As long as I can remember I had always been attracted to white men. I guess that comes from growing up in the burbs, and fear of developing some sort of Oedipal complex. Throughout my adolescence all my crushes have been on white guys, most of whom were the ones to actually have the balls to talk to me like I was one of the other girls and admit the fact they thought I was cute, no matter what their friends said. There's something to be said about a white dude who can appreciate what a sista can offer.
My vanity came to me my senior year of high school. No, I'm not talking conceited, but when I realized that I could walk into any room, filled with anyone, and own it. I often wondered what my auntie was talking about when I was 13 years old and told me I was going to be such a heartbreaker. Today I know. Ten years after I discovered it I still am, gorgeous. The face of an angel and a body built for sin. Five feet seven inches tall, one hundred fifteen pounds, cafe au lait complexion, long dark brown wavy hair, soft brown eyes, 32c breasts, and an ass I am very proud of. I still get a rush from turning the heads of white men.
When I looked in my mailbox one morning and saw the unmistakable logo of my prestigious private New England high school printed on the corner of one of the envelopes amongst the junk mail and bills, I knew it could be one of two things. Yet another plea for a donation to the alumni fund or.... could it have been ten years already? An invitation to my 10-year reunion. I opened it up, and there it was, in gold embossed lettering. My first thought was to just write out a check and a note with my regrets that I would not be traveling 3,000 miles to attend a function to see how a bunch of rich snot nosed brats I could care less about turned out. I had done so much to separate myself from that insular world, and I had no intention of ever looking back. But the name of the alumni rep at the bottom of the insert stopped me from doing so.
My panties still get a little wet when I think about him.
I booted up my notebook, booked a flight and rsvp'd my invite. I was going to go back there, after 10 years of never writing an update of my life for the alumni newsletter when I sent my yearly donation, and hearing various trickle down rumors about what became of me from my sister who married and stayed local. Only the specter of one person could make me give a second thought to attending a reunion. Jeffrey Wells. It was his name on the bottom of that insert.
I remember vividly the day I caught him looking for the first time.
I was what some would call a late bloomer, most of which came my senior year. I was a growing girl then. Since I was the only black girl in my class, I was virtually non-existent on the radar of the boys of my school. Any dates that I did get were from the few black boys who went to the public schools in surrounding areas, but they were hard to come by since they were in high demand by all the white girls. There was a time at the beginning of spring that year when I had a serious problem, which garnered me my only detention of my whole school career. My uniforms didn't fit as they did at the beginning of the year. I was a victim of the incredible shrinking plaid skirt. I tried in vain to camouflage the situation by keeping my knees socks pulled up all the time, but when it came time to sit down for class, whomever was sitting in the row beside me was given a show of coffee and cream colored thigh, which I must say were beginning to fill out nicely after 13 years of dance lessons.
One day I was feeling particularly self-conscious because my new booty had grown so as when I sat down in class I felt the chill of the ceramic seat when I crossed my legs under the desk. Jeffrey had been sitting in the row next to me that day. I was sort of drifting during the history lecture that day when my peripheral vision picked up something. Jeffrey was staring very intently at my bare thighs under the desk from the next row. I tried to pretend that I was paying attention to the lecture, but my body went warm with the thought of him spending the class time immersing himself in the view of my thighs. Me. The non-entity. The black girl? Huh?
I didn't think Jeff saw me that way. I mean he was very cordial to me and we talked casually because our lockers were near each other, but only about silly and safe topics like who was on Letterman the night before. Jeff was a very quiet and very bright musical genius. He had been playing the violin since he was 3, from which he had developed a distinctive callous on his jaw. Nothing hideous, but a very interesting feature to his handsome face. He wasn't immensely popular but just an average student. His distinctive quality was the violin but he would only tell you if you asked what was in the case. After that day I though of Jeff much differently.
Over the next few days, I began to notice that Jeff sat next to me more often in history class. Rather than being aware of the activities of the Hapsburgs in Austria, I was aware of Jeff's watching me. It excited me, even so I would cross my legs higher up so that the skirt would give way to show a bit of my new ass, but also to squeeze my thighs together against my throbbing pussy. He always left class after me, I suspect to see the warm vaporous ghost of my moist pussy disappear from the ceramic of the chair I had sat in. Neither of us said anything about history class to each other the rest of the year, but I'm sure we both knew what was going on.
After grad, our school has a tradition of hosting the graduates to a late night celebration at a posh restaurant/reception hall w/ DJ etc. Sort of like a last blast before we fade in to the deep recesses of each other's subconscious. I decide I was going to look hot, and show off my new bod for my last impression.
