Biracial Amazon Queen

"Don't call me mixed, dude, for your information, I identify as black," I said to the wannabe super-fly Latino dude in the Durag who stepped up to me. That fateful morning, I was at Bayview Station, waiting for the O-Train which would take me to the Carleton University campus. After hollering at me in Spanish, a language I do not speak, the bozo finally decided to try English, and by then it was too late. I don't like to be questioned about my ethnicity. At the end of the day, I'm a Canadian woman and a citizen of the world. It's 2016, get with the program, fools!

My name is Gina Aurelius, and I was born in the City of Cleveland, Ohio, to a Haitian immigrant father, Jean-Michel Aurelius, and a white American mother, Nicole Thompson. Five-foot-ten, curvy, with long, curly black hair and almond-shaped golden brown eyes, I'm a caramel-hued Amazonian diva with a sassy mouth. People say that I look like Hollywood actress Jill Scott, only a bit lighter. I don't see the resemblance but I don't mind the comparison since Sister Jill is lovely and talented, just not as much as I am. Oh, and I'm also a magnet for trouble, as you can see.

"Yo, shorty, don't get an attitude with me, you are not all that," Mr. Latino replied haughtily, and I looked him up and down. Short guys and their attitudes, man. I don't know why I thought it was only guys in Cleveland who acted like crabs when a sister didn't feel like talking to them. The way I figure it, male insecurity is a global problem. Look at the state of the world today if you don't believe me.

Like I said before, I was born and raised in the City of Cleveland, Ohio. Recently I moved to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, to study civil engineering at Carleton University. Felt like I needed a chance of scenery. I fell in love with the Canadian Capital last year when I visited it for my paternal aunt Agnes Aurelius wedding to Mr. Elmi, a local Somali businessman. I still like the City of Ottawa, but no matter where one goes, slime balls are still the same. I glared at the creep and was about to cuss him out when someone beat me to it.

"Watch how you speak to the lady," said a deep, masculine voice, and I gasped as a towering dark-skinned brother stepped forward. This dude had to be six-foot-five at the very least. Squaring his broad shoulders, this vision of masculine strength and beauty stood between me and Mr. Latino, who then flashed a fake smile and backed away. The fool acted the way most passive-aggressive creeps in the Ottawa area do when someone challenges their bullshit. No balls, man.

"My bad, dude, no need to make this an issue, I was just leaving," Mr. Latino said, to the brother, who glared at him angrily, and with that, the fool walked away. Only then did the brother relax. I looked at my unexpected savior, who nodded gracefully, and said nothing. Clad in a bright red silk shirt, black silk pants and black steel-toe boots, the brother looked real good. I smiled at him and nodded, and before I could say anything, the train pulled up. Damn, do I have lousy timing or what? Um, don't answer that.

"Sorry about this fool," the tall brother said, and he waited until I got on, and then entered the train compartment, like a gentleman. I smiled thankfully, and wondered if he'd sit near me, but he remained standing in the main area even as the train doors closed. Holding onto the hand rail, he checked his watch as the train left the station. Sitting in the comfy middle section, I had a clear line of sight towards the doors, near which the brother stood.

The O-Train sped on, and I waited with baited breath to see if Mr. Tall, Dark And Sexy would exit at Carling Station. He didn't, and tugged on his backpack when we reached Carleton. I smiled as he exited the train, and headed toward the University Center Building. As an engineering student, the bulk of my time is spent inside the Minto Center, but this morning, I had other priorities. I smiled as I checked out Mr. Sexy buns as he got in line at Tim Horton's.

"Hello again, thanks for helping me out back there, I'm Gina," I said to the brother after I tapped him on the shoulder. Mr. Sexy looked even hotter up close, even if he did splash on a bit too much cologne this morning. Looking me up and down, the brother seemed surprised, and then he smiled and held out his hand, which I shook most eagerly.

"Nice to meet you Gina, I'm Aziz Ali," the brother said, and I smiled as I realized that he was an authentic African, and probably a Muslim, with a name like that. The line at Tim's got shorter and shorter, and like the chatty gal that I am, I casually pumped Aziz for information about...himself. By the time our turn came, I knew that he was a third-year Law student, and his family came from the West African nation of Senegal. Not bad for a couple minutes worth of talk, eh?

"Ladies first," Aziz said, as his turn came, and I pretended to hesitate, then stepped in front of him with a smile and a thankful nod. I slowly walked up to the Tim Horton's counter, sashaying my way there, I felt Aziz's eyes on me. I briefly turned around, and caught Aziz staring at my bum, and he smiled sheepishly. I smiled at him, then offered to get him a coffee. The brother smiled bashfully, then nodded.

