White Freshman, Black Coeds Ch. 18

If you've just discovered this series, I'd urge you to read the Prologue to Chapter 1, and maybe even start there. This is a slowly-building series that I'm trying to keep as realistic as possible, the sexual awakening of a shy 18yo boy. But I hope there's enough erotica in each part to keep it interesting, even if you just start here.

Friday, October 14 ^th

I got back to my room about 10AM, wearing the same clothes I'd left in last night. Jake was there, and didn't say anything, but gave me a knowing look that was also quizzical. Like, I'm here for you, bro, if you want to talk about anything. Or tell me all the juicy details! I certainly didn't want to do that, not after what had passed between the girls and I last night. So I just smiled sheepishly and went to shower.

Back and changed, Jake was gone, so I packed my bookbag and headed to the cafeteria for lunch before my 12 o'clock. Miss Pullam wasn't on the register, but I saw her around. As I was reading ahead in Physics for today's lecture and cramming food into my mouth, she interrupted me.

"Mr. Livingston! How have you been, young man?"

I gulped down the food I'd been chewing and looked at her with a bright smile, maybe brighter than usual with her. "Miss Pullam! Always nice to see you!" She looked at me with some kind of analyzing look, but remained smiling. "Oh, I need to return that study guide to you! Maybe next week?"

"Yes, dear. That would be fine." Kind of noncommittal-like. "You seem to be in a fine mood today, sir."

"Oh yes ma'am, I am!" I didn't divulge anything more, but I wanted to, if she seemed even the least bit interested.

"Well do tell, what's the source of this euphoria?" She sat at the table across from me, but a respectable distance to my left. No one was within earshot.

"Well, Miss Pullam, I've realized that I have probably 3 of the best girlfriends in the world!"

"Probably three girlfriends, or definitely three, but they're probably the best in the world?"

"Hmmm, a little of both, maybe. Nia's my only real girlfriend of course. I think? But my friends I told you about, we've....I don't know, I think we've reached a new place in our relationship. Relationships, I mean."

"I'll say it again, Mark: like flies to honey. But I see why they're all so attracted to you." As I blushed, she continued in a different vein, "So, are you going to the ZP house party tomorrow night?"

"Yes. -How did you know?"

"Oh I keep my ear to the ground... I hope you have a great time, and I think you will with Nia, but I really wanted to counsel you about alcohol. I have the feeling you haven't drank much before, and well, the alcohol usually runs pretty freely at house parties (especially frat parties), so I'd just advise you to take it slow. Drink of course—if you want—but in moderation. Drink one, then maybe wait a half hour and see how you feel. Then maybe another, wait and evaluate. But I don't worry about you too much, my young scientist/engineer."

Wow, I think Miss Pullam really cared about me. Like a mother would, despite the things we'd done together that night... "Thank you for the advice, Miss Pullam. I was actually kind of worried about that. And you're right, I've never really drank before. Just a little wine that night with—with a friend." I'd almost said "with you," but caught myself just in time.

Miss Pullam's face didn't register anything out of the ordinary, and as she got up to leave she told me again to be careful. As I habitually watched her walk away there was a stirring in my loins.

Two classes that afternoon, then I was at work by 4. "Trey, my brother, what's up man?"

"Mark my white homey, what it be like?" We did the cool handshake shoulder-bump thing.

"Hey man, I got some dance lessons last night from some female friends. Check this out: "Then I did something that probably looked to him like a frog in a blender, but I thought it was dancing.

"That's.....good, man. Maybe follow Nia's lead and just do what she does; she'll keep you out of trouble."

"Was it that bad, man? I thought I had it!"

"You'll be fine, dawg. Just follow ya girl, okay?"

"Hey, I don't know if you're working late tomorrow, but I was wondering if you might like to go with? I haven't talked to Nia about it, thought I'd check with you first. I don't know, man, but you're the closest thing I have to a male friend here and I just thought...."

"Yeah, that might be cool. If I'm not off I can get off. Ha-ha, maybe get off with one of the fine honeys at the sorority house!"

We high-fived and I said, "Yeah, that's what I was thinkin', man! I don't think you have a steady girlfriend, right? So I thought maybe if some of the girls there don't have dates then you could hang with them. And me and Nia of course."

