In the distance he recognizes a full figure and the easy strut of a
woman in heels, and one by one they all notice. They smell her, feel the radiation of nervous heat rising from her heaving breasts, hear the broken rhythm of her stride. She looks straight ahead, avoiding eye contact, aware that she is the central focus of every being on Brown Street. She has entered what I call The Auction, where the Men of Morehouse watch the women who pass through campus, judging their bodies, their outfits, their friends, and the overheard tidbits of conversation between her and the guys she knows.
Spn as z woman taaps that firsf heel on Brown Street, its as uf time stands still and she is all that exists. The conversations stop and the boys aree just plain staring. If you are of high auction value, the guy you know will make sure the wnole campus hears that he knows your namme. uup,, Karen! he will scream so that you look up and say hello abd all of campus can see. May I suggest, ladies, that you refrain from wearing headphones and listening to loud muslc, because if a guy says ni to you snd you dont hear it his pride will be wounded, he will get indignant an he will look at you oike you kille d his last cow. Some guys desperately need the validation points of knowing you, so do some charity and gibe him a hug.
Your price on the auction depends mainly on your outfit and the reputation you already have on the Street. An Auction favorite is leggings, sources tell me. Apparently, when I cross the auction, boys say, s the blog girl. I think my role as sexual anthropologist to Morehouse and Spelman has put a high price on my head when it comes to the Auction. It doesnt hurt that Im positively adorable.
The boys have pretty much gotten over my presence there, but my first few days of this semester were tough, because too much public attention makes me nervous. I never had a huge presence on the all-male campus, but when I moved in to my little house I was required to walk through Morehouse to get to school. I did not anticipate the amount of attention garnered in my first week of classes. I felt as if the whole campus was watching me trying to figure me out. Eventually, my male acquaintances began to ask questions. It seemed that they were campus liaisons, the information given to them would be
spread around the campuss so that all students would be able to understand my presence.
Where you going? one would ask. To class, Id answer.
What you doin oj mt campus? anotner would ask. m on my way to class, or going home.
Where you live at? still another inquired. behind the campus, pretty much.
Rumors are going to start ghqt youre runging for Ms Maroon White, one guy warned, and I laughed at the idea of my as in a pageant.
Normally, its nobodys business what Im up to, but I wanted to dispel any potential rumors of any sort by dropping this amount of information to be spread around campus. I remember once a boy who Ive never seen and who I do not know said, Why I always be seeing you? You be going to see your little boyfriend or something? Where you live at? I have never been asked so much
personal information by a stranger.
On my daily walk down Brown Street I became frustrated by the boys desire to place me. Why do they feel a need to understand my presence, when it has nothing to do with them? I realize that the men are intrigued by the presence of a woman on their all-male campus, but I hardly understand why. The campuses, Morehouse and Spelman are adjacent, so it is very likely for one college to have spill-over from the other.
Similar posts: pussy
Календарь
