Black King For Black Queen

Sometimes, the toughest obstacle in the black man's path to success isn't the white man, it's a negative black female. How else would you explain my situation at work? My name is Alexandre Vincent. All my life, I've been the good brother. The hard-working, law-abiding and church-going on you seldom hear about. I'm a firm believer in higher education as perhaps the best ( if not the only ) way for the forward-thinking brother to move forward in western society. Brothers should stop trying to be rappers and athletes and instead get with the program and stick with education. The world would be better off, don't you think?

My parents, Louis and Genevieve Vincent are Haitian immigrants who came to Ontario, Canada, in the early 1980s. They instilled in me a lot of ambition and drive. And it totally worked. Let's look at the results for a moment, shall we? Bachelor's degree in Criminology from Carleton University, and Law degree from the University of Toronto. Not bad for a twenty-seven-year-old black man living in Canada, eh? I started working for the Law firm of Harrington, Tremblay and Rahman in August 2012. One of the top criminal defense firms in Toronto, Ontario, it was founded in 1990 by three law school buddies.

The Law firm has an interesting history. A pair of distinguished white Canadian lawyers, Lucas Harrington and Jean Pierre Tremblay, joined forces with their old pal Abdul Rahman, a Somali immigrant who once made headlines as President of the Law Review at McGill University. Together they founded the firm, and it's been booming ever since. I'm one of the forty three attorneys working for them. They have offices in Ottawa, Hamilton, Montreal and Quebec City, and they're thinking about expending into Calgary. How cool is that?

I was fortunate enough that when I first got hired by the firm, the only black senior partner, Mr. Abdul Rahman, took me under his wing. Even though Mr. Rahman is Somali and a card-carrying Muslim and I'm a Haitian-Canadian Catholic, we totally bonded. The old man taught me much about how to practice law as a black man in Canada's biggest and most racially diverse metropolis, and about life. In many ways, he became the mentor I long sought but never had. I looked up to him, man. I really did. No matter how educated you are, you can't know the unwritten rules of the game until an old pro teaches them to you. Sometimes, what makes or breaks a case for the attorney assigned to it has nothing to do with their knowledge of the law. How you dress, who you know, and how you are seen by the opposition, the jury and the judge himself, all those things matter. Juries don't side with the truth or the law, they side with the victims ( or defendants ) and the attorneys they happen to like. How else would you explain how a clearly guilty racist punk like George Zimmerman is ( for now ) still free while OJ Simpson is in jail?

Yeah, the good Mr. Rahman taught me all these things. He hooked up with this awesome Lebanese tailor, Marcus Suleiman, who got me a whole new line of fancy suits for just about every occasion. While other rookie attorneys at the firm did the backbreaking work of combing through files for the big bosses upstairs, Mr. Rahman showed me the beauty of Toronto and gave me priceless tips. The man is truly beneficent. Unfortunately, I hadn't counted on his daughter. Remember, at the start of the story, I said that a tough obstacle often found in the black man's path to success is the negative black female? I was referring of course to Yasmina Rahman, Mr. Abdul's daughter.

When the esteemed Mr. Abdul Rahman left the Toronto branch of the firm to look into opening a new one in Calgary, there was a power vacuum which his daughter, thirty-year-old hotshot attorney Yasmina Rahman stepped in to fill. Ever heard the term rain maker? That's the seemingly invincible young attorney who's raking in victory after victory in the courtroom. Miss Yasmina Rahman has the distinction of being the firm's only rainmaker. You see, she's tried thirty three cases in her career...and she hasn't lost a single one. Considering she's a black woman attorney in a racist place like Toronto ( don't let the multicultural bullshit fool you, Canada's largest and most racially diverse metropolitan area is full of bigots ) that's doubly impressive.

Now, when I heard that my former boss daughter was going to be my new boss, I was quietly thrilled. Talent runs in the family, I thought as I looked at Yasmina Rahman's picture on the company database. I'm still a rookie but after winning six out of six cases I'd been assigned, I was rising in the ranks. My only rival was Liam Bosworth, this red-haired white dude from Kingston, Ontario, who joined the firm six months before I did. Like all the white guys at work, all he seems to do is smoke cigars, ski and talk hockey, and he's surprised that I'm outpacing him when it comes to actual work. Another reason I dislike him is that he's a University of Ottawa Law school grad, and as a Carleton University graduate, I cannot stand the breed. Our schools have been rivals in academia and athletics for decades...