"Yeah, that sounds cool, man. Talk to Nia though? You know....I don't wanna be the only dude there without a girl and all."

"Yeah, I'll call her tonight. And Trey," lowering my voice, "I'm asking you because I honestly thought you might like to go, might get lucky or whatever... But honestly, man, I'm kinda scared. This is the first party like this I've ever been to and—"

"It's cool, my brother. I know. I'd be happy to go with you, and I do thank you for thinking of me." We did the handshake again, but it felt more meaningful this time. Heck, I don't even think I was as close with Jake my roommate as I was with Trey.

"Order up!" Jason, the head cook, always about business. I took the order and headed out. On the way back I stopped to call Nia.

"Hey babe!"

"Hey Nia. Listen, is it alright if I call you sometimes? I've been meaning to talk to you about that, or should I text?"

"Mark, call me whenever you want! I'm your girlfriend, aren't I?"

A lump in my throat prevented me from agreeing that she was. "Cool, but listen, my boy Trey at Domino's? I told him about the party and he wondered if maybe he could come?"

"Of course, baby! I met Trey and I think he's a nice guy, so I can vouch for him. They try to keep out people we don't know, ya know?"

"Yeah, that makes sense. But listen, he doesn't have a date to bring on such short notice, so if he comes alone will there—"

"Yes, I know a lot of the girls don't have actual dates, so there'll be a lot of unattached women Trey can hit on and—"

"Hey, I don't think he's like that. He's a nice guy!"

"Yes he is, and so funny. He should have no problem having a good time if he comes by himself. Tell him though that there'll be some competition: it's really kind of a mixer with our brother fraternity, so there'll be other brothers there firing on the ladies...."

"Firing on the ladies? Whatchou know about that, young lady?"

"Oh there's lots of things you don't know about me, Mr. Livingston! Yet, at least..."

"I'm beginning to see that.... Should I be frightened a little?"

"You shouldn't be frightened, but maybe a little concerned? Mwahaha...."

That theatrical laugh cracked me up and I was about to hang up on that note, but then I remembered: "Hey Nia, would you have time to go shopping with me tomorrow, help me pick out some clothes? Not just for the party, but in general?"

"Oh Mark," chuckling, "I promise you'll be fine whatever you wear. I mean, you're fine already, but your clothes will be fine."

"You're just trying to butter me up. But seriously. I don't want to embarrass you."

"Baby, you won't! But okay, if it'll make you feel better. I want to spend more time with you anyway. But I have to be back at the House probably by 3 to help with the party preps, so can we do it early?"

"Oh thank you, Nia! Yes, I can do whenever. I like Ross, so maybe we can start there? I think they open around 9 or 10, so what if I picked you up at 9? Too early?"

"Let's do 9:30?"

"It's a date! Thanks, Nia. I need to get back to the shop now, so..."

Giggling at my exuberance, Nia said, "Goodbye, love. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow."

I added a, "Bye, love you," then raced back to the shop to tell Trey the good news about the unattached ladies tomorrow night.

"That's great, dawg! And don't worry, I won't embarrass you in front of your little sorority and fraternity peeps, I—"

"Hey man, I wasn't thinking that at all! I really want you to go as my friend, and if you get something out of it—" wink, wink, "—then all the better."

Trey became quieter, "I know, man, and I appreciate you thinking about me. I just want to let you know that what you see here," indicating himself, "this ain't the real me. You probably don't know this, but I attended WSU last year, Philosophy major. But some things happened, and I couldn't afford it anymore. So now I work here, saving up for when I go back. And I'ma GO back, belie' dat.

"But man, if you black in Detroit, and you ain't in college, there's a certain way you have to act to fit in, especially where *I* stay. You know what I'm sayin'?" I didn't really, but I nodded sagely.

"So don't worry about me, man, cuz this," indicating himself again, "ain't who'll be at that party tomorrow. Who you're going to see is Reginald B. McKinley the THIRD! And I'll be talkin' the pants off those girls when I hit 'em with some Friedrich Nietzsche, Rene Descartes, Immanuel— Man, whatchou laughin' about!?"

"Reginald? Why didn't you go with Reggie, man?"

Popping his collar at me, Trey said, "Man, I'm the third Reginald B. McKinley who's ever lived. And if you knew anything, your lame ass would know that 'trey' means 'third,' so that's why they call me Trey."

