Light Skin, Long Hair

Snap!

Alexis posed for yet another selfie, this time pouting, showing off her plump, juicy lips, wearing her signature pink color. The light shade complimented her yellow-golden skintone very well. Her dense head of long natural curls was styled up into a bun. She was wearing a skintight hot pink dress and was all primped up and ready to go to the nightclub with her friends, who would be coming by her apartment any minute.

Right as she was snapping another, her friend Bria walked right in. Apparently, she hadn't used the doorbell.

"Bitch!" she called playfully. "I know yo' ass is not in here taking another selfie!"

"Shut up, bitch!" Alexis yelled back, laughing. "You know I'm the selfie queen." She posed for another, making the obnoxious "duck face" this time, just to spite her friend.

Bria shook her head and walked into the kitchen.

"So you know we turnin' up, right?"

Alexis could hear Bria shuffling through her kitchen cabinets.

"What you got in here?"

"Smirnoff and Everclear. Wait for Janelle to get here before you get anything, though."

Alexis's well-lit bathroom made for the perfect picture-taking studio – there was no need to even add a filter. She chose the best shot of the crop she had taken tonight, which was one that showed just the right amount of her ample cleavage, and posted it to Instagram, with a cute caption to accompany it.

The doorbell rang. Alexis primped her hair one last time, and then stood up to take a final look at herself in her full-length mirror. Alexis stood at a respectable height of 5'6", but with her nearly 5-inch heels, she looked even more striking. Alexis had a body type that was often referred to as "thick" in the black community – with a great DD bust, thick hips and thighs, and big, juicy behind. Her figure was the one most idolized by rappers, whose adoration of a full, round behind was so pronounced in the lyrics of their music. Satisfied with her appearance, she headed out to the living room.

"Yaaasssss!" hollered her friend Janelle, looking her friend over and snapping her fingers for effect. "You look fabulous!"

"Don't I?" said Alexis, twirling around.

"Work it!"

Bria laughed. "Okay, let's not pump up her ego anymore than it already is. Let's have some drinks."

"I have Smirnoff and Everclear," said Alexis.

"Smirnoff," said Janelle. Bria nodded her head in agreement.

"Alright," said Alexis, going to retrieve the bottles. The vodka was a sweet-flavor variety, so there was no need to mix. She got them three glasses, and they all poured their drinks. They sat in the living room sipping before heading out, a practice known as "pre-gaming," which was intended to save money by making expensive club drinks unnecessary.

Alexis looked down to her phone, and checked her Instagram feed. In just ten minutes, she had gotten 70 "likes" on her photo already, and several comments from guys saying how fine they thought she was.

Satisfied, Alexis put her phone back down on the table and finished her drink. She looked both of her friends over. Bria was about an inch shorter than Alexis, with a curvaceous figure. She had brown skin and short, natural hair that was just long enough for her to pull up in a puff at the top of her head. She was somewhat tomboyish, the exact opposite of Alexis, and enjoyed playing basketball and other sports. This figured into her style as well – she normally wore jeans, a T-shirt and a jacket, and always wore large hoop earrings. She rarely wore bright or girly colors. Tonight, she was wearing a dark blue dress that showed off her athletic figure well. Janelle was what most would describe as "cute," having a short, petite frame with a nice shape, caramel skin, shoulder-length straightened hair, and big, pretty brown eyes. She wore a deep purple dress and red lipstick.

Though they were not as hot as her, they weren't bad accompaniments for her on outings. It was important to Alexis to have friends that looked good enough for her be happy to be seen with them, but not so good that they threatened her status as the most attractive in the group. But that was an extremely rare situation for her anyway, and it certainly didn't apply with these girls. As the one with the lightest skin, the longest hair, and the most bangin' body of the trio, Alexis was more than confident in her position as the alpha girl.

"Alright, let's go," Alexis said, putting the glasses and bottle away. The girls left the apartment and climbed into Alexis's car, where they headed off to the club.

Once they got there, Alexis checked her Instagram feed one last time before heading inside. 200 likes. Yup, this was going to be a great night.



"Alright, Jake, we're going to have you cover the Sanders story in the upcoming edition," said Susan Barnes, head editor at the newspaper. "We know how much you love politics."

Everyone in the boardroom chuckled as Jake mouthed a silent "Yes!" and pumped his fist.

"Mallory, you're going to go on location to St. Mary's high school and interview some students face to face on how the teacher scandal is affecting them."

Mallory timidly nodded toward her boss at the head of the table.

"Mr. Allendale, our business guy," said Susan, looking at the young man who sat to the right of her at the table. "I want you to cover the story on the new development near the mall. Get both perspectives. Local residents that are opposed, and the business interests that support it."

"Sounds great. Will do," Allendale responded.

"And Jasmine. Last but not least," Susan addressed Jasmine Moore with a chiding smile. "We're going to have you follow up with the diversity at Hilton Academy story. Get stats on student backgrounds – race, and socioeconomics. Include a few interviews, especially from the minority students. Then, get a little info for comparison on Southern."

