| The
Well Dries in Wellington
by Lase Noumea
Sex
in Wellington? Not if you are an African-American woman who loves
the beauty of Black men. Not just Black Americans but Africans, Negroes,
the Caribbean, Fijians, bi-racial men. I love the Blackness of Black
men in every shade of Black from mocha to deep dark Godiva chocolate.
I don’t discriminate in complexion or ethnicity, but the race
must have a taste of the Blackness.
What about the native people of New Zealand--the Maoris? Yes, they
are beautiful brown-skinned, muscular men. But the oppression and
mistreatment by the white New Zealanders has taken its toll on them,
killing their dreams and hopes before the age of 21. The Maoris, much
like the Native-American Indians, were strong, proud warriors and
are now plagued by unemployment, lack of education, and poverty…Not
much to offer an educated African-American female who needs an intelligent
man--as much as a nicely proportioned man to get her a little moist
in the windy city of Wellington.
Granted I’ve seen a few Black men in Wellington--all with white
women draped on their arms and holding beautiful mulatto children.
But unlike my African-American brothers in the U.S., I can’t
fault them. I am at the bottom of the Earth in a country where dark-skinned
descendants of Africa are not flocking to. The ugliness of slavery
did not drop Africans here.
The economy
is horrible (much of the population is on public assistance, “the
dole”). The weather is less than appealing with summer temperatures
rarely pushing the mercury beyond 75?F. There is no reason for a
Black American to come to this small country.
For the sake of a little loving in the moonlight, should I ignore
my morality? There is the 6’4”, dread-locked front man
of a leading musical group in New Zealand. He’s lovely. Dimpled
cheeks, toned body, beautiful smile, but…he’s married
with two small boys. Should I dare break up a happy home for the
sake of a nut? I think not. He looks happy with his children.
I could shag the Afro-Brazilian who stated that he would take care
of me if I just “Give him a chance.” He told me I would
never want another lover in my life if I allowed him to take my
body and mind on the highs and lows that only he was capable of
bringing. (Am I in Washington, DC or Wellington, NZ?) This great
lover, all 5 feet 7 inches without an ounce of muscle tone, did
not stand a chance with this 5 foot 9 inch African Queen (as he
called me)--because I am vain. I must be somewhat physically attracted
to a man. I can’t relax during intercourse if I’m constantly
thinking, “Will my children look like Kermit the Frog if this
gets serious?”
Then the big question enters: Why not catch jungle fever? Go for
it. Get that ass tapped by a white New Zealander? Can I? Is it possible
for me to let go of the racial tensions of the U.S. and shag a white
man from a different country who feels as strongly against slavery
and Jim Crow as I do? Is the racial discrimination I’ve experienced
keeping me from experiencing the beauty that one of these natives
may be able to bring into my life, enhance my travels and show me
the secrets of these little islands?
STOP! There’s no need to begin psychoanalysis. I recall what
my flat mate said shortly after I moved in--“The Kiwis are
a cross between the British (bad teeth), Irish (drunks) and Scottish
(small ‘tools’).” When stated as such, an African
Queen knows she is not going to find the Warrior she needs to be
satisfied.
Thus, I am left alone and restless in Wellington. I won’t
die without sex. I lived 15 years not knowing anything of sexual
pleasures. Surely, 15 years later I can make it a couple of months
until I meet someone that makes me tingle. Casual sex has never
been my forte. It has always made me feel dirty and cheap. Just
when my body can’t wait another second--he’ll appear.
A lovely tall, tan, brown or chocolate man with a nice smile and
intelligence will walk into the bar where I am sipping an Old Fashioned.
He’ll sit down, and blow my mind.
Just pray for
me until that happens.
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