...that she does not see blacks, without offending them? Is there a polite and nice way to do it? Yes.
What if, at the still tender age of twelve, a young girl gets raped by three young black thugs. Her male friend tries to intervene but gets beaten up instead.
To the young lady, it was like watching someone else's nightmare. Imagine a scene in black and white with stop and go action and strobe lights - a bit surreal. She fights back but it is hopeless. Their faces invade her space as they brutalize her - her senses overloaded as she succumbs to the shock.
Afterwards, she cannot recall their facial features - as if their faces had been smudged with dirt.
Later on, life leads her to an unfulfilling role as an SP at a popular incall here in Toronto. She tells the people that run the incall that she cannot see Black men. But it is too difficult to screen them all out.
That is where I come in.
It's Friday night and I'm working late. I decide to have some "fun". I call a popular incall and book with an SP I have never seen before.
When I get there, she does not open the door. There is a brief moment, then the door opens and I walk inside. She has her hand over her mouth but at the time, I did not pick up on the significance. She sighs deeply as I walk past her and enter into the bedroom. She hesitates - not knowing what to do. She enters the bedroon and sits down beside me - both hands now completely covering her face.
I, still unawares, am now just starting to pick up that something is not right. She looks into my eyes and tells me. I remain silent. I can sense her sadness. She gently puts her hand on my shoulder. She is genuine. I am moved.
I offer my understanding - she offers another lady. I reassure her that it's OK. I'm not upset. We talk some more.
She can tell I too am genuine. She shares with me the details of her brutal rape - the dark ghosts that haunt her. There is pain and fear. These men - could I have been one of them? How would she know? It was so long ago and their faces undistinguisable. There has been time but no healing. Now the tears run freely. She tells me she is so sorry. I tell her it is not her fault - it's her body; her decision - no matter what.
Now, her anger rages toward the owners. Do they not respect her wishes? Why do they always do this to her?
I offer to open a discussion. So, here it is.
How do you do it - tell someone, in a nice way, that you cannot see them?
P.S. In an incredible display of self-sacrifice, she offers to see me anyway. We talk some more. She can sense something about me - perhaps it is time to start the healing. I confirm with her if it is OK. She gets ready, teary eyed but brave. The act is simple, tender and gentle. Afterwards, I scold myself for staying. Perhaps I should not have stayed. But then again, maybe our meeting will turn out to be something positive - I hope.
What if, at the still tender age of twelve, a young girl gets raped by three young black thugs. Her male friend tries to intervene but gets beaten up instead.
To the young lady, it was like watching someone else's nightmare. Imagine a scene in black and white with stop and go action and strobe lights - a bit surreal. She fights back but it is hopeless. Their faces invade her space as they brutalize her - her senses overloaded as she succumbs to the shock.
Afterwards, she cannot recall their facial features - as if their faces had been smudged with dirt.
Later on, life leads her to an unfulfilling role as an SP at a popular incall here in Toronto. She tells the people that run the incall that she cannot see Black men. But it is too difficult to screen them all out.
That is where I come in.
It's Friday night and I'm working late. I decide to have some "fun". I call a popular incall and book with an SP I have never seen before.
When I get there, she does not open the door. There is a brief moment, then the door opens and I walk inside. She has her hand over her mouth but at the time, I did not pick up on the significance. She sighs deeply as I walk past her and enter into the bedroom. She hesitates - not knowing what to do. She enters the bedroon and sits down beside me - both hands now completely covering her face.
I, still unawares, am now just starting to pick up that something is not right. She looks into my eyes and tells me. I remain silent. I can sense her sadness. She gently puts her hand on my shoulder. She is genuine. I am moved.
I offer my understanding - she offers another lady. I reassure her that it's OK. I'm not upset. We talk some more.
She can tell I too am genuine. She shares with me the details of her brutal rape - the dark ghosts that haunt her. There is pain and fear. These men - could I have been one of them? How would she know? It was so long ago and their faces undistinguisable. There has been time but no healing. Now the tears run freely. She tells me she is so sorry. I tell her it is not her fault - it's her body; her decision - no matter what.
Now, her anger rages toward the owners. Do they not respect her wishes? Why do they always do this to her?
I offer to open a discussion. So, here it is.
How do you do it - tell someone, in a nice way, that you cannot see them?
P.S. In an incredible display of self-sacrifice, she offers to see me anyway. We talk some more. She can sense something about me - perhaps it is time to start the healing. I confirm with her if it is OK. She gets ready, teary eyed but brave. The act is simple, tender and gentle. Afterwards, I scold myself for staying. Perhaps I should not have stayed. But then again, maybe our meeting will turn out to be something positive - I hope.
