Mistress Donna of Jamaica

"Ma'am, has anyone ever told you that you look just like Serena Williams, you know, the tennis star?" says the chubby, bespectacled young white woman working at the makeup counter at Sephora, and I take a deep breath, and bite back the sharp reply that's just on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I nod and smile, trying to be as friendly as I can. One of my new year's resolutions is to stop cussing people who come at me with random stuff.

"All the time, I'm afraid, thank you dear and have a nice day," I reply, and then I pick up my purchases, and head for the nearby ladies room. At this hour, the Rideau Shopping Center, located in the heart of downtown Ottawa, is simply packed. I anticipate a long line at the ladies room, but it's blessedly empty. Thank heaven for small favors.

A few minutes later I exit the mall, and board a 95 bus heading for Barrhaven Center. I get off at Bayview Station, and walk down the ramp to catch the O-Train. I've got a three o'clock class at Carleton University and it's already two thirty. As I board the train, I notice several pairs of eyes on me. A group of young black guys and Latino guys look at me admiringly, and their gaze zero in on my thick black ass.

I can't blame the young fellas for staring, since I look quite sexy in a black leather overcoat over a red tank top, black leather pants and black cowgirl boots. Admirers have compared me to everyone from the iconic Pam Grier in her heyday to tennis champion Serena Williams. I don't take it as a compliment. I don't look like them. They look like me. Don't get it twisted.

"Happy new year, fellas, mind letting a lady through?" I ask with a sweet smile, and a tall, burly young black man sporting a Ravens football sweatshirt smiles and points to one of a few remaining seats in the first cart. I nod thankfully and plop my ass down on one just as some blonde-haired white chick started walking toward it. Our eyes meet, and Barbie's are definitely frosty. I give her a smile a shark would recognize, and she continues on her way.

In case you're wondering who this is, the name is Donna Meadows. I'm five-foot-ten, busty, curvy and sexy, with wide hips and an ass that won't quit. My skin is of a rich chocolate hue, and I have long black hair that's all mine, and I keep it in a stylish Afro. I'll be your Jamaican-Canadian transsexual heroine for today's tale, ladies and gentlemen. Yes, you read right. People like me exist. We put the T in LGBT. Get used to it.

I'm in the MBA program at Carleton University right here in the City of Ottawa, having transferred from Edna Manley College in Kingston, Jamaica. I've been living in Canada for four years now and I'm a permanent resident, yet I can't seem to get used to the Ontario winter. Today a mixture of snow and freezing rain has everyone skating and sliding in the streets of the Capital. I feel like staying home but can't because I have school and work. Welcome to my life.

I finally reach the campus, and make my way to Dunton Tower, the tallest structure on the Carleton University campus. I walk into class just as it's starting, and the professor, Mr. Doyle Jackson, is a tall, forty-something black dude originally from the City of Boston, Massachusetts. I know, I was surprised to see an African-American man working at Carleton University too, but in a pleasant way.

We don't have a lot of black teachers at Canadian institutions of higher education, and Mr. Doyle is indeed one of a kind. The brother is well-dressed, and handsome in an old-school black Hollywood, decidedly Lawrence Fishburne kind of way. Before you start fawning over him, take it from someone who's been there and done that. It's not worth it, trust me.

Mr. Doyle is married to a white chick and has a son with her. I checked him out on both Facebook and LinkedIn. Family man through and true, and hopelessly heterosexual. I know, I was saddened too. I still have inappropriate thoughts about him from time to time. What can I say? The brother has a cute ass. What? Just because I'm not buying doesn't mean I can't look at the menu!

"What's up Miss Dee?" a deep voice chimes in, and I turn to find myself looking at a tall, handsome brother in a brightly colored Dashiki, Kufi hat and blue jeans. I sigh and roll my eyes, and flash Samir Kebire a polite smile. Originally from the City of Nefasit, Eritrea, Samir is a newcomer to Ottawa by way of Mississauga, Ontario, and in spite of being a Muslim, he's the proverbial "super thirsty brother" that numerous young black women have been warned about.

"Not much, dude, just paying attention," I reply politely, and I resume listening to Professor Doyle, who goes on and on about the difference between business ethics and morality. I can feel Samir staring at me, and shake my head. I met him last semester during a meeting of black LGBT people organized by various groups at the school. Samir knows that I'm a transsexual, I told him point-blank, and he's been sweating me ever since.

"Ten steps ahead of you, Miss Dee, you're killing a brother in them leather pants," Samir whispers, and I turn around and shot him a look. When I met Samir, he was dating a Somali chick named Mariam something or other. These days, he's single, and as practically every black female student on the Carleton University campus knows, Samir is ready to mingle.