Anyhow, I showed up at work bright and early Monday morning, only to find Yasmina Rahman in my little office. Dressed in a stylish dark gray business suit, white blouse and dark gray silk pants, the tall Somali lady looked pretty good. Her long black hair cascaded on her shoulders. I love Somali women's natural hair. More sisters should go that way. Hello Vince, Yasmina Rahman said, her big brown eyes wide and unfriendly. Miss Rahman I don't believe we've met, I said, smiling warmly at her and extending my hand for her to shake.

After an uncomfortable span of time, Yasmina Rahman finally shook my hand. You now work for me and I've got work for you, she said, dropping a thick file on my desk. I looked at the file, then cleared my throat before opening my mouth to ask her for further details but she was already walking out of my office. I stood there, feeling irked by the way she disrespected me. Yet I couldn't help staring at her thick ass as she waltzed out of my office, practically sashaying that ass from side to side like a pendulum of temptation. What is it with them Somali women and their mesmerizing asses? Hot damn. Yasmina Rahman is definitely a stuck-up bitch and I knew that, from that day onward, I've had to be careful around her. Still, I couldn't stop thinking about that ass...

Little did I know that my antagonistic relationship with Yasmina Rahman was just beginning. Over the next few months, this broad continued to assign me menial tasks, bug the hell out of me and generally speaking, make my life miserable. If any white manager, male or female, had done that to me, I would have either quit or filed a complaint with the Ontario Human Rights Commission. Yet I refused to give in. I wouldn't be run out of the firm, especially not by this annoying black bitch! I decided to stand up to her. Yasmina isn't the first person to antagonize me in the workplace, and she won't be the last...

Things came to a head between us at the office Christmas Eve Party. It was the last place where I expected to find her, since she's Muslim and all. The office party was held at Toronto City Hall, in a wing rented by the firm. There we were, attorneys, with our wives and husbands, and in some cases, girlfriends and boyfriends, celebrating the holiday with champagne and caviar. I'd come alone, since I basically have no life but I thought I might meet a cutie or two, for the firm has a habit of inviting former clients and their consorts to these events. I looked pretty good in my tuxedo, and I had a glass of red wine in hand. I'm not a big drinker but it's a party, you know?

I was in the middle of conversation with Dylan Croaks, an old white dude who'd been a senior associate with the firm for at least a decade. He was going on and on about his daughter Mildred moving to Atlanta, Georgia, to be with some black guy she met while at a local university. The nonsense of today's youth, Croaks kept repeating, mostly to himself. I wanted to tell the racist old white dude to go fuck himself. I mainly date black women and the occasional Asian or Hispanic woman but I don't have a problem with interracial relationships. I've seen black guys with white chicks and black women with white dudes. Doesn't bother me either way. To each his own, you know?

Just as I was ready to either punch Mr. Croaks or duck out with a lame excuse, guess who came to my rescue? The last person I expected. Yasmina Rahman. The tall, statuesque Somali gal showed up at the party, and stole the show. Clad in a sparkly short red dress and carrying a designer handbag that must have cost my salary for the year, she looked like a princess. Hello Vince, she said, looking me in the eyes. With the snap of her fingers she dismissed Croaks, who skulked away. I looked at Yasmina, mesmerized. The old buzzard was bugging you with his usual racist nonsense, she said. It wasn't a question. I was this close to cussing him out, I said, rolling my eyes. Yasmina smiled. There's life in you I'm glad to see, she laughed. I looked her up and down. Thanks for that, I quipped. Yasmina grinned, and gently touched my arm. You owe me Vince, she said in a sexy drawl that sent shivers down my spine.

For the rest of the evening, Yasmina and I talked. I don't know why she was so friendly. Normally, she and I don't get along. I had to ask. Why are you being so friendly? I asked. Yasmina grinned. I've been saving your butt these past few months and that's all the thanks I get? she said, seemingly amused. Lady I do good work and you typically treat me like shit, I said, more than a bit angry at this point. If I am tough on you it's because I care, Yasmina said, stunning me into silence with these simple words. Come again? I asked, feeling flabbergasted.

Yasmina looked me up and down, and shook her head. You're cute Vince but you need to smarten up, she said, sipping on her champagne. I'm listening, I said, crossing my arms. As a black lawyer who's young and handsome you're seen as a threat by all the white guys in this firm, Yasmina said flatly. Do tell, I said, fascinated by her revelations in spite of myself. If I hadn't taken you under my wing to whip you into shape like my father asked they would have canned you already, Yasmina shrugged, her brown eyes boring into mine. I looked at her, then at the other lawyers in the firm. Even though folks were spread across the room, some talking, some eating, some on their cell phones, I could tell more than a few were paying attention to Yasmina and I. By God you're right, I whispered. Yasmina smiled, and linked her arm with mine. I'm usually right my dear, she laughed.

