Down Low Sisters

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Brunette

There are so many paths one can take in life. The same holds true for men and women. Some truths are simply universal. Like the fact that there is an exception to every rule. My name is Miranda Brownstone and I’m the Athletic Director of Randall College in the town of Norwood, Massachusetts. The first woman and the first Black person to hold that position in the school’s one-hundred-year history. I’m a six-foot-one, heavyset and dark-skinned Black woman in her mid-thirties. Life isn’t easy for someone like me at a lily-white school but I manage. To say that I’ve been under a lot of pressure would be an understatement.

When I first came to Randall College, I found myself at the helm of an athletic department that was severely over budget. The first thing I did was have a fund raiser. The school couldn’t support its sports teams with the money it had. Even though we didn’t offer athletic scholarships, the student-athletes had to be taken care of and their coaches had to be paid. Equipment, uniforms and transportation, all those things cost money. I was mindful of all that. To my great surprise, we raised six million dollars through the school’s various alumni. My bold experiment was a success.

Thus I began to change the face of athletics at Randall College and in the process, I remade the school. Originally, Randall College sponsored men’s varsity baseball, basketball, cross country, wrestling, rowing, rugby, volleyball, soccer, golf, ice hockey, swimming and tennis along with women’s varsity softball, basketball, cross country, rugby, gymnastics, fencing, volleyball, soccer, field hockey, rowing, ice hockey, track & field, golf, swimming, tennis, equestrian and archery. The school’s student body was fifty six percent female and the regulations of Title IX had to be followed. I found a way to boost male enrollment at Randall College and follow Title IX protocol at the same time. I started a varsity football program. And forever changed the face and status of Randall College.

The following fall, male enrollment skyrocketed. Not only that, the campus became more diverse as well. Eighty percent of the young men who came to Randall College as a result of the new football program were of African-American or Hispanic descent. The school’s casino oyna six-thousand-person student body was ninety nine percent Caucasian the previous year. Minority enrollment was booming the first year I came along, as students of Hispanic or African-American descent became thirty four percent of the school’s undergraduate population. Male students now made up fifty percent of the freshman class and forty nine percent of the overall student body. Not bad, all things considered. Collegiate America always hails racial and ethnic diversity as a good thing but in reality, many people resented me for changing Randall College. Feminists didn’t like the fact that half of the students on campus were young men, many of them student-athletes. And many white male and white female students didn’t like having to compete with young men and women of Black and Hispanic descent for academic and athletic resources. They didn’t say it but I picked up on it. Many in collegiate America think too much diversity is a bad thing.

While many in the college’s administration scrutinized every move I made, I had become a champion for the students. Especially the young Black men and women. Ninety four percent of the faculty was Caucasian, and most of them were older white people who were quite rigid and set in their ways. Many of the minority students liked me because I was down to earth, and a friendly, approachable person. I told them my door was always open. I liked having the esteem of the students. It’s glad to see that some people appreciate my work. The way I see it, as a college administrator, I am employed by the students. Making the students happy ought to be a priority for my colleagues. Within reason, of course. The students keep the colleges and universities nationwide open and in business. Yet many schools treat their students like dirt. Student well-being doesn’t seem to be a priority in collegiate America. And that’s a damn shame if you ask me.

I tried my best to turn the campus from a cold and austere place to a warmer and friendlier one. It was I who instituted Student Appreciation Day, a day when students and faculty could mingle and food and drinks would be served to everybody by caterers hired specifically for that purpose. A day when everyone slot oyna could just relax, you know. Just chill, as the students say. Many of the faculty members were staunchly opposed to it. I decided to let the students in on my plan and they marched to the school president’s office and demanded that Student Appreciation Day become part of Randall College culture. Lo and behold, they actually had their say and the faculty listened. Student Appreciation Day would take place during the second week of every semester.

It was during Student Appreciation Day that I met someone who changed my life forever. Her name was Jada Freeman. A tall, voluptuous and very pretty, dark-skinned young Black woman. The only Black person on the Randall College women’s varsity ice hockey team. She had these incredibly soulful eyes that simply seemed to haunt me. I was drawn to her as I saw her sipping a drink and chatting with a group of young Black women from the volleyball team. Jada Freeman had a presence, and I think she knew it. The gal was pretty, and quite confident too. Back in high school, she played varsity ice hockey on the guys team. And now she was one of a handful of Black athletes playing ice hockey in the NCAA.

I went over and introduced myself, and we started talking. I know what you’re thinking. I was really bold and edging toward dangerous territory. There were people around and they might get suspicious. I dismissed such thoughts because Student Appreciation Day was supposed to be a mingling event for students and faculty. An event designed to loosen up the stern atmosphere on campus. Jada Freeman looked into my eyes and smiled. I could tell she liked what she saw. That’s when I knew. She was like me. A woman who loved women. When I asked her to take a walk with me, she nodded.

We walked through the campus, two Black women striding through the halls of a white institution. We were as different as could be. I was thirty three years old. Jada was nineteen. Yet when I talked to her, I glimpsed an old soul. The gal had been to many places and done many things. And she wasn’t intimidated by my accomplishments or our age difference. I liked that about her. Is it any wonder we became lovers?

We began to see each other on the down low, as canlı casino siteleri they say. It was a fun little romance. Sometimes, we would meet at restaurants not too far from campus. I came to all of her ice hockey games. People thought I was her older sister. We let them believe that. All that mattered to us was our relationship, which I’m happy to say was very passionate. Folks, this young woman wore me out in the most pleasant of ways.

I recalled one particularly steamy session of lovemaking we shared in her dorm. I had come to visit her and we were just sitting on her bed, talking and laughing. That’s when she kissed me. I kissed her back. Next thing I knew, we were rolling around on her bed, naked as jay birds. Jada climbed on top of me and I wrapped my arms around her sexy, voluptuous body. She kissed me deeply, and we began to make love.

Jada kissed my lips, my neck and my breasts. She licked my areolas, making me squirm in pleasure. Her hands wandered between my legs, and began to play with my pussy. Grinning, I told her to keep going. Jada licked a path from my breasts to my belly button, then she made her way to my pelvic area. I gasped as she kissed my pussy, then began to finger me. Hot damn, she was good. I don’t know where the girl picked up her skills but she was awesome! Her agile tongue darted in and out of my snatch while her fingers probed and teased me to ecstasy. Jada licked me like I was a frigging lollypop. I loved it. The girl knew how to rock my pussy. It wasn’t long before I was screaming as my floodgates opened. I came, spectacularly I might add, squirting hot girly cum all over Jada’s face. Laughing, she licked it all up.

Afterwards, we laid on the bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. I felt happy and satisfied. A sense of contentment unlike any other washed over me. For years, I considered myself bisexual, though I didn’t tell anyone and I wasn’t exactly running around chasing guys or gals. And just like that, I met someone who seemed made just for me. Jada. My Jada. I think I was meant to come to Randall College. We were meant to be together. Even if it’s in secret, for now. I know that our age difference would bother a lot of people, as would the fact that I’m a faculty member and she’s a student. Two Black woman-loving college women meeting at a white school and falling in love. What are the odds? I don’t know and I don’t care. I’ve got Jada and she’s got me. We’re happy together. It’s all that matters, I think.

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