Quebec Women Loves Haitian Man

I went to class the next day, and did my best to avoid Jean-Francois. He came straight for me, a big smile on his handsome face. I looked him in the eyes, determined not to falter. I had my speech ready and everything. I wanted to tell him that I liked him as a friend but nothing more. Sure, it was my fault for kissing him in the first place. Nobody forced me to do it. Why did I do it? I don't know. Sheer impulse? Curiosity? I don't know. I didn't want to know. No place in my life for a guy right now. Especially a guy like him. One of those cocky, sexy Haitian bastards.

Montreal is full of them and other Quebec women chase them but they don't do it for me. They can't do it for me. I'm a Purelaine Quebecoise for Christ sakes. As close to purity and royalty as you get in Quebec. Other Quebecers like to get with minorities and immigrants, not us. I'm sorry but that's the way I was brought up. Yeah, I was ready to spill all that. Then I saw the look in Jean-Francois eyes, and I froze. My heart skipped a beat. I felt hot, and forgot everything I was about to say. Before he could react I grabbed him...and kissed him again. This time in front of the entire French Literature class. As far as break-ups go, I suck at them. Jean-Francois kissed me back, and pulled me into his arms. Everybody stared. I didn't care. I kissed him like my life depended on it. And if it weren't for the Professeur clearing his throat and gently tapping me on the floor, I think I might have fucked Jean-Francois right then and there!

Red-faced, I went to my seat. And Jean-Francois sat next to me. The rest of the class went by peacefully. I didn't hear a word that was said. I was in turmoil. A woman divided. My heart...and other parts, wanted Jean-Francois. My burly, sexy Haitian stud. My mind reasoned that if my parents, especially my mother, found out, I'd be a dead woman. You don't understand. My parents are Quebec separatists. They supported the Quebec nationalism movement when they tried to secede from Canada two decades ago.

They can't stand immigrants coming to Quebec, especially the ones from outside the European Union. And my whole life I've never questioned the beliefs they instilled in me. Beliefs which were at war with my strangely strong feelings for this handsome young Haitian man whom I met only recently. And you thought your life was complicated.

When class ended, I told Jean-Francois we needed to talk. He smiled at me and told me he liked me a lot. However, he wanted to take things slow. I seethed with anger. I was throwing myself at him and he wanted to take things slow. The Haitian mofo was really pissing me off. Who did he think he was? I'm a gorgeous blonde Quebecoise. I can have whoever I want. I've seldom had a man refuse me. I felt so much for Jean-Francois. How could he take things so coolly? My heart ached. However, my mind reasoned that taking things slow might not be a bad idea. My parents are in Trois-Rivieres but they visit Montreal occasionally. I can have my fun with Jean-Francois. All I had to do was make sure they didn't know. Especially my mother. She'd shoot him for sure.

My father is more laid back. He told me he once dated an Asian woman prior to meeting and marrying my mother. I suspect he's not as opposed to interracial relationships as my mother. So much for the stereotype that the Dad is the raging racist while the Mom is the voice of acceptance and reason. All those thoughts swam about my head as Jean-Francois and I sat inside the Montreal University cafeteria, having some Tim Horton's coffee and sandwiches.

And that's how it all began. My relationship with Jean-Francois Poisson, my Haitian stud. He swept me off my feet. My gorgeous Black man who didn't find me too tall or too chubby, too French or too nasty. He liked me exactly as I was. He opened a whole new world for me. He introduced me to his Haitian friends, both male and female. Over two hundred thousand Haitians live in the City of Montreal, among seas of other ethnic minorities yet I've never made a single friend who wasn't White. I've really lived in my own little world, which my parents sealed years ago. And it took this cocky, charming and amazing young Haitian man to save me from myself. I fell in love with him. And he fell in love with me. My world would never be the same.

Jean-Francois is the kind of man who takes life as it comes. He explained his view of the world to me. He told me that male life, especially Black male life, was a brief and often troublesome existence. Trigger-happy White police officers, angry Black women, healthcare discrepancy issues, deadly gangs, lack of steady employment, all those factors had a habit of shortening the Black male lifespan. Yet Black men all over North America went out to fight against the odds. They were the toughest group among all human beings. Jean-Francois told me he lived life to the fullest and enjoyed himself. He appreciated the people in his life.