Still laughing at his given name and his righteous indignation, I asked, "What's your middle name, Reginald?"

"I refuse to dignify your impertinent question with an answer," he sniffed at me, nose held high.

Laughing even harder, "Is it Bernard, maybe? Belvedere??" I was almost howling now.

"Man, get away from me before I—"

"Order up!!" I grabbed it and skedaddled, knowing I'd overstayed my welcome with Jason, if not with Trey. But looking back at him as I backed out the door I saw him laughing good-naturedly with me. Fun times. I really did like Trey, and tomorrow should be fun.

Later I checked tomorrow's schedule and got Zack to agree to come back at 8:30 after his shift ended at 4, to finish my last 2.5 hours. And he didn't charge me anything. He seemed like a good guy, a Junior I think.

At quitting time: "Hey Bernard, want me to pick you up tomorrow, we can ride together?"

"No thank you, Marc Antony. I need my own wheels in case I need to take some special honey someplace. Plus, I don't wanna be seen rollin' up in no minivan!" I could tell he was playing good-naturedly, and minivans are versatile, so I didn't 'dignify that with a response.'

"Alright, man. You know where it is, right? How about we get there about 9:30 and walk in together, just so they know you're with me. I'll text you when I get there?"

"Alright man, sounds good." His voice lower now, stepping toward me, "And Mark? Thanks for inviting me. Seriously, man."

I offered him a 'regular' handshake, which he met with a strong grip, an odd look on his face I couldn't decipher.

Saturday 10/15

At 9:30 I knocked on the door of the ZP house. I figured Nia would be waiting there, so I didn't want to ring the bell and attract a gaggle of onlookers. She was, and quickly bounded out, softly closing the door behind her.

"I was hoping you'd knock and not ring! Those girls can be so annoying," she said good-naturedly. She took me by the arm and we walked down to the sidewalk, then a few houses down to where I'd had to park. When we got to the car I went to the passenger-side door as if to open it for her, but turned and took her face in my hands, saying, "I've missed you," before putting a gentle kiss on her lips. We could see our breaths.

I then opened the door and ushered her in with a flourish, like the carriage men of old. Once I was inside, van started, and heat turned up, Nia leaned over to me. "I've missed you too," she said with a soulful look. Then she showed me how much she'd missed me in a way that involved lips and tongues and a good deal of panting.

"Have you eaten yet? I skipped breakfast and I'm starving..."

She said she hadn't, so I suggested Chik-Fil-A, they made a mean chicken biscuit. So that's what we did, going inside to eat quickly rather than eat in the car. The young black girl at the register looked at us some kind of way, but I didn't think about it beyond that. I led us to a booth in a front corner of the store, just to watch traffic go by or whatever. Two or three couples in the place and some college kids, but not too crowded.

We had so much to talk about, but this probably wasn't the best place to get into sensitive subjects, so I said, "Get this: Trey was enrolled at WSU as a Freshman last year. Philosophy major, imagine that!"

"He did seem rather smart to me the one time I met him, saying some things I thought maybe he shouldn't know if he was just a young man from Detroit. Do you think his demeanor is an act?"

"That's exactly what he told me! Said when he was in college he could be himself I guess, but that living out 'in the world,' in Detroit especially as a black man, he said he had to act that way, for.....reasons, I guess."

"I know exactly what he's talking about, because I experience it myself..." And that led us into a long discussion about what it's like being black. I don't want to make this an essay on racial self-policing, but how if young people like Trey or Nia tried to improve themselves, learn something, rise above maybe, they were told they were 'acting White.' There was more to it, but that seemed to be the gist of the thing. I had a lot to learn.

At Ross it was cold inside, I don't know why I remember that, and not many people there, even workers. One black girl was standing at a register waiting for a customer, and she kind of waved at us with a little smile when we came in, which seemed a bit odd. A youngish white woman and an older black woman were shopping the Ladies aisles, and that looked to be the entire population of the store. But it was early Saturday, so...

Nia and I went over to the Mens section and after telling her my shirt size she started riffling through the shirts on hangers. Pretty quickly too, like she knew what she was looking for. Not like how I shop: "I could see this one on me. Maybe that one..." Before long she pulled one from the rack, then a couple minutes later another one. Then over to the pants racks, 30" waist. Same drill, but she only found one pair.