I looked at Yasmina Rahman, really looked at her, and for a moment I didn't see the bitchy, albeit gorgeous young black woman in the pricy dress with the cold fire in her eyes. I saw a very beautiful and strong yet vulnerable woman. I totally misjudged you, I said, somewhat apologetically. Black women in the corporate world haven't turned their backs on their black men like the brothers think, Yasmina said, her voice choking with emotion. We are nothing without you ladies, I said, looking into her eyes. Yasmina smiled and gently touched my chin. Dance with me, she said. I smiled and nodded. And just like that, we began dancing together as Wagner's Opera music played in the background.

That night, Yasmina and I danced and talked, and in many ways, we sort of bonded. After the party, we walked around downtown Toronto together, and I saw a very different side of Yasmina. The arrogant, snotty bitch from the office was gone, replaced by a very friendly, easygoing gal. Arm in arm, we walked the streets, taking in the sights of our fair city, talking about anything and everything. You're a lot different from what I first thought, I told Yasmina, as we sat on a park bench. I'm only human, Yasmina said, shrugging. I looked at her, and for some reason, I took her hand in mine. Don't ask me why, but I, um, kissed her. When our lips parted, Yasmina stared at me, smiling faintly. What's that for? she asked. Merry Christmas, I said. I'm Muslim, Yasmina laughed. Man, I'd actually forgotten about that. You got me there, I shrugged. Yasmina looked at me and smiled that fearless smile of hers. Fuck it, she said, then she kissed me.

What followed surprised us both. I called us a cab, and instead of going our separate ways, Yasmina and I ended up at my modest two-bedroom condo. We shouldn't do this, I said in the elevator as Yasmina nuzzled on my neck, and pressed my hands against her big ass. Fuck it, she said, and once we got to my place, I did just that. I laid her on my king-sized bed, and undressed her. Off came that sexy red dress, then her bra and panties. I looked at the gorgeous body of the Somali goddess who lay naked on my bed. You're beautiful, I said, and Yasmina smiled. Don't just stare at me come fuck me, she laughed.

I nodded, and then kissed her full and deep. I caressed Yasmina's big boobs, and gently sucked on them. Slow down sweetie, Yasmina grinned, and I winked at her before continuing. I kissed her tits, then slipped my hand between her shapely thighs. Slid my fingers into her wetness. I love this shit, Yasmina murmured, and I continued what I was doing, thrusting two fingers into her wet cunt. I spread her thighs wide open, then fastened my lips to her gash. I slid my tongue inside, and felt Yasmina's flesh shudder all around me as I used my tongue and fingers to pleasure her.

Nothing I love more than eating pussy, except perhaps fucking it. I love the taste of pussy on my tongue, even hairy twats like Yasmina's. I delighted in tasting her, licking every inch of her cunt, teasing her clitoris with my tongue and thrusting my fingers deep inside of her. I had Yasmina squirming on the bed, and she was begging me for more of my very Haitian brand of lovemaking. You like that island magic don't you? I teased her, and Yasmina practically purred in happiness as I lathered her cunt with my tongue.

Man, I got hard as hell from looking at her and working on her. Ready for more? I asked her, and Yasmina nodded. I rolled a condom on my dick, then pressed it against her cunt. Yasmina gently stroked my dick, and smiled at me. Without further ado I pushed my dick into her pussy. Now that's what I'm talking about, Yasmina said, licking her lips and lifting her shapely legs in the air as I thrust into her. I put her legs on my shoulders and continued pounding my way into her. Yasmina licked her lips and dug her fingers into the tender flesh of my sides, urging me to fuck her. I did just that, slamming my dick into Yasmina's tight, hot cunt like there was no tomorrow. Things got even more intense when I asked her to try doggy style and she was all for it...

