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I’m one of a few Black male swimmers in New England-area intercollegiate athletics. I’m also the captain of my college’s swim team, a first in NCAA history. I major in business administration and currently have a 3.45 GPA. I’m physically fit, and facially speaking I’m not a bad-looking man. I’ve been told I look like TV actor Lee Thompson Young or a younger version of Hollywood superstar Will Smith. I stay clean, and wear dress shirt and silk pants to class. I don’t believe in wearing clothes that are too casual. Even to go to class, I dress professionally. As a Black male student, I have an image to maintain. The world automatically assumes all Black men are criminals, thugs, and can only succeed as athletes and entertainers. Well, I’m going to be a corporate mogul someday. After graduating from Deval Patrick College in 2012, I’m heading to Suffolk University for my MBA. I have it all planned out. I come from a good family. My father, Henry Pitts, is a sergeant with the police. Symon picked up Emma and carried her back to the recliner and there they lay, dreamily wrapped in each others arms until Symon determined it was time to head back. As they pulled the large convertible up next to the mairie, Emma gave him a quick peck on the cheek and leapt over the door. “Why the rush?” Symon called to her. “Gotta take care of my boy.” She yelled back. “I have to massage his fragile ego… Plus something else." She giggled and in an instant she was gone. Symon was too drained to match Emma’s youthful endeavour to preserve the harmony and hoped Sarah wasn’t expecting the same from him. He rested his head back and smiled and breathed a deeply satisfied sigh. Looking down at the worn leather passenger seat of the sleek classic convertible, he noticed a wet patch of his semen where Emma had just been sitting. Symon placed his fingers on the patch feeling its stickiness and then spontaneously began rubbing it into the cracks of the leather in ever widening circles. When.
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