"Alright. I can do that," said Jasmine, not showing any signs of emotion, but inside feeling frustrated.

"Yes. Stories like that sell big. They're of great interest to the community," said Susan. "Alright! Well, everyone's got their assignments, so, does anyone have any questions? If not, get to work!"

Jasmine sighed as everyone got up from the table. At age 22, she was a recent college grad and one of the youngest journalists now working at the major city newspaper.

It had always been her dream to become a journalist. She had majored in journalism at her alma mater, a prestigious historically black college, and had landed a coveted position at one of the nation's most influential newspapers. It was a dream come true. But sometimes dreams came at a price. As the only black woman on her department's staff, she sometimes felt like she got pigeonholed into only doing "black" stories. There was nothing wrong with that, per se, but she got the feeling that most of the time, the paper did not intend for these stories to be done with the black community in mind. Rather, they were done either for the paper to drive home some point about race relations in the city, such as "blacks are more likely to commit crimes," or "blacks score lower on standardized tests," or to stir up controversy about race issues, and sell papers.

The assignment she had been given today, she surmised, was one of the latter. Hilton Academy was the city's most elite prep school. It was very highly selective and was known to turn out students who then went on to attend some of the best colleges in the nation. The angle of the story was that there was a selection bias against minority and low-income students, and that perhaps the school should look into an affirmative action policy to increase diversity. It was the kind of controversial story that would surely stir up emotion and get people talking – and papers flying off shelves (or read online).

Chatter broke out as people started to disperse.

"Yeah, I guess they're going to need a 50 minority minimum if they want to keep their funding," Jasmine overheard someone snicker behind her. She turned around to see Phillip Allendale and his buddy George Stevens sharing a chuckle.

"Oh, hi, Jasmine," Phillip said, not-so-discreetly looking her over. "I guess you got the pothole story again, huh?"

Jasmine rolled her eyes. "Again? For your information, Phillip, covering the African-American Art History Museum's fiftieth anniversary was not a pothole story." Jasmine threw her purse over her shoulder as she walked past Phillip and George, toward the door.

"Well, excuse me," he said, following behind. "Oh, come on, Britt. You know you don't want to cover stories like that. You know you want to chase the big time news."

"Actually, I am happy covering stories that are of interest to my people," said Jasmine. She wasn't about to let Phillip Allendale know how she felt about the assignments she was given.

"Okay, relax. You know what I'm saying."

"Yup," said Jasmine, continuing to walk without looking back at him, as if his words were having no effect on her.

"Besides, does affirmative action really benefit the black community? I mean, really. Think about it. When things are just handed out to someone, does it really help them in the long run? You've heard that saying, teach a man to fish? Think about it!"

Jasmine sighed again as she rounded the corner to her office. "Have a good day, Phillip."

As they walked away, Jasmine glanced up and looked at Phillip. He was, without a doubt, the best looking man on their staff – tall, with an athletic build and WASP-y good looks. He was obviously from money; had probably attended elite prep schools all his life, then an Ivy League college, and now he was a young hot shot in the firm, poised to become the next big name in journalism.

Shaking her head, Jasmine entered her office and closed the door behind her. In doing so, she got a good glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror hanging behind her door. Jasmine was tall – about 5'8". She had a medium frame, with a C cup bust, and a nice hourglass figure with a full behind. Her light, almost cream complexion was framed by her dark natural hair, which she had pulled up into a neat bun for work. She normally liked to wear it wild in an afro or twist-out, but she recognized that she needed to be more conservative for work. This was, of course, due to the racist standards of what was acceptable and "professional" in corporate America. She didn't like it, but as she knew, chasing her dreams came at a price.

Jasmine was strong in her convictions, but she was also insecure. Even at her young age, she could already start to see changes in her body, like her hips widening, that let her know that the days of the fast metabolism were over, and that she was going to have to start working hard to maintain a desirable weight, lest she start to look like her mother and most of the other women in her family. They had become vastly overweight and now struggled with health problems like heart disease, high blood pressure, and breast cancer. Her mother had once had the same long, slender, heart-shaped face that Jasmine now stared at in the mirror, and those same big, beautiful light brown eyes framed with long lashes had once been so filled with happiness and joy. But once Jasmine's dad had been killed while in prison, they lost all life, and she had turned to food for comfort. Jasmine was determined to bring some pride back to the family by achieving her dream of becoming a journalist known the world-over.

She sat down at her desk and began to work. Her thoughts returned to Phillip. She and Phillip had once had a fling – they had gone on just one date before hooking up. Jasmine was not proud of this in retrospect, but he had seemed like great guy – at first – and didn't see the problem in having a little innocent fun. That was, until she heard him cracking racist jokes with George at the office. If that was how he felt about her, she had asked, then why would he even date her at all? It was just a joke, it was just a joke, he had insisted. But she just couldn't shake the feeling of hurt she had felt after hearing his remarks. She also saw him flirting with all of the office women. It was clear that he didn't take their budding relationship seriously at all. So she stopped trying. He still flirted with her, but she mostly rebuffed his advances, because she knew that he didn't really respect her. He only wanted one thing.