"I'm a transsexual and don't date straight brothers, they start tripping over ladies like me after the deed is done," I angrily told Samir when he accosted me at a party organized by the Black Student Union at The Bourbon Room, a chic club located in downtown Ottawa. That night, I was hanging out with my former roommate Debra and this Haitian chick named Nadine, and we were all dolled up, looking fly and ready to have some fun. That's when Samir came along, and stuck to me all night like a tick.

"Yeah, but I wouldn't trip over you, sweetness, I can handle anything you throw my way, and I don't believe in labels," Samir said boldly, and I remember blinking in surprise. I've had a lot of bad experiences with straight-but-curious brothers and bisexual black guys who are just experimenting. They're usually cute and packing down below, but I wasn't about to be another smash-and-ditch. So I wished Samir a good night and walked away.

Class ended, and I went to the library to get some work done. Guess who followed me there? I went to the third floor, hoping Samir would get the hint, and he actually sat a computer a few meters from mine. I ignored him and continued doing my work. When six o'clock hit, I got ready to go home. I work the overnight shift as a shelf stocker at Walmart, to pay the bills. I like to get some sleep before I show up for work at eleven.

"What a fool," I thought to myself as I lay in bed, resting before my shift. It had been a long day and I felt like sleeping, but I knew that if I slept, I'd never wake up on time for work, alarms or not. So I watched an old episode of Stargate on Space. I smiled to myself as I watched actor Christopher Judge's character Teal'C take off his shirt. Hot damn, I love strong, sexy black men. I'm addicted to them, even if they often hurt me. Don't ask.

Speaking of addiction, as I lay naked on my bed, lustful thoughts swirled about my mind. I closed my eyes and pinched my nipples, then I began stroking my dick. It's ten inches long, oily and dark, oh and it's quite thick, and has been known to make both women and men squeal. I don't discriminate and hook up with both sexes, though I usually prefer the fellas. It's just the way I get down.

"Hmm," I whispered as I stroked my dick, and guess what image popped into my mind? I thought of Samir Kebire, and in my fantasy, the arrogant Eritrean Muslim stud strode into my room stark naked, his muscular body glistening with sweat, his hands on his big ole black dick. With a cocksure grin on his face, Fantasyland-Samir looked at me and stroked his bearded chin.

"Donna, come over here and show a brother some love," Samir said in that sexy, infuriating baritone voice of his. I got up and walked up to him, and we shared a deep, passionate kiss. Samir embraced me, and caressed my breasts before giving my thick derriere a firm slap. I gasped in surprise when Samir gripped my dick and began stroking it.

"Hmm, don't stop," I whispered, and a grinning Samir took me into his arms and carried me to the bed. The brother laid me there, and his eyes roamed all over my voluptuous, curvy body. Samir kissed me again, and he began sucking on my tits while stroking my dick. I moaned deeply as Samir kissed a path from my breasts to my belly, and finally to my groin.

"Nice and hard for me, I like that," Samir said, and I watched, amazed, as the Eritrean Muslim stud took my dick into his mouth. I rubbed my breasts together as Samir sucked my dick with gusto, and when I finally came, the brother guzzled up my cum like a thirsty man finding himself at a fountain. I sighed happily as Samir polished my dick with his tongue, and then smiled up at me.

"Come here handsome," I said, and a smiling Samir came to me. I got on all fours and he spread my thick ass cheeks wide open. I moaned in pleasure as Samir fingered my asshole, and then began eating my ass. I love having my ass eaten but a lot of brothers, both straight black men and gay/bisexual black men, tend to balk at that. Why can't black men admit they like eating ass? The world isn't going to end if they do!

"I love the booty juice," Samir paused to say, and he playfully smacked my ass while eating it. I grinded my big ass against his face, loving the feel of his tongue in my ass. After giving my booty hole a tongue bath, Samir rolled a condom on his dick and showed me what he was made of. I squealed in delight as Samir worked his dick into my asshole after lubricating me, and he gripped my hips tightly as he began to fuck me.

"Take this ass," I pleaded, and Samir was happy to oblige, fucking me with slow, deep strokes. Face down and ass up, I completely surrendered to him, loving the feel of his long, hard dick inside of me. I loved that dick of his and if loving it was wrong, I didn't want to be right. Samir tapped that ass real good, and afterwards, when he pulled out, I took the condom off his dick and sucked him off. Samir sighed happily and gave me the thumbs up sign. I sucked his dick and didn't let up until he came, then I drank his seed.

"Bing," came the sound of the alarm, and my eyes snapped open. I looked at the alarm clock on my nightstand and realized that it was ten thirty five. In twenty five minutes my overnight shift at Walmart would begin. I looked down at myself, and shook my head. I'm a mess, ladies and gentlemen. What can I say?