"Where are the dressing rooms here?" I led her to the only ones, over on the Womens side; I guess they figured most men don't try things on, so the few who did could walk over there. They were arranged in a rectangle along the left wall of the store: two opened into the store on the long face of the rectangle, while one opened at each end, left and right. Nia chose the one in the back, and then came inside with me.

"Nia, I don't think we can do this," I whispered. (I was a stickler for rules back then. Or at least propriety.) The door didn't go all the way down to the floor, of course (they never seem to), but it left a gap of only 4 or 5 inches, so you'd have to really stoop down to be able to see two pairs of feet inside. And it locked.

All of the following was in whispers, so try to read it that way.

"It's okay, I cleared it with the girl up front."

"You did? How?? I was with you the whole time!"

"We women have our ways...." As I looked concerned about that, "Are you getting just concerned, Mark? Or are you all the way up to frightened?" A callback to our conversation yesterday. I loved how bright and quick Nia was.

"Try this shirt on." So I took off the shirt I was wearing, but as I reached for the one she was holding she pulled it away from me, holding it back and to the left of her. "We haven't talked about my compensation for being your personal shopper: $20 for the first hour, $10 per hour thereafter." Not Nia, of course, she was role-playing again. But with an accent I hadn't placed yet.

"But Nia, I haven't got $20 anymore. We spent it at the restaurant!"

"Nia? Who is zis 'Nia'? I am Simone St. Clair, concierge to the rich and famous." Okay, definitely a French accent, and sexy as heck. "But it is alright, monsieur, you may pay me in kind." Stepping toward me then, hanging the shirt on a hook, she said, "and I kind of like the way you look with no shirt on." She was devouring my chest and abs with her eyes.

"Nia! Just give me the stupid shirt! Please."

"No, Monsieur Livingston. $20 cash in my hand, or I'll take payment from your fine—ivory—body." On 'fine' she tweaked my right nipple; on 'ivory' the left; and on 'body' she took a handful of each pec and massaged them sensually.

"Nia!" But I could see it was no use: she was fully in-character. And the way I'd seen this play out when she was Felicia for me last weekend, there'd be no talking her out of it.

"Mr. Livingston, I sink [that's me trying to type the way she said 'think' in her French accent] that maybe you are embarrassed by being topless while I am still....topped!" She laughed a cute French laugh at her little joke. She then pulled her turtleneck up over her head, revealing a lacy pink bra beneath. The protrusion of her nipples told me she was already enjoying being Simone.

"There, zat is better, no?" I shook my head no. "No? Ahhhhh, I see: my chest is still partly covered, while you, my sweet American young man are fully naked above ze waist. Very well, Simone St. Clair understands." And with that, Simone St. Clair's bra almost magically popped off and I beheld her gorgeous French breasts, pert and taut like I guess they are in France.

Wait, no! It was Nia standing there with her breasts uncovered. Don't fall for it, Mark, my brain said, get dressed and get out of here before the cops show up.

Hold up a minute, fellas. Let's just chill and see where this thing goes. No laws are being broken, right? You can guess which part of me argued that.

"Mr. Livingston, if you will not try on ze shirt, then at least try on zese pants. I think zey will be tight on your cute little tushy and all ze ladies will say Oo la la!" I looked at Nia but she wasn't really there anymore. This really was Simone St. Claire, an experienced older woman confident in her sexuality. So seeing that there was no point in arguing, I slid out of my blue jeans.

"Oo la la, you are wearing the, how do you say it here, the tighty-whiteys?" Simone then walked around me, surveying every inch of my 'tighty-whiteys'. When she got back to the front she made a special inspection of the eight inches there.

"Oh you naughty American boy, is he hard because of me?" Touching 'him' lightly she made me jerk. "And do all American men have such big baguettes, shall we say?" It was a clever joke and I let Nia know by smiling and nodding my acknowledgement. She thanked me with her eyes and then was back to being Simone.

"Oh dear! We have become unbalanced again." So Simone unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans as she stared sultrily into my eyes, then she turned her back to me and shimmied out of them very seductively. A sexy matching pink thong, probably from some swanky lingerie shop in Paris.