Wendy looked me up and down, and told me I didn’t look Haitian. I pretended to roll my eyes, and told her I got that all the time. I smiled, and tol... Wendy that I was biracial. Haitian mother and Hispanic father. She grinned, then got up. She told me she was grabbing a cup of coffee at the Page Break, this little restaurant located inside the Carleton University library, and asked me if I wanted something. I smiled and told her that I wanted some hot chocolate. She smiled, and told me she was. I knew she wanted me to exercise her female parts from the way she would rub up against me as I sat at the low table drinking tea in the early morning or late at night. The touch of her bare foot between my knees made me tremble with a need to enter a female entryway regardless of age or exterior appearance. Several times with my mother or Sashimi in the room she would stroke my long shaft with her experienced fingers under the table covering pretending to be interested in the conversation of. More

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