My nipples are erect, and I just came profusely, from masturbating to thoughts of Samir and his stiff Eritrean dick. Dammit, I lost track of time. Even when he's not around, Samir is giving me problems. Black men, I swear! I hurriedly got dressed, grabbed my backpack and rushed out of the house. I live a fifteen-minute walk from Walmart, so I made it on time. Barely. Phew, that was a close one.

While on my first fifteen-minute break, I sat inside Walmart's now deserted in-house McDonalds restaurant, and browsed through my Facebook on my phone while sipping an iced tea. I noticed that I had a message in my inbox, and opened it out of curiosity. Guess who it was? I smiled and began reading the note, and as I read it, a sense of excitement came over me.

"Donna, I think you're beautiful, and I don't care what people say, I want to get to know you better, so here's my number, text me sometime, if you want. If you don't, then I will leave you alone, a brother can take a hint," read the note from Samir Kebire of Eritrea, thirsty brother extraordinaire and campus stud. I noticed the time stamp on the note, dude sent it five minutes ago. I sat there and smiled. What am I going to do with him?

"Samir, I think you're cute, if somewhat thirsty, give a sister a shout," I typed up, and then I wrote down my cell phone number. I was still smiling at the note when my shift supervisor came back. The supervisor in question is an annoying chubby white dude named Connor who didn't even finish high school and had been working at Walmart for over a decade. Total loser with control freak tendencies, folks. I hate the little fucker.

"Donna, please return to stocking the shelves, thank you," Connor said with that fake smile so common to folks in the Ottawa region. I returned to work, and resumed stocking the shelves. It's not easy being part of the overnight shift at Walmart but thankfully the store is closed so there's no pesky customers to deal with. You just do the job, pray for daylight and then go home. I do this because I have bills to pay. I seriously hate it. As I pulled a cart full of goods toward the frozen foods section, my phone buzzed.

"What's good, sexy? Are you thinking of me? I'm holding onto something that's thinking of you," read the text from Samir. I smiled and shook my head. I imagined him lying in bed, probably next to whatever sister he just banged, and he's still horny so he's thinking of me. Dude is probably texting with one hand and stroking his big ole dick with the other. I wasn't born yesterday. I know all about them horny brothers and their bad habits...

"Got something that's been thinking of you too," I replied, and I took a look around, and since Connor and the others were nowhere near, I discretely took a shot of my booty. I was about to send it to Samir when my phone buzzed again, and I gasped at his latest message. For Samir just sent me a picture of his ass, which was cuter than I could have ever imagined.

"Been dreaming of you tapping that ass, I like being dominated by a sassy, bossy sister," read Samir's text, and I looked at it again and again, and smiled. Dammit, this brother is something else. I felt my nipples harden, and barely resisted the urge to play with my breasts, so aroused I was by the thought of Samir's ass. My dick hardened in my pants, and a naughty image flashed through my lusty brain. Samir, bent over, face down and ass up, with my dick up his ass and my breasts swaying against his back as I fucked him.

"Ask and you shall receive, handsome," I replied, and Samir immediately sent me another text, this time inviting me to grab coffee with him at the Starbucks inside the campus library tomorrow afternoon at four. I hesitated. I didn't have class tomorrow. After working from eleven in the evening till seven in the morning, I normally slept till one o'clock in the afternoon. Could I make it? Should I? Decisions, decisions.

"No texting while on duty," Connor shouted as he walked by, pushing a cart full of overstock. I looked at the bozo and shrugged, and he shook his head and walked away. I looked at the text message from Samir. Was I seriously considering this? Hmm. I hadn't had sex in ages. Two months ago, I hooked up with a Barbadian dude I met at the Honest Lawyer bar downtown, and before that, I hooked up with a slutty white chick named Debbie from Algonquin College in Nepean. Since then, zero sex for yours truly.

"Sounds good, see you there, handsome," I replied, and I immediately received a smiley face from Samir, which made me smile. I tucked away my phone and resumed working. Without even realizing it, I began to hum. What can I say? I felt happy. To be honest, while the super thirsty Samir has been after me, part of me felt flattered by the attention. Also, this brother isn't afraid to flirt with a transgender woman in public and doesn't care what people think. Such manly confidence, eh? I can't wait to find out what he's like in bed!

There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. A day in the life of little old me. I, Donna Meadows, formerly of Kingston, Jamaica, and currently of Ottawa, Ontario, am living the dream. I'm proudly black and transgendered, I'm sexy and ambitious, and I live my life by my own rules. I don't apologize for who I am, what I am or what I've done or will do. Oh, and if you don't like it, you can kiss my thick transsexual Afro-Caribbean booty!