My dark, almond-toned skin is glazed to perfection. My 5’7” body is slim in all the right places. My sassy short do moves the men. I know how to work it. Every guy at this Student Government Association back-to-school party is checking me out, including the fine, commanding SGA president, Al Dutch. Al Dutch—yes, he wants everyone to use his whole name all the time, saying he plans to run for political office one day and we need to remember him. Al is a lady’s man; he looks, walks, and talks like money! You know the type. The one who’s confident and cocky and always has a sure smile plastered on his or her face, with a no-worry, got-much-loot look in his or her eyes. Al’s that type. His skin glows like he has slept on the best satin sheets and used the finest body oils all his life. All the men wanna be him. All the girls wanna be with him—including me. It was game time, and I was flirting hard. Western Smith is your typical historically black college with even more bells and whistles.
