A gentleman

 

I didn't know what to say. The guy was my blood, he was my brother in blackness. I had just arrived in Martinique with Liza. We wanted to take a vacation on our parents' island. We were staying with one of Liza's aunts, on the coastal road between Le Lorrain and Sainte Anne. It was a little far from everything, actually.

There was this nice guy, but a white guy, who first approached us. He was polite, rather handsome. He was white...

He had come over to hit on me nicely, making an effort to talk to Liza as much as to me. I thought it was good for Liza because she had a complex about her weight. But I could see that he was looking at me, sizing me up, hanging on my lips, cuddly eyes. He was playing with finesse, with education, I must say. But he was a white man, a despicable weakling, somewhere. I was an anti-racist activist, fighting for black rights, Black live matters, etc. I was prejudiced. I spoke to him with a little bit of contempt, laughing at him with Liza. He would smile sweetly.

But I had come to the Caribbean for the ebony-bodied athletes. The blue eyes and reddened skin of this white man did not tempt me. But he was nice to Liza and funny, so we had a good time.

Suddenly, a tall black man with bulging muscles and eyes reddened by alcohol or drugs had invited himself. Older than us, he sat directly on my towel, glued to me. He was talking loudly, pushing the white guy out. He had been drinking rum, he stank, he was drunk. I couldn't understand everything he was saying. The young man said nothing, looking at the ground. The big guy was hitting him on the shoulder to talk to him, a way of telling him that he was the strongest. The Martinican said that I belonged to him, that the white man could take Liza if he wanted.

Liza and I looked at each other... We were being distributed like in a slave market. All around us, there was no one on that beach by the sea. No one except this kind of gorilla, this overly polite white man and us.

The West Indian was already starting to search me, trying to tear off my bathing suit. I felt that he had a colossal strength. He had decided, in his alcoholic fog, to rape me right away, right there on the beach of my vacation!

The white man did not seem to move. Liza, alone, had stood up, trying to get in the way, to stop the guy from raping me. Suddenly, the brute turned around and hit her. I had just enough time to see the huge fist hit Liza's temple. She collapsed with a bang, knocked out.

"You want to get fucked. Is that it?" He pulled off her panties, laughing like a madman. I was screaming. It was a nightmare.

Suddenly, the white man lunged at the black man, slitting his throat in one swift motion, without hesitation.

He pulled out a knife and slit the guy's throat, just like that. I was speechless, vaguely grateful and horrified at the same time. I realized that this white guy was more manly than I thought, I could see muscles bulging under his vacation shirt. He had held the black man's arm while he slit his throat and didn't let go until the alcoholic expired.

All the while, trembling slightly under the tension, he said to me, "So, you had enough feeling, Angela Davis? You wanted to get fucked by a black man, a 'brother,' didn't you? I understood... Well, that's racism too, my friend..."

He was smiling at me, but I could see a terrifying anger in his eyes.

When he let go of my attacker, he wiped his blade on the corpse's shorts, without giving him a glance. He resumed, "Okay, I want you... "

And he raped me, at length, in the ditch at the bottom of the road. He did not hurt me, though, taking me in several positions, forcing me firmly but without violence. 

I was terrorized, I did not dare to protest. The efficiency of his stabbing had petrified me. I did not shout, or only a little embarrassing noises. A few cars passed by. None of them stopped. We were, I guess, not very visible, or else an aroused couple on the beach.

When he finished, it was getting dark. He undressed the black man's body, dragged him into the water. He swam with him for a while, pulling him away from the shore. All the time, he stared at me. I didn't move. Liza was there, still lifeless. I wasn't really afraid anymore, I was fascinated. He hadn't been violent with me, but I was just shocked. I had no willpower left.

He had come back. "With the current, the body will drift away. It will be dinner for the sharks. "

He looked at me again, smiled. He came back to make love to me, kind, attentive. I confess I wanted him. I could not hold back a few moans of pleasure.

When we finished, I turned to Liza... She was awake now. She was laughing, she had watched us fuck, shameless. Her face was swollen, but she was laughing.

He smiled and asked her if she was better. She was still laughing. She said she had a headache but she would be fine.

He got up, got dressed, smiled at us in dismissal. "Well, I have to go. Have a nice evening and take care. "

I watched him walk away without saying anything, ignoring Liza who looked at me wryly. I said nothing to Liza, or anyone else, about the most troubling hour of my life.