I loved a black woman once. Her name was Jacqueline. She was a hooker in a bar, had slept with hundreds of guys, but she was so beautiful. Dark as ebony and so so beautiful.
I was the first guy to sleep with her without protection. The first guy to give her cunnilingus. She ejaculated buckets all over the place.
One day she said that she was pregnant and that the child was mine. When the child was born, I asked her,
Well, Jacqueline, what does the child look like?
It was a son.
Is he mixed, or is he blackblack?
She said he was blackblack.
He can’t be mine then, can he?
She insisted he was.
Ok then, here’s what we’ll do: let’s get a blood test done. If he’s mine, I’ll acknowledge him.
That’s when she bottled out.
Then one day Jacqueline just disappeared. Apparently she had committed suicide. Didn’t want to grow old and lose her looks.
I love black women. Love the taste of them. Because they do taste different.
(from Verses Nature, out summer 2016)