Jasmine was so tired of the lacking dating scene. As a college-educated black woman, it was so hard to find a black man with her level of education and income that was still single. Because they were so rare, once they hit the market, they got snatched up quickly. This put most educated black women into a quagmire: either stay single, settle for someone who doesn't meet up to her standards, or date outside the race. Jasmine just refused to settle, and the whole interracial thing hadn't quite worked out either. So it looked like she was just going to stay single for now and focus on her career, until Mr. Right came along.



It was college night at the club, and this meant that Alexis and her friends, rising seniors at their college, got in for a reduced price. Alexis was socializing at the bar – she had been offered drinks by several guys, and she decided to take one up on his offer. They stood around chatting, but didn't have any chemistry, so he went back to the dancefloor, and Alexis finished up her drink at the bar. Right then, Alexis turned around and her eye landed on a young man who was looking in her direction. He started to approach. He was tall and well-built, with broad, strong shoulders, thick biceps, and a cut torso. His skin was super smooth, and a sexy shade of dark chocolate. He was freshly dressed, wearing a white blazer, blue jeans, and brown leather shoes. He was, in a word, fine. And he was headed her way.

"Hi, there," he said, smiling. "I'm Deon. What's your name?"

"Well, hello there, Deon. I'm Alexis. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," he said, giving her the once-over. "You know, I saw you from across the bar, and knew I had to come over and introduce myself."

Alexis giggled. "Well, I do like the bold ones."

"Yeah," he said, licking his lips. "You seem pretty bold yourself."

"You read me like a book."

He chuckled. "Would you like a drink?"

"Sure. I'll have an apple martini."

"Appletini? How did I know that's what you were going to say?"

Alexis giggled again. She was liking this guy. He had a certain swagger about him that made him even more attractive. They chatted some more at the bar as they sipped on their drinks before heading off to find their friends.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Alexis. Let me get that number."

Alexis gave Deon her number, and then hugged him before saying goodbye.

Alexis danced the night away with her girls as usual, enjoying the carefree vibe. As the night wore on, she found herself scanning the crowd for Deon, but to no avail. She didn't see him anymore that night. She hoped that he would call.

That Saturday, Jasmine found herself back in her favorite downtown coffee shop, getting cozy in her favorite leather armchair with her laptop. While sipping on her cappuccino, Jasmine was doing some background research on another assignment she had been given. This time, it wasn't another race-baiting story, so she figured that if she proved herself to be worthy of handling better stories, she might gain some more respect at the office.

She had just stumbled upon a potential great primary source when she looked up and saw a very attractive young black man walk in. He was tall, with a sculpted, hot body. He had this smooth, sexy, dark chocolate skin. He looked delectable, like he would taste sweet if she licked him. He was wearing jeans and a tight black T-shirt that showed off his muscled torso. He wore a beret on his head and carried a cross-body messenger bag.

Nice, thought Jasmine. He was fine, and she liked his style. She figured that he was a poet or something else artistic. She watched him walk up to the counter, smile charmingly at the female cashier, and order.

Yeah, he's cute, but I don't have time to think about guys right now, Jasmine thought to herself. I've got to focus on this story. She took another sip and got back to work.

"Is anyone sitting here?" Jasmine heard a voice say. She looked up, and saw the good-looking guy, pointing to the leather armchair beside her.

"No, go ahead," she said.

"Thanks, miss," he said, smiling.

Jasmine nodded, somewhat surprised by his use of the term "miss", and returned to her laptop screen. From her peripheral vision, Jasmine could see that the guy was sipping his coffee, looking in her direction. She tried to ignore it and focus on her reading, but at last, she gave in to the urge to look up.

"Yes?" she asked, when he didn't look away when their eyes met.

"Oh, I'm just looking. Am I allowed to do that?" he smiled.

"Maybe. Who are you?"

"Deon. What's your name?" he extended his hand.

"Jasmine." Jasmine gripped his hand gently, and shook it. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Jasmine. What are you up to there?" Deon asked, pointing to the laptop.

"Just some stuff from work."

"What's work for you?"

"I'm a journalist at the Post."

"Oh, wow, aren't you something? You know what? I think I read one of your pieces in the paper last week. About diversity at the prep school."

"Did you enjoy it?" Jasmine asked.

"I sure did. Wow. I never figured I'd run into a big shot at the coffee shop."

Jasmine chuckled. She had to admit that the guy had some smooth lines. "So what do you do, Deon? Poet? Artist? Underground rapper and classical violinist on the side?"

"Nah, none of that cool stuff. Just a graduate student, and I work at the record store downtown part time."

"That's pretty cool. What are you earning your degree in?" Jasmine asked. This conversation continued and ended in the two of them exchanging numbers. He was artsy, it turned out, and he did write a few bars of poetry from time to time. There was nothing sexier to Jasmine than a man who could craft and mold words into beautiful works of art. She would definitely follow up with him.