the crusher and the crushee

I’ve had many crushes in my life.

And they all ended with vast amounts of pain and me being friend zoned.

If you haven’t noticed, I am a hopeless romantic. Unrequited love follows me like a plague.

So you can only imagine how surprised I was when out of the blue an uber crush I had in college liked one of my pictures and sent me a message on Facebook. I almost shit myself. His name is Michael. So cliche. So plain-joe and hum drum boring. Looking back at his pictures I think to myself, “Why on Earth did I ever like this boy to begin with…?” He obviously gained weight since our college days and he grew an unruly mountain man beard. I once admired him, but now I looked at him with disgust.

Then I saw his hair and I remembered. I have a big “thing” for hair. His hair was long and brown. It was a picture of him sulking over on a desk in a picturesque Geek Squad sweater. He was a geek, he was thin, and he had long hair. In my mind, he was perfect for me.

He was also white.

And, at the time, white guys seemed to avoid me like no other. It’s almost like my dark skin was a disease. Except of course when they were horny. White men always welcomed me with open arms when they were horny.

“I just want to have sex with you because you’re black.”

Exact words that spewed out of his mouth when I was 18 years old and in my first year of college. Thanks to a bunch of shitty coming of age high school senior and college freshman movies like American Pie and Old School and a sick, construed twisted replication of Disney princess films thrown in there somewhere, my image of college life was completely warped. I could have sworn the main purpose of college was to get laid, go streaking, find the true love of my life, settle down, have kids then ride away on a pumpkin carriage. Definitely had nothing to do with school work or getting a job.

I had my eyes set on this guy before my feet even touched the college campus. My head was in the clouds.“This is the guy I will spend my college years with.”

So when I heard these words come from his mouth, I was more than confused. “What happened to the horse drawn carriage?” I looked at him with a blank stare. More-so looking at his body than listening. “I’ve never been with a black girl and I just want to know what it feels like.”

“Yes, Michael, black women definitely turn into over-sized super saiyan gorillas at midnight and our pussies are rimmed with gold trimmings,” is what I wanted to say. But instead I gave in and thought “Maybe this is just the getting laid and streaking part of college life.”

So I met him in his dorm room one night as he had asked. I was a kid in a candy store, but also a little out of place. He could tell I was nervous. Next thing I knew, I was on his bed and the lights were out. Pure nirvana. Of course, he made the first move. He unzipped his pants and showed me his goods and I immediately exclaimed “WHOA!” I had never seen a schlong of such a large size so close to my face. This guy literally only weighed about 120lbs, but his schlong was thick and looked about 10 inches. I was completely flabbergasted.

He smirked, “What? Have you never seen a white guy with a dick this big?”

I shaked my head ‘no’ and couldn’t tell if he was flattered or offended.

It may seem like a good equation for a passionate night of love making, but it was the exact opposite. We never even had sex that night or any night at all. He ended up being too big to fit inside me- even with the use of lube. And, in a way, I was thankful because I didn’t want to have sex with him.

After being exhausted from many failed, awkward attempts, we laid side by side and he told me a story of a girl he loved. Her name was Robin, she was a sophomore, and she was saving herself for marriage. This was beginning to sound all too familiar; the Asian guy I slept with at the age of 17 came into my mind, except this time the guy was white and, by the grace of the stars, I didn’t sleep with him. He went on about how he cared so much for her, but she didn’t love him in return. I could feel a tear roll down my cheek and all I could think was “She doesn’t like you, but I like you…”

But that doesn’t matter because I’m just a black girl.

Then I hated myself for subjecting myself to such foolishness. I wanted to leave.

Before I could say anything, he suddenly became really silent. All I could hear were his computer and various other Geek Squad gadgets in his room as they lit up creating a luminescent light into the once dark room. Then he spoke:

“I’m allergic to latex.”


“Why would you put on a latex condom if you knew you were allergic to latex?!”

He broke out in hives all over and had to call his friends to take him to the hospital. The night included them coming over and him walking in and out of the room in a hurry, letting the door fling open so they could see me laying there in his bed with the “wtf face” and them throwing all kind of Arrows of Guilt and Judgement at me. I blocked them all gracefully. He apologized profusely and the night ended with me walking back to my dorm room alone.

The next day, I bought him some special lamb skin condoms (those shits are expensive!) and some chocolate and a get well soon card. I was going to give