Black Love Never Dies

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Older women occasionally like to get freaky too, ladies and gentlemen. Just because a woman is of a certain age doesn’t mean that her sex drive and her need for romance and fun are gone. She must do her thing. Otherwise, she might as well be dead, you know? My name is Diane Hawthorne, and I’m fifty two years old. I stand five eleven inches tall, kind of curvy, with Black hair streaked with some gray, light brown skin and pale green eyes. I am biracial. My father Dirk Hawthorne was White and my mother Francine Jean-Paul was Black, originally from the Caribbean island of Haiti. In my time, I have been many things. I am a graduate of the University of Massachusetts in Amherst, a banker and a former substitute teacher. I moved to the City of Kanata, Province of Ontario, from my hometown of Amherst, Massachusetts, in the summer of 1990. I presently work for the Royal Bank of Canada in downtown Ottawa.

It’s been more than twenty years since I came to Ontario and I still love Canada. I married a French Canadian trucker named Joel Moustache ( yes, that’s his actual name) and we have a son, Joey, who’s a freshman at Howard University in Washington D.C. and a daughter, Annabelle, who’s a freshman at Ottawa University in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I am a Canadian citizen now but have always maintained ties to the U.S. I voted for Barack Obama in the 2008 election because I still have my U.S. citizenship. It’s a pain filing two tax returns every year but it’s worth it, I think. Price of dual citizenship. I don’t know who I’ll vote for this coming election because former Massachusetts Governor and Republican strongman Mitt Romney is a fellow New Englander and I agree with him on many things. I am also of the Mormon faith.

Just between you and me, I wish U.S. President Barack Obama would stop playing nice with the Arab radicals in countries like almanbahis adresi Afghanistan, Pakistan, Saudi Arabia and Iran who clearly want to destroy the United States of America, Canada, Europe and the rest of Western society. Sometimes I think President Obama’s too sympathetic to such backwards people who hate democracy and religious freedom and utterly dismiss women’s rights as a puerile idea. I have seen what they do to women and religious minorities in predominantly Muslim countries. These guys are bad news. As a woman and a believer in equality, I am pissed at such notions. Why play nice with people with radical beliefs who would happily destroy you if they could? Obama’s politics don’t always make sense to me. Sometimes I think he’s hiding something. Maybe he is really Muslim, after all. Not that there is anything wrong with that. I’m just saying.

Anyhow, I didn’t come here to talk about politics but I just thought I’d tell you a little about me. My husband Joel Moustache shocked the family in the summer of 2011. He revealed to us that he was gay and had been carrying on an affair with his fellow trucker Randall Lemieux for the past ten years. To say that I was shocked would have been the understatement of the century. I never imagined that my tall, blond and blue-eyed, absolutely masculine husband could be queer. Seriously. The thought never entered my mind. Well, he is gay and we’re getting divorced. I cannot share my life with a man who doesn’t love me. Now, don’t think that I am homophobic or anything. I dated an openly bisexual guy named Scott Lafontaine in college. We had fun and we were fond of each other. We only split because he moved away for grad school. Scott was honest with himself and he was faithful to me. Scott never lied to me. Joel lied to me and he lied to himself. I don’t think I can forgive that. almanbahis adres Also, I don’t like cheaters. I feel like I am the laughingstock of my family and friends. My world turned upside down last summer and I am just beginning to recover.

I decided to go to the City of Buffalo, New York, for a bit of a holiday. Buffalo is right next to Lake Erie, Ontario. It’s the first American town once you cross the Canadian –American border. I go there fairly often, mainly to shop at the Galleria Mall because it’s much cheaper than any store in Ontario. Guess who I ran into? There he was, standing inside Dunkin Donuts, holding onto his cowboy hat. Scott Lafontaine. Six feet two inches tall, lean and wiry, with dark brown skin and curly Black hair. The handsome Haitian-born American stud who took my breath away at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst so many years ago. I recognized him even now. Oh, there was a bit of gray on his beard but he looked really good. I gently tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to look at me. Scott’s eyes widened in recognition and he threw his arms wide open. I hugged him gently. Scott and I remained in a tight embrace for a long moment, then we looked at each other again. Oh, my. He still looked hot. He asked me to join him for coffee. I couldn’t say no to an old friend now, could I?

As we sat across from each other at a table inside Buffalo City’s Galleria Mall, Scott and I caught up. He told me he never got married, but he was a parent. He showed me pictures of his sons, Jayson and Matthew Lafontaine. I looked at photos of two light-skinned young Black men in their early twenties. Scott told me about their mother, an Italian-American lady named Anunciata Tartaglia. He met her after completing the MBA program at the University of Houston in Texas. No, they never got hitched. They almanbahis adres got along alright, though. No, they were no longer together. Scott was single. Had been for the past three years. He was happy with his job as a realtor. Both of his sons were at Howard University. When I told him that my own son Joey was at Howard, Scott laughed. I’ve always been very afro-centric, even though I married a White man in Canada. I guess my son Joey got that from me. Scott and I talked about our brats, their schools, and about our lives.

Looking into Scott’s soulful brown eyes, I felt my heart flutter. Even after all those years, he still had that effect on me. I didn’t want to tell him about my husband Joel’s revelation of his homosexuality and him running off with his friend/fuck buddy Randall. Still, this was Scott and we never kept anything from each other. I told him everything that happened, all that I had gone through in the name of career, love and family, and I had tears flowing from my eyes by the time I finished. Scott gently laid his hand on mine, and simply looked into my eyes. I looked into his eyes, and next thing I knew, we were kissing. Just locking tongues and making out like the college brats we once were, so many years ago. Before careers, marriages and having brats of our own. I threw my arms around Scott and kissed him like my life depended on it.

When we came up for air, I was grinning like a schoolgirl and so was he. I looked at Scott and he looked at me. My sexy stud winked at me mischievously and looked me up and down before licking his lips suggestively. I felt a thrill down my spine, among other places. And it was as if the past twenty-plus years hadn’t gone by. Scott asked me what I was doing tonight. I told him I didn’t plan on doing anything. Just staying in my hotel room moping. Scott laughed, and asked me if I still liked reggae dancing. I smiled. Of course I still love reggae! I’ve got Black in my blood. Some things never change. Scott offered me his hand and I took it. Thus we left Dunkin Donuts and made our way to my hotel room…I had some catching up to do, in more ways than one.

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