I wore my wavy hair loose as opposed to the tightly pulled ponytail I usually sported. I bared my shoulders and showed off my tit in a cobalt blue halter suit with a very short skirt and heeled sandals to flatter my beautiful ass and dancers legs. This would be the first and last time my classmates would see me without the usual uniform of loafers, knee socks, plaid skirt, polo, and cardigan. I am vain so I can say that I was smokin'. I achieved exactly what I had set out to do. Turn the white boys' heads, but there was one in particular whose attention I really wanted to get.
Jeff and I didn't talk that much at the party. I mostly associated with students I was friendly with, but I did notice during our awards ceremony that he was sitting at a table directly across the room from mine enjoying the view. The party wound down at about 5am and we all said our goodbyes in the parking lot with yearbooks filled with a bunch of insincere crap from our fellow classmates. I was heading toward my car when I heard my name being called. It was Jeff. He pulled me aside and said "I wanted to say goodbye, and I have something for you." He had a small box in his hand. I looked at him and I could only manage, "Um, you didn't sign my yearbook yet." and handed it to him. I felt a bit strange and those warm feeling were flooding up inside me again. I opened the box and inside was a small silver bracelet with a stone in the center that matched my outfit. He finished signing my yearbook, laid it on the roof of my car, and took the bracelet out of the box and put it on my wrist. I never expected it but he kissed me full on the mouth. I felt his warm lips press against mine, his soft and gentle tongue found its way to caress my own. He broke the kiss, smiled, and said goodbye and left. That was it. I took the yearbook from the roof of my car and looked at it. And the words,
I always wanted to do that
Were written by his picture. I looked up, and two popular girls from my class were standing by a car with confused looks on their faces. I shrugged at them and got into my car and went home.
The whole plane ride to Logan, I replayed that moment while I conceded defeat in the battle of the armrest.
I checked into the Sheraton by the sea, and went to bed early, because I had set goals for this reunion.
1. Turn some heads
2. Fuck Jeff retarded.
Being the tricky bitch that I am, I would do this and I didn't give a damn if he was married, attached or otherwise.
I drove up to the country club where the reunion was being held, dressed in pajamas. Yes, I said pajamas. Worn as a pantsuit, because I can pull it off. They were a satiny off-white silk with rounded lapels that created a J-Lo esque plunging neckline when tied off at the waist with a satin cord. On my tiny pedicure feet I wore a pair of off-white strappy sandals. The ensemble made a wonderful contrast to my skin, and my hair, which I wore, loose and cascading down my shoulders. I wore no bra, because my pert breasts continue to defy gravity. I must say that my years in So Cal have softened me up, because although it was summer, it was New England summer. A stark contrast to the climate of LA. My nipples pushed upward against the silky material leaving a very sensuous effect. I dressed to launch a thousand hard ons. I parked and re-applied my trademark extra dark berry lipstick and set out to stake my claim on this joint.
I walked in true to my style. Stag by choice, and sure as hell if everyone didn't notice me immediately. I didn't bother with nametags because I'm sure they could remember who I was. I was first approached en mass by, the jocks who wouldn't give me the time much less think I could be attractive back in the day. Some were married with children, probably products of shotgun weddings shortly after college. I did do my best to be congenial while being ogled at an angle while they attempted to catch a profile view of my tits through the neckline of my top. I was asked to pose for pictures with them, and one smarmy dude who I remember to be a vile character whispered in my ear as the shutters snapped, "How the hell did you get so fuckin' hot?" as he copped a feel of my non underwear having ass through the satiny pants. To which I replied, "Sugar, you will never be ready for this." with a smile and a look of triumph over him and his ilk. Some girls came over to chat me up after witnessing all the attention I was getting from all the guys they used to go out with. Let me tell you, time and squeezing out children has not been kind to them. Perhaps its just karmic payback that black women age better than their white counterparts.
I looked around for Jeff, but couldn't find him anywhere. It was still early.
I had a few drinks and happened to be talking to one of the popular girls who had seen what happed in the parking lot on grad night, when she interrupted me and said, "I think someone wants you over there" with a smirk. I turned around and there he was. Jeff was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and blue tie. He developed distinguished laugh lines on his handsome face, and still had the callous on his jaw. Time had done him well. A smile spread across his face as I turned to meet his gaze that was fixed on me. I excused myself and strode across the room to meet him near the entrance. "You look beautiful," he said, as he gave a not too subtle up and down. "Thanks, right back at cha!" I felt the eyes of the room all over us as we exchanged condensed updates of our lives.
Bonus!!! He's not married!!!
