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” I looked at him confused. “We do?” I asked. He got up and said, “Let’s go lazy bum.” I slowly slipped out of his bed and put on my roots sweat pants and a baggy t-shirt. I was not in any mood to get dressed. I followed him downstairs where his parents finally told me where we were going. They had rented a condo in Stratton but none of their family could make it. John and I were the only ones. They sent us on our way early in the morning on a train to Stratton. We finally sat down after a long wait to get on the train. I curled up next to him and put my knees to my chest. Ever since I got there I couldn’t stop smiling. He put his arm around me and hugged me tight. It was a five hour train ride to where we were heading and I didn’t think I could last another minute without kissing him again. I looked up at him and gazed in to his eyes. I leaned close to him and kissed him ever so slightly. He pushed me on to my back and kissed me with such passion the warm feeling came back. His hand. My name is Antonia Tartaglia. A tall and very voluptuous young Black woman of Jamaican and Italian descent living in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. These days I attend Carleton University. Born to an Italian father and Jamaican mother, I am a gal with a complicated life. Simply put, my parents don’t approve of my penchant for exclusively dating Black men. Especially tall, dark-skinned Black men straight from the depths of Africa. I go after immigrant guys from Continental Africa like my life depends on it. My parents don’t approve of my choices because they’re honestly kind of racist. Yes, you can be in an interracial relationship and hold racist views. It happens more often than you think. My father, Antonio Tartaglia met my mother, Belle Johnson, one fine day in the summer of 1986. He was a newcomer to the Confederation of Canada, hailing straight from the City of Naples in Italy. My mother had just moved to the Province of Ontario from the region of Montego Bay in the.
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