, my bravery, my strength and my resilience. Oh, man. I think my next words are going to kill them.
I take a deep breath, and calmly hear myself telling my friends, enemies and the gathered television crews my open secret. I’m proud of myself as a black man, a resilient individual who withstood adversity, and a forthrightly bisexual person. I openly challenge the haters who got in my way. What they thought would kill me has only made me stronger. I hear gasps of shock amongst the crowd. I smile. Good. Let these suckers know who they’re messing with. Proud as a peacock, I strut down the podium. I raise both my hands in the air, and take a bow. My classmates start cheering like there’s no tomorrow. I smile. Am I good or what?
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