"Two medium coffees please, one with two creams and five sugars, the other with no cream and four sugars," I said to the Hijab-wearing lady at the counter, and then I took out my Bank of America visa card and paid for the order. I've been in Canada for like six months and even though I have a CIBC student checking account and an RBC account, I still use my American-issued credit card. I make regular payments to it from my Canadian accounts. I'm American through and true, never forget that.

"Shukran, thank you sister," Aziz said to me, and when he invited me to sit with him, I was overjoyed. Aziz and I sat down, and talked while sipping our coffees. Aziz was something else, folks. A tall, sexy brother who's definitely going places. Oh, and he's sinfully sexy, and told me that he was focusing on his studies rather than the numerous distractions to be found in a place like Ottawa.

"Aziz, my brother, it's good to stay focused on school work but don't let life pass you by," I said coyly, and the brother smiled. I pulled out my phone as if to check the time. For those of you who happen to be male, when a woman does this, she's hinting that you've got a little time to ask for her number, or get lost. Fortunately for me, Aziz got the hint.

"Sister, I don't mean to be too forward, but I'm in the Muslim Scholars Association and we're having a get-together this Thursday in Loeb Building, people of other faiths and backgrounds welcome, we just want to show them the beauty of our faith," Aziz said, and he took a card out of his wallet, and handed it to me. I took it and flipped it over. The card read Aziz Ali Gadio, Vice President, Muslim Scholars Association of Carleton University. Oh, and it also contained his email and cell phone number.

"Thank you for this, Aziz, I'll be in touch," I said, and Aziz smiled, then thanked me for the coffee and said he had to run. I shook hands with Aziz, feeling slightly disappointed that the fine brother from Senegal hadn't asked me for my digits. As he walked away, I checked out his fine ass, which looked so damn good in his dark pants that I wanted to pinch it. I wasn't the only female looking. A plump white chick walking by gawked at Aziz's ass before taking a bite out of her egg sandwich. I shot her a dirty look, then gathered my belongings and headed for the door.

An hour later, I sat at a computer inside the Minto Center, and started my homework on my Infrastructure Protection Class. It's definitely the toughest class I've ever taken. I'm one of five female students in a class of nineteen people, and the only black person. There's four Chinese students and three Indian students in class, everyone else is white. Isn't diversity grand? I love civil engineering but I don't like being surrounded by people who don't look like me. I have nothing against other races, but it would be nice not being the only person of African descent in my class, you know?

"Fuck it, I'm texting you Aziz, before one of them fat white chicks grabs your fine Senegalese ass," I said to myself, and I broke my own rule. You see, like most women, within a few moments of meeting you, I've already made up my mind about whether I'm fucking you, befriending you or ignoring you. Aziz definitely should have asked for my digits, which I would have given freely, but since he's from a Muslim country, perhaps things are done differently where he was raised. I'm giving him a second chance.

"Hello, Gina, nice to hear from you, hope to see you at the meeting, Ente Jamile Masha' Allah," Aziz replied, moments after I sent him the text. I smiled, fascinated by the male of the species and about 'on the make' they always are. Me? I'm really bad for replying to text messages, whether sent by male admirers or lady friends. I smiled and admitted to myself that I definitely wanted to see Aziz again. Hell, I decided to creep him on Facebook.

"Oh my," I said, and I gasped as I saw Aziz Ali Gadio's Facebook profile picture. The tall brother stood on the beach, shirtless, holding onto a soccer ball and standing next to his buddies, a pair of equally shirtless young black men. The caption underneath the picture Aziz, Salim and Mohammed, Team Senegal at Mooney's Bay. Alright, so, um, I'm definitely going to that meeting, and I hastily liked the pic, and saved Aziz's number.

"Your ass is mine, cutie, " I said lustfully to Aziz's pic, and then I kept browsing. Aziz had a very interesting profile. Pictures of him next to a tall, middle-aged black man in traditional West African attire while holding what could only be his high school diploma. The two of them were smiling, and I saw a school building in the background. So, Aziz is close to his Dad. Nice.

"Let's see what we have here," I said to myself. I went back to the "about" section on Aziz's profile, smiled as I saw the "single" status on display and gasped when I realized he was born on November 9, 1995. The dude is only twenty one years old! I'm twenty two and usually don't like dealing with guys my age, but in this case I am definitely going to make an exception. I've dated men of all hues and while I do like my African brothers, I've never had the pleasure of sampling a Muslim stud. Hmmm. I'm going to show Aziz how us Cleveland ladies get down. Mr. Senegal definitely won't know what hit him!