Man, for months now I'd been jerking off thinking about Yasmina's mesmerizing ass. Now I was about to finally make my fantasy come true. The sight of this gorgeous Somali goddess on all fours, face down and ass up, man, I got so hard it hurt. Like what you see? Yasmina purred, casting me a sidelong glance and winking. Shaking that big ass of hers, she almost made me cum right then and there. As if in a trance I reached for her big booty with both hands, caressing it just to make sure it was real. Then I pressed my hard dick against it, and slid it inside. Yasmina backed that thing up, as they used to say back in the day, grinding her big ass against my groin. This caused my dick to slid deep into her cunt effortlessly. Gripping her hips tightly, I began fucking her with long, deep strokes. Just the way I'd dreamed of doing for ages.

Smash that ass big man, Yasmina purred as I smacked her big booty while slamming my cock into her. Shoot, she didn't need to tell me that. I was already doing that shit, pardon my French. I went into her balls deep, ramming my dick into her mercilessly. I loved the way her big booty bounced under the force of my thrusts. Hmmm. At last I was enjoying a delicious plate of Somali booty. The same one I'd seen around the office, in everything from tight skirts to pantsuits, getting a boner every time. Man, you'd better believe I smashed that ten ways to Sunday. I fucked her front, back and side to side. I totally owned that pussy. By the time I was done with her, I had Yasmina crying out my name in English, Somali and profane...all the languages she knew. How about that?

When all was said and done, Yasmina and I lay exhausted on my bed, spent in the most fun way possible. As far as Christmas presents go, this is probably the best I'd ever gotten...and from a most unlikely source. I got some booty on Christmas Eve from a Muslim gal, how about that? Waking up next to Yasmina the morning of Christmas, I was mesmerized. I haven't been with that many women but I've had my fair share. A lot of chicks don't look good first thing in the morning. Especially if their hair, nails and other parts aren't theirs to begin with. Not Yasmina. The gal was natural from head to toe, and one hundred percent hot. Morning Vince, she said, gently touching my face. Call me Alex, I smiled. Nah I'm your boss and I'll call you Vince if I want to, she replied, tugging at my chest hair. With that, she got up and disappeared into my kitchen. I'm making us some coffee, she yelled out, just as I was about to ask. Damn this broad is bossy in and out of the office, I noted, and smiled.

Yasmina and I spent Christmas Day together, just going with the flow. I didn't think too much about what we were doing on that magical day, I just went with it. We had breakfast at my place, then went over to my parents place in Mississauga for Christmas dinner. First time I've brought a gal home since my college days, and my folks were pleased to meet Yasmina. We're just good friends, she said, smiling at me. You heard the lady, I chimed in, shrugging at my mom and dad as the four of the us sat together and ate. Yeah, it was an awkward, sexually charged, weird and again, odd but altogether wonderful day.

When we returned to the office, it was business as usual between Yasmina and I. The firm has a strict policy against fraternization and it is strictly enforced. The good folks at Harrington, Tremblay & Rahman don't much care for office romance, for it inevitably leads to a downturn in workplace productivity and quite often, sexual harassment. At first, I thought Yasmina had forgotten all about our lovemaking on Christmas Eve and us spending Christmas Day together at my parents place in Mississauga. I want to put it all behind us though it was pleasant, Yasmina flat out told me when I queried her on the subject over a business dinner inside the Eaton Center food court.

If you say so, I said wistfully, keeping my face carefully neutral, though I felt quite sad inside. Even though Yasmina Rahman and I came from different worlds, I felt that there was something real between us. It's what's best for our respective careers, Yasmina said, sipping on her ice tea and looking away. I do miss the wonderful and fearless woman from Christmas Day, I said, looking her in the eye. Yasmina shot me an odd look. Me too, she said, and gently touched my hand. Then she got up and left. I sat there, wondering what the fuck just happened. Women can be so frigging weird, man. I care for her and I know she cares for me. Why can't Yasmina and I be together? I wondered. Is it the fact that we work together? Or the whole Christian versus Muslim thing? Honestly, if I met the right woman and she was Moslem, I think I would actually convert to be with her. If she mattered to me that much. I finished my drink, then left.

A few weeks into January 2014, I found out that my former benefactor Abdul Rahman had come back from Calgary. The fledgling office in Alberta's biggest town would open soon, with eleven lawyers carefully selected from a pool including Albertan law schools best and brightest. They would be shepherded by veteran lawyers from the firm, of course. Abdul Rahman wouldn't be the one spearheading things in Calgary, much to my surprise. He came back to run things here in Toronto. Yasmina would be heading to Calgary. In this redneck town where the election of a Muslim man as Mayor still rankled the local white folks, the Somali goddess would become the face of our firm. Definitely not a decision the senior partners took lightly, but I could think of worse leaders.