Also, he didn't waste time being mad at a racist world that tried to keep him down simply for being Black and male. He kept moving forward, regardless of obstacles. He told me he took care of his family and friends, and let nothing get him down. I looked at him, amazed, after he shared his life's philosophy with me. Wow. I found myself filled with newfound respect for Jean-Francois, and the other good Black men out there. The unsung heroes of a world that fears and hates them. Would I be so strong and brave if I had so many things set up against me? I sincerely doubt it. I am bitter as hell because some immigrant and international students had it better than I did at the University of Montreal. Yet I had never taken into account all the difficulties they faced daily, especially the students of African descent. It took one of them to open my eyes. I had a lot to be thankful for, and I didn't even realize it. I thank God for bringing Jean-Francois into my life. He simply changed my world.

I love what my life has become. Thanks to Jean-Francois, I made many new friends. You know what? One of these new friends is his cousin Ashley Poisson. We're what she calls sister-friends now. Once Ashley saw that I genuinely cared for her beloved cousin Jean-Francois, she was okay with me. I guess if you work hard enough, everyone really does come around. Ashley isn't dating Lucien Gagne anymore. When I asked why, she mentioned something about an unpleasant meeting with his family, whom she called typical Quebecers.

I bristled at that but kind of sympathized because Ashley was my friend. She's now seeing Mustafa, this Muslim guy from Ethiopia. I kind of felt initially uncomfortable around Mustafa simply because he was Muslim. Like many people in the western world, I saw Muslim men as barbaric oppressors of women and potential terrorists. I am ashamed to say that I actually cheered a certain American female conservative author and activist when she came to Canadian Universities and spoke about the "Muslim threat". Well, not anymore. I am no longer that person. Mustafa showed me a different side of the Muslim faith. A side I never knew existed. He's a friendly, courteous and very considerate guy who respects the women in his life very much. He's very modern in his views. And I thought all Muslim guys wanted their women at home, barefoot and pregnant, never questioning the man's word. I guess if Mustafa hadn't been a nice guy with modern views, he wouldn't have hooked up with a bossy Haitian-American Princess like Ashley Poisson. Wow. Such a changing world I live in!

My relationship with Jean-Francois continued to blossom. He's really an amazing man. And without sounding like a typical White chick in lust with a Black male, my man is well-endowed and knows how to rock my world. I have zero complaints in the bedroom, folks. Sometimes, Jean-Francois fucks me so hard I seriously think he's trying to kill me with his nine-inch, uncircumcised Black dick. I don't care. It's a hell of a way to go, you know? I love his body. I love his chest hairs. I love his slightly bowed legs. I love his goatee. I love his cute buns.

And I can't get enough of his member. He's taken me face down and ass up in a backroom of the campus Library after hours, spanking my big butt as I rode him to orgasm. I love his manhood, I like the way it smells and tastes. No two men smell or taste exactly alike, you know. I love the fact that my Jean-Francois loves my body the way it is. I'm over six feet tall and weigh over two hundred pounds. I'm tall and blonde, sure, but being super curvy doesn't exactly make me everyone's ideal of beauty. Jean-Francois calls me his Teutonic Goddess. I gently but firmly remind him that I am a proud Quebecoise, a Purelaine, of the purest French stock, not some Nordic bimbo. Hey, I've changed a lot just to make my man happy but I'm still me, you know?

Everybody on campus knows that Jean-Francois and I are an item. They've seen us walking through the hallways, holding hands. Or they've seen me sitting on his lap inside the cafeteria. White men and Black women walking by give us funny looks. Jean-Francois and I don't care. I find it funny that although there are many interracial couples out there, including many Black female/White male couples, it's the Black male/White female couples that get all the jeers. The world doesn't care if a White male sleeps with or marries a Black woman. In fact, most White men feel that it's their God-given droit de seigneur ( lordly right ) to bang ethnic women of all hues.

Yet they frown when they see a White woman with a man who isn't White. Let a Black man look at a White woman too long and everybody's up in arms. It was that way in the old days and it's that way in the 2010s. Wow. I don't care. I love my Jean-Francois and he loves me. I met his parents, Picard and Margaret Poisson when they visited Montreal from their native town of Cap-Haitien, Republic of Haiti. I really liked Jean-Francois parents. They were really nice people. Even his mother, though I kind of dreaded meeting her. It had nothing to do with race or culture. Women are always scared of meeting a guy's mother. Ladies, you know I'm right. Margaret Poisson, Jean-Francois's mother, was really nice and sweet. She looked me straight in the eyes and only asked me one question. Did I love her son? I answered in the affirmative without hesitation. The older lady must have liked the answer for she relaxed, and nodded. I guess that's a Haitian matriarch's way of saying welcome to the family.

After that fabulous little get-together, Jean-Francois kept asking to meet my parents. I kept delaying it or being evasive with my answers. My mother is a gun-toting policewoman and lifelong Quebec Separatist. She doesn't like immigrants and more than once she told me she feared the browning of Canada. Mom thinks there are too many Africans, Hispanics, Asians and Arabs living in the great Confederation of Canada. She fears we're headed for a day when minorities will become the majority, as they are becoming in the United States of America. Up until recently, Mom's beliefs were my beliefs.

Then I met Jean-Francois and my views changed somewhat, because of my love for him. I won't say I'm ready to carry the Diversity Flag but I no longer see immigrants, particularly the Black ones, as a threat to Canada. I see them as ordinary people who came here to live their lives, pure and simple. Some of them have done great things for Canada. Jean-Francois couldn't understand when I told him meeting my parents was a bad idea. And unfortunately, the day I dreaded finally came. My parents showed up on campus the weekend of my twenty-third birthday, the eight day of January. And this Aquarius woman was in for one hell of a surprise. I was at home, watching TV while Jean-Francois lay in my arms. There was a knock at the door.

I wanted to get it but Jean-Francois, with his macho Haitian thing, insisted on getting it. He's the man, he insisted, even though it's my apartment. I shook my head, smiled and went back to watching TV. I figured it was one of my buddies dropping by, or the pizza delivery guy. Well, it was neither. My parents were at the door. And they froze when Jean-Francois greeted them. Mom's booming voice demanded my attention as she demanded to know who Jean-Francois was. She brushed past him, with Dad in tow. Jean-Francois stared at them, stunned. I rose from the sofa, clad in a tank top and panties. Great attire to wear when in the same room with the boyfriend and the parents. Really.

I got up and went to stand by Jean-Francois side. Mom's eyes widened like saucers when she saw me. In a flash she put two and two together. Dad stood there, scratching his head. Mom called Jean-Francois something I won't write here, and told me I was dead to her. Then she stormed out of the room. Dad looked at me, then at Jean-Francois. He shrugged, and followed Mom. And that's how my future husband met my parents for the first and indeed the last time.

After this shocking event, Jean-Francois and I had a lot to talk about. He was really hurt by my folks reaction to him, especially my Mom. Like a lot of you, he thinks the Mom is usually the open-minded one while the Dad is the bigot. Well, he just got a crash course about the hidden truths and power dynamics of White families. I am sorry that he got hurt. However, in some ways, as sick as this sounds, I am relieved. Now that he knows what my folks are like, he won't be bugging me to meet them again. For a time, he was cold and distant to me. However, he came around. He can't resist me when I come to him sans panties. I could have said two plus two equaled five and Jean-Francois would have said hell yeah. I won my man back. The fun way. The Winter 2011 was in full bloom when my world changed yet again. I discovered I was pregnant when I fainted during a routine class trip to the Ottawa General Hospital in Ottawa. One of the institution's long-dead founders had also made contributions to literature in Quebec so several classes from the University of Montreal swung by for a visit.

Jean-Francois was absent that day. He had some things to take care of at the United States Embassy in Ottawa. Yep. I found out I was pregnant with twins. This in my last semester at the University of Montreal. Wow. I greeted the news with excitement and fear. Inside of me were the fruits of my love for Jean-Francois. What a wonderful thing. Still, I was quite worried. Jean-Francois just turned twenty-one the first day of November 2011. My sexy Scorpio has a year left before getting his bachelor's degree in business from the University of Montreal. How would he react? This changes everything.

I went home, and resolved to tell him the truth. Jean-Francois didn't let me speak. Apparently, he had something to ask me. My heart skipped a beat as he got down on one knee and produced a ring seemingly out of thin air. I froze. Hot damn, this was a big rock. Still, I had something to tell him. Something which might make him change his mind. Would my Haitian stud abandon me? Or would he stand by me? Would he still want me? I told him what the doctors told me. The words had barely left my mouth when Jean-Francois pulled me into his arms and kissed me. And he practically forced the ring onto my finger. Moments later, I was saying quite a lot of yeses for many reasons, his proposal being only one of them. We made love on the floor. Afterwards, Jean-Francois held me in his arms and told me everything would be alright. Looks like I chose right. My man is awesome. He's the love of my life, my husband-to-be and the future father of our unborn brats. Like the rest of you, I don't know what life has in store for us but we're going to be alright.