College Gurl Summer Pt. 02

Saturday comes and Marshawna swings by to go with you to the party. You got on a spandex body con dress in gold that shows off your shape, strappy to show your soft shoulders. Running track gave you shapely legs and thighs and a stuffed wonderbra on an already fleshy chest does the rest.

Installed hair and flawless makeup on point thanks to dutiful attention and hours paid to DIY tutorials.

Marshawna opens her eyes widely at first, assessing you, but she smiles and gives a slight nod of approval.

"I see you cousin. I have always seen you. You look great!"

You beam a bright smile at her, grab your clutch and you two stroll casually to the party, both your finely painted toes in cute strappy sandals clicking in unison, recounting to your cousin what your week has been like as she reacts in alternating surprise, disbelief, and delight.

When you get to the gym, the energy is pumping. The bass gives a rumble in everyone's belly. Guys are posted out in groups, hollering at the young ladies passing by.

A hand grabs yours, startling you. It's your would have been roommate, who doesn't recognize you at first.

"Oh snap, it's you!" He says stunned, too stunned to let go of your manicured hand with long nails matching your dress, your heels, your toes and the highlights of your makeup.

You already know he recognizes you make a bad bitch. You snatch your hand away from him and before he can close his mouth to say anything you wave him off.

Shawna is off to the side, looking at the whole exchange arms crossed with a crooked smirk.

She can't help but to bust out laughing as the young man slinks away in embarrassment and confusion.

"You are definitely a Lewis woman, cuz! You got our spice and pull on men honest."

With your new experiences you are learning that that's a fact you can't deny. Y'all both laugh at that and continue to the entrance of the party, where Shawna's connection gets you both waved in, in front of the outstretched waiting line.

It's a dark cavernous space but the gym turned dance floor is packed. Shawna hears the "skee wee" of her sisters and squeezes you on the shoulder before going to join them, linestepping and chanting through the gym. They competing with 2 other sororities and 3 other fraternities, cutting up the dance floor and splitting or pushing together bodies as need be to maintain the stroll lines, sliding, shimmying, bouncing and twirling in practiced coordination, calling and responding over the low end booms and thuds flooding the speakers.

Several guys come up behind you and start dancing to the DJ tunes, hugging you tighter than the gold bodycon on you. You are feeling the attention and are willing to ignore the roaming hands somewhat, adjusting their hands with yours in defense when they try to get too fresh.

A guy slides behind you and starts nipping at your neck, making you giggle. It is too loud to exchange words so you talk with body language, your soft booty rubbing against his crotch as he coos in your ear.

You think to yourself "college is the mf bomb, one of dese niggas gon be my baby daddy!"

The music switches up and Mr. Handsy moves on to the next massage patient after he had his hands all over your waist, your behind, your thighs, cupping your breast, wobbling your booty and kissing your neck.

That got you overheated and you go to the little refreshment stand they got at the side of the dance floor, squeezing and pulling your way through the mass of sweating bodies and intertwined limbs.

Your eyes light up when you can make out in the dark punctuated by strobe lights me, Ron, acting as bartender, slangin' virgin drinks freely provided so that there won't be total chaos. My line stretches to the dance floor and people in queue are keeping time to the beat, bopping and swaying.

I see you and say something to another brother behind the counter. I nod in your direction while talking to him, and the other brother's eyes perk up then race around the room to search you out. Then I talk to a 3rd brother who appears to be over the refreshment station operation. I hand my bar towel to him before a throng of passers-by obscure your vision of me.

You crane your neck to the left and right trying to relocate me. You are startled when my arms wrap around you from behind to scare you. Mission accomplished, you jump in the air and look behind you. When you see it's me you playfully smack me in the chest. Your hand lingers, fingers lightly pressing to test my firmness.

"Why you playing like dat, boy, you don't know me like that!"

"I'm sorry babe, er sorry, Jazz". I straighten myself up and give a slight nod.

"My apologies, but I would very much like to get to know you. Let's go somewhere we can talk."

You let the anger dissipate when you see the dimpled mischievous grin, the solid chest, the big arms.

You think to yourself " this a grown ass man, I'm not playing with any of these little boys again!"

I present my arm for you to weave yours into, and we walk out of the dance, people clearing the path with my mere presence, you on my arm in tow.