College Obsession: My Chocolate Crush

Like most girls my age, I like to party. And while I’m driven as a student, I’m not above balancing good times with my daily grind.

I finished high school two years ago, so it’s weekends and a few weekday evenings for me. I’m a sophomore; college is major, but my love interests suck. There’s boys. There just ain’t fire.

When I say there’s no “fire” I mean I don’t get out of breath and damp playing strip-poker, nor am I willing to say, “Aaaall done,” after their base man performance in the bedroom. No real reason to get graphic, but suffice it to say, there’s no joy in Dodgeville.

My friends would include my roommate, Mallory, aka Lo Lo, from Seattle. We were fast friends freshman year, so it was natural to take our relationship to the next level, living together, sophomore year. We got attention, and you would understand that if you saw Lo Lo. She’s beautiful! Tall, classy, all-American looking brunette with girl-next-door appeal.

My situation was a mirror image of hers.

In her case, she was

a) unselfish and

b) less hard on men than me, so she was more lucky.

Being alone, however, she expressed empathy for my situation, as well as general boredom with college nightlife. Coping mechanisms, healthy conversations…and we survived it together.

Truth is living in a dorm populated by every variety of student was fun. Yeah, using showers and bathrooms and lounges on every floor can get old, but you meet so many varieties of characters. It was coed, so there was drama. Inter-floor hook-ups and halts and guys wondering if you’ll notice them walking by their suite in your bathrobe, etc. I was a little past that stuff sophomore year, but I enjoyed watching out for the new babies.

There was Jayden, too. Jayden Okoro.

Jayden was different from the other freshmen, being the son of Nigerian immigrants. It might be passé for a modern girl to describe a Black man as different, but it was and is the reality at my university, even today—a majority of white and Asian minorities. The small black population sticks together—a by-product of cutthroat, cliqued-up campus life—but Jayden has always belonged anywhere, hung with anyone, and immediately emerged as the leader.

He’s smart and charismatic, usually laid back. “Usually” because Jayden isn’t just smooth; he’s also scary. He had a maturity beyond the other freshmen, too, so he was soon among the dorm leaders.

I met Jayden for the first time when Mallory and I moved into our dorm for sophomore year. My father and brother handled the heavy lifting, but after they left, we got down to the mission of setting up house.

A tall Black man, as in cut from black stone, made out in blue jeans and a form-fit T-shirt, strolled past our open door. He checked us out on the way by, then did a double-take as he noticed us struggling to move boxes.

With a smile, he joined us without hurry. Obvi, he introduced himself as “Jay,” then made quick work of our decorating plans.

Jayden was handsome and secure. He was charming, too—making us giggle with partnerships—never saying anything bawdy. Poise! We admired his NFL-worthy butt on the way out, mouthing each other “WOW!” before launching into fits of laughter. He was a hot tamale!

Jayden and I quickly became friends and were soon referred to as mentor and protégé. As if I was his big sister. Odd, maybe, because I was less than a year older than him and white, but people chortled.

I’d tell him the best way to do things, correct him if he made a mistake, give him guidance on how to interact with teachers and officials, warn him to “be safe” when he hits the streets, etc.

He called me “Sis” a couple times. The references were always made in jest, but I recognized them for what they were. I loved Jayden like a protector, too. Go figure.

Did Jayden need a guardian fucking angel? I was curious to discover, what was I protecting him from? The answer was obvious, as I learned from Lo Lo. I was protecting myself.

I was desirous with a lump in my throat for Jayden, and I was defusing unwieldy feelings out of self-preservation. Or I was jealous of girls who paid attention to him. And boy, did they!

Jayden developed a reputation. It was inevitable because of his good looks and alpha-man demeanor. I didn’t see him in the company of girls romantically, but rumors were soon afoot about Jayden, his “gift,” and his “harem.” His suite was located down the hall, and I’d hear odd sounds, or girls would come and go.

I became motivated by jealousy, which peaked at times where I just wanted to hump him! I defined myself as a non-carnal friend, so I endured a lack of sensual satisfaction, then later, chagrin. Later, I became intimidated by Jayden and his unbreakable will. I shared with Lo Lo one day. She was sympathetic but also amused.

“Erica? Have you looked in a mirror?” she mused. “You’re beautiful! You have awe-inspiring boobs, killer legs, and a pretty face. I can’t imagine any man looking into your smoky blues and not seeing a playmate. You are the most gorgeous girl in the building. Not only that, but you’re caring and smart…much to the detriment of men everywhere! Snap out of it!”

“Oh, Lo Lo, you flatter!” I whined.

“I do not flatter! And you’re putting too much stock in this mentoring thing,” she insisted. “It’s only natural that you care about him a little extra. It’s interesting and precious watching you play mother-hen with your big buddy, but it doesn’t have to be how he defines you! And it isn’t, except in your mind. I would not be surprised in the least to know Jayden gets hard for you, his ‘guardian angel,’ which certainly adds spice. How does the thought of your protégé getting wood for you make you feel?”

“Hot…” I said. “I have definitely pictured a platonic, incestuous story arc.”

“See! You have to be honest with yourself. He heats you up, and the relationship excites you. He gets in you.”

“Not yet!” I interjected.

“See, you’re funny, too!” she giggled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Jay entertained impure thoughts about the sweet, succor-bearing miss that watches out for him.”

“Well, even if he’s interested, I’m not sure I want to be part of his ‘harem’,” I said.

Mallory shook her head. “Why are we having this conversation? First you want me to believe Jayden is interested; now you’re looking for the emergency exit?”

“I know I’m nuts,” I allowed. “There are negative outcomes. He could see me as a friend, like I fear. He could see me as a loose slut. I don’t want him thinking of me as a slut!”

“Is there a silver lining? Maybe he notices you’re attracted to him and, as a consequence, desires you above all others? I think you’re more afraid of that than anything! So, maybe you wouldn’t mind being a member of his ‘harem,’” Mallory said, as those big, brown eyes glimmered.

“You could get wild, African-influenced-stick-around-black-man sex, no strings! It’s the simplest outcome next to doing nothing. But for the sake of argument, you seem hung up on his blackness, so we’ll go with that.”

“What do you mean I’m hung up on his blackness? I’m not a racist!” I maligned.

She beamed at me. “I know you’re not. Maybe I’m expressing it wrong? You’re afraid of the outcome if Jayden realizes he wants you and you’re worried about what your family and others might think. Therefore, you’re more reticent over having Jayden to yourself than getting rejected or being a ‘take-a-number.’ I would be, too! I can relate, Erica. It’s not like we’re talking about a cute white boy. You’re snake-bit about any outcome, but you care. That’s a tough spot. You have to go with your nature, but I have a hunch your mentoring influences are a turn-on.”

“It’s complicated and wouldn’t work,” I reasoned.

“I’m not advocating either way, just being honest and supportive.”

I hugged her and thanked her for the insight, getting choked up. It was a comfort. I was so enthused that Mallory could validate my confusion and that mentoring wasn’t repugnant to men. But I started to think I must keep the status quo between me and Jayden. We enjoyed a friendship; why screw that up?

There was a good chance he entertained thoughts of me, at least some of the time, as Mallory argued. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. In any event, the possibilities of pain, rejection, and disgrace outweighed the repercussions. I felt at peace with the conclusion.

I had a busy week ahead. I had an accounting midterm and a big-time marketing exam to study for, both on Thursday. I prepared as usual so that in the blink of an eye Thursday arrived. The weather was spectacular: sunny and cool in the morning (it would heat up). My late-summer tan was in luck!

Everything went smoothly; I aced my 8:00 a.m. midterm before reviewing for my 10:00 a.m. test. That one went to plan, too! I was ahead of schedule, so I went to lunch with a classmate at 12:30 p.m. before shooting over to the library for some cramming. I do volunteer work for a local charitable organization, so I stopped in for a visit. Sated and content, I returned to my room at five p.m.

Back in my room, I studied for a couple hours before taking a quick shower and heading to the fourth-floor lounge for chill time. Lo Lo and a gang of girls were there, but it was quiet. A good way to end a busy day. The TV was on, but we were interacting.

Then at nine p.m. sharp, for no reason, Jay marched into the lounge. He was wearing shorts and a tank-top, sweating profusely, returning from a workout. No elevator for Jayden! He waved to us as he passed on the way to his suite. Everyone waved back.

I had eyes on the south hallway. Brookes was ten stories, and ours was the top floor. There were wings on either side of an “L,” and the bathrooms, showers, and lounge were in the L’s center. I watched Jayden go through the step door that divided the lounge from the south hallway, then a short distance left to his suite. Ours was the second last.

He returned in a few moments with a duffel bag but didn’t speak as he moved to his left into the showers.

“Well, what’s up with that?” asked Luna, a pretty, if plump, blonde who epitomized the social chair of our floor.

“He likes to flirt. Maybe the showers will do him good.”

Sure enough, Jay reemerged from the shower about twenty minutes later. What a treat it was. He strutted his 6’4” turndown service in our direction, wearing only gray gym shorts and flip-flops, his towel around one shoulder, shower bag in hand. We got to see his torso, arms, and legs dripping moist.

He was an athlete with incredible aerobic conditioning and flexibility, in addition to power. Every muscle and sinew was displayed in its natural form, each providing a base camp for manly activity. Perfection!

“What’s happening, Jay in Cali?” asked Kerri. “We don’t get everyday items like this!” Kerri was a Grade A attention whore.

“Just taking care of business,” he laughed. “Had a long day an