On The Care And Feeding of White Boys

Best of Both Worlds We met at CBA for the next week, but were unable to find our white boy. Again, our spirits fell, but I posited that perhaps our prey was a graduate student in a class that met once a week. The next Monday, we arrived early, and as luck would have it, there he was wearing corduroy slacks, a powder blue dress shirt, those glasses, and a stunning expression of boredom. I wiped the palms of my hands against my jeans, squeezed my girlfriend nervously and approached the white boy. “Can I have a word?” I asked.

He arched an eyebrow, and shrugged his backpack to the opposite shoulder. “With regards to?”

I was in love with the moment because it was filled with so many unanswered questions. I nodded towards Jasmine. “We’d like a word with you, this evening perhaps? We’re recruiters,” I said, lowering my voice. He paused his expression of boredom, quickly agreed, and we arranged to meet at a local bar for drinks later.

Best Bisexual Women's Erotica Cover Jasmine and I were nervous, arriving at the bar half and hour early, easing tensions with gin and tonics, two ice cubes, one lime. I held her hand under the table, idly tracing the thin lines of her palm as we at once hoped and dreaded that this was indeed our moment. He was fifteen minutes late, extending his hand in casual greeting. His name was Mark. We didn’t bother asking for a last name.

White boys are comfortable in the bar scene due the overwhelming presence of fermented hops and members of their peer group. Statistics show that white boys most enjoy Budweiser, the King of Beer.

After he got himself a beer, the white boy sat across from us, crossing one leg over the other. “What company are you from?”