A Family of Men in America
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Black Family Rules America free porn video
In this cold and uncertain world, life is beyond difficult. For some more than others. Lately, I feel like the universe has been kicking our collective asses. Men and women, Blacks and Whites, straights and gays. We’re all feeling the pinch in this horrible economy. The world has turned upside down and most of us feel that there’s very little we can do. What can we do to hold back the chaos which invades our lives?
My name is Jacques Simon. I’m a Haitian-American police officer living in the city of Brockton, Massachusetts. Yesterday, I turned forty-five. Looking in the bathroom mirror, I feel every decade of my life. I stare at my reflection, and sigh. A six-foot-three, lean and wiry Black man with dark brown skin stares back at me. I inspect myself. I don’t think I look bad for forty-five. I’ve still got all my hair and all my teeth. I don’t have a beer gut. I stay in shape. And my light brown eyes haven’t lost their spark. They stare back at me in the mirror. Unflinching. It’s times like these that I wonder where the time went. I brush my teeth, then step into the shower. The burning water cascades all over my body, and I close my eyes. I love standing under the hot water. It really relaxes me for some reason. Ten minutes later, a knock on the bathroom door interrupts me. It’s my wife Nancy L’Herisson Simon and she wants to use the bathroom. I sigh. Can’t she wait? Damn.
Five minutes later, I exit the bathroom with a dark green towel wrapped around my waist. I am greeted by my wife. She’s looking gloomy this morning. Not that she’s the most chipper person on the planet. I stare at her. She’s five-foot-eleven when barefoot, a bit thick, with dark brown skin and short Black hair. Her hips are wide. Her butt is big and round. And if you ask me, it’s not a bad thing. She believes otherwise. Her face is prettier without makeup but she never believes me when I tell her that. and I like her dark brown skin but she’s been using one of those special soaps to ‘lighten up’. I hate the fact that she thinks she needs to do that to be pretty but I don’t tell her that. She says hey, then steps in the bathroom, closing the door. I stare at that closed do0r. Hey. That’s all the greetings I get these days. Things weren’t always that way, though. She wasn’t always like that. A long time ago, she used to be fun.
I go to the bedroom closet, and pick my clothes. A Black leather jacket over a red silk shirt, Black pants and Black timberland boots. The perks of being a member of the plainclothesmen at the police department. I only wear my uniform when I have to testify in court or I’m attending a friend or colleague’s funeral. I look at my reflection in the bedroom mirror, and try to smile. Last week, I got promoted. I’m now the Chief of D’s. That means Chief of Detectives. It’s about time if you ask me. I’ve been working for the police department since 1994. Before going to the police academy, I wanted to be a lawyer. Then I met a lawyer. And he forever changed my mind about the law. Many cops are crooks. Some are decent people. I’ve never met a lawyer who wasn’t at least semi-evil.
And I don’t just mean defense attorneys. I mean the whole bunch. District attorneys and judges included. It’s almost as if, in order to be a good lawyer, you’ve got to have no conscience whatsoever. Only sociopaths make great lawyers. Men and women with scruples don’t last long in that profession. Interestingly, my wife is a lawyer. She mostly handles wrongful termination cases, and cases of racially based harassment and discrimination. When we met, Nancy had a certain fire in her eyes. I was in my junior year in the Criminal Justice Program at the University of Massachusetts-Boston when I realized that law enforcement was the career for me. Nancy was this tall, vivacious young Black woman who played volleyball for Wellesley College. She was easy on the eyes, but tough on everything else. I should have stayed away from her but I didn’t. I asked her out. She turned me down. I basically became obsessed with her. She eventually relented. She liked my persistence, and we started dating. We got married. And I’ve been trapped with her ever since.
On the dresser, a picture catches my attention. The last family picture we took, all of us together. Nancy and I along with our offspring. We have two grown sons, the twins Roger and Jensen Simon. Though born only five minutes apart on the same day, they couldn’t be more different. Physically and mentally, they were nothing alike. Roger was born first, and he really looks like me. He’s well over six feet tall and very lean, with dark brown skin, ruggedly handsome features and wavy Black hair. He’s warm and friendly, easygoing and seems like the most open person in the world. He attends the University of California at Los Angeles on an athletic scholarship for Football. His brother Jensen is the problematic one. He’s around five-foot-nine, stocky and muscular, with light brown skin and curly Black hair. Being five-foot-nine in a family where the shortest person was five-eleven had to be tough for him. I sympathize with my son, I do. However, he does have his faults. I hate to say it but he’s got the fabled short man’s complex. Yeah, Napoleon Complex is what they call it. While Roger is friendly and easygoing, Jensen is loud, wild and kind of combative and antagonistic. He must always get his way, or else. He’s majoring in business administration at Boston University.
My son Jensen has the instincts and mindset of a shark. He’s ruthless and quite ambitious. He’s always excelled at everything he did. Back at Brockton Community High School, they called him Slicer. He had quite a mouth on him and would say things to other students that would cut them to the bone. Even the loud-mouthed chicks at that school acknowledged his talent for cutting people into little pieces and make them feel worthless with just a few words. And he didn’t like his brother Roger one bit. Roger played Football and after getting cut from the Basketball team, Jensen opted for the coed varsity wrestling team. To my surprise, he became a very tough wrestler, eventually winning first place at the state wrestling championships in the 189-pound weight class during his junior year. He defeated twenty eight young men and nine young women in his pursuit for the crown. Jensen wasn’t just a good wrestler. He simply wasn’t afraid of destroying other people to get what he wanted. On the mat, he was ruthless and disciplined. Patiently waiting for his opponent to make a mistake before pouncing on him or her. He now wrestles for Boston University in the NCAA Division One.
Like any good father, I loved both my sons equally. I’ve loved them ever since they came into this world. I was in the room when the doctor severed the umbilical cord. My wife had been trying for years, without success, then one day God blessed with twin sons. I planned everything down to the smallest detail. We bought a mansion on Ash Street in Brockton’s West Side. A two-story, four-bedroom house with two bathrooms, two living rooms and a kitchen. Not to mention a vast basement, and an outdoor swimming pool. I painted my sons room a bright shade of blue a week before they were born. At the hospital, I insisted on being present for everything. Nancy and I opted not to ‘alter’ our sons in any way. Like me, they were uncircumcised. It took me a while to convince Nancy that routine circumcision was nothing more than sheer cruelty and barbarism that is visited upon young men without their consent. Thankfully, she saw the light. Our sons would grow up intact. The doctors were surprised by our decision, but I didn’t give a damn. I’m neither Jewish nor Muslim. Leave my sons bodies intact, thank you very much.
The day my sons were born, I opened a bank account in their name. That’s how much I loved them. Yet for some reason Roger is closer to me and Jensen prefers to hang with his mother Nancy than to spend time with his old man. I can’t explain it but that’s life, I guess. I am snapped out of my reverie by Nancy’s voice.
She steps out of the bathroom, and smiles. She’s usually in a good mood after showering. She dries herself up, then starts to get dressed. My wife is a lovely woman. She looks really good in a silver business suit. I just wish she’d stop wearing those Granny panties! I step out of the bedroom, and head to the living room. I turn on the TV. They’re giving a Battlestar Galactica marathon on the Sci-Fi Channel. I love Sci-Fi. As does Roger. Nancy prefers watching Bravo TV and Jensen only watches Spike TV and G4, the video game network.
I was deeply engrossed in the episode, which featured a coed boxing match between two of my favorite characters when Nancy stepped out of the bedroom. She simply looked ravishing in a bright green dress, and wore a light green scarf around her neck, complete with some very stylish emerald boots. The poor gator they came from must be seething in reptile heaven…or hell. I look her up and down and smile. Nancy smiles back. She tells me I look good, and I nod and tell her she’s looking fine. For a moment, it’s almost as if we were college undergrads again. Dressing to impress. Then the moment passes. Nancy reminds me we must hurry to Logan Airport, lest our sons be kept waiting. I nod, and we leave the house. I make sure the doors are closed. Our dogs, a pair of loveable brown mutts known as Lucky and Marquis, are all the security system we’ll ever need. I love our dogs. I refused to let Nancy neuter them, based on the advice of some girlfriend of hers who was a vet. Nancy didn’t care one way or the other, so the dogs stayed natural. The way all living things should be. Some things in this world are just wrong and should be outlawed. The circumcision of men, male-oriented ‘procedures’ like vasectomies and the neutering of cats and dogs fall in that category. Only a fool would disagree.
Nancy and I get into the bright red BMW she bought last summer. She insists on driving. I sigh, and shrug. Just like that, we barrel down Ash Street. Two minutes later, we’re at the Dairy Queen on Belmont Street. We take a right and pass by the Westgate Mall before heading out of town. Nancy turns on the radio. At this hour, my favorite radio personalities, Ramiro and Pebbles, are no longer on. So we listen to some useless drivel like that ‘Put a ring on it’ song. Which I hate. Thankfully, a few minutes later, they play an oldie. The song is What I’ve Done by Linkin Park. I love it. We’re speeding down the highway, and head toward Boston. We head to Logan Airport, where our sons are waiting for us. They’ve just come back from Spring Break Vacation. And they insist on both us picking them up because they’ve got a surprise for us.
It’s tough to find parking in Boston, so we leave the car in the quiet lot before entering the airport. As usual, there are lots of people there. Men and women who are waiting for their planes to destinations unknown. Nancy and I hold hands while walking through the airport. She likes to be affectionate in public. It’s behind closed doors that she’s lukewarm, or even cold. According to the receptionist at the desk, the plane from Los Angeles arrived thirty minutes ago. I dial Roger on my cell phone. He doesn’t pick up. So I dial Jensen. Same thing. Nancy and I search through the crowd at the waiting area, and finally we find them.
Smiling, we make our way toward them. And they’re not alone. Jensen is wearing his Boston University wrestling letterman jacket. And he’s holding hands with a tall, dark-haired and bronze-skinned young woman who looks Hispanic. My eyes gravitate toward Roger, and the person who’s got his arm around his shoulders. A tall, short-haired young Asian male dressed in Black leather. Must be a friend or something. I didn’t know Jensen had biker friends. Nancy greets Jensen first, and hugs him. I wave at Jensen, and give Roger a hug. He is stiff in my arms. I look at him. Something’s wrong. Roger looks at me gravely, then points to his white male friend and introduces me to Jacob Lee. I shake hands with Jacob Lee, and tell him I’m glad to meet my son’s friend. Jacob smiles, and tells me he’s not Roger’s friend. I stare at Roger. He takes a deep breath, then tells me Jacob Lee is his boyfriend. I stare at him, stunned. Dazed. Flabbergasted. What?
Next to me, Nancy looks just as shocked as Jensen introduces her to his girlfriend, Ramona Lopez. Apparently, she’s on the women’s soccer team at Ohio State University. Standing side by side, Nancy and I stare at our sons and their significant others. Then we look at each other. I don’t know which one of us is more shocked. Am I more shocked to discover that my Roger is into men or is my wife Nancy more stunned to discover her proud Black prince Jensen is dating a Hispanic chick? Nancy isn’t a proponent of the idea of Black males dating outside their race. Doesn’t matter if they go for White women, Asian women or Latin women. Nancy doesn’t approve. She considers it an act of treachery, a betrayal of the ladies in their community and of themselves. And even though I supported the legalization of Same-Sex Marriage and consider myself open-minded, I’m not thrilled to discover that my pride and joy, my son Roger is into guys. How could he be into guys? Women have been throwing themselves at him since high school. I once caught him getting it on with some Asian chick named Miko in the basement. He begged me not to tell his mother and I kept his secret. I know in my heart that he’s not gay. Roger can’t be gay. He’s too masculine. He plays NCAA Football, for crying out loud! On the scale of manliness, he was a virtual superman! How many guys you know can claim to be both the captain of their high school Football team and the class Valedictorian? I stare into Jacob Lee’s grinning face and consider decking him. That little Asian bastard turned my Roger into a homo. I’m so going to get him for this! My eyes see red and I start breathing heavily. I can’t seem to get enough air! I feel someone’s touch on my arm. It’s Nancy. She smiles at me. I stare at her. Did she know about this? Did she know Roger was gay? Nancy nods calmly, and says we have a lot to discuss. All of us. And just like that, she herds all of us out of the airport and into the car.
Nancy and I walk at the front, while Roger and Jensen walk a few paces behind us, logging along their baggage and their significant others. I squeeze Nancy’s hand nervously. Did she know about this? She tells me that Jensen called her last month and told her his relationship with Michelle Jones, some Black chick he met at UCLA, had ended badly. Mainly because she didn’t take it too well when he told her he swung both ways. I consider this. So, my Roger is bisexual, not gay. Okay, I can work with that. All he needs to do is meet the right woman, and forget all about this Jacob Lee character. My son’s not gay or bisexual. Not really. He just hasn’t met the right lady. Must be all the artificial women in Los Angeles. So into themselves. Never paying enough attention to their men. They could turn anyone queer. Especially if the guy was confused to begin with. I ask Nancy what she thinks of Ramona Lopez, the Hispanic broad her beloved prince Jensen seems to be so into. Isn’t she disappointed that her son chose to be with a Hispanic broad instead of a beautiful Black college woman? Nancy sighs. Looking me in the eye, she tells me nobody’s perfect. I consider that. True. Wow. What a day! I shake my head as we all leave in the BMW together, one big happy frigging family. It’s going to be a long ride back to Brockton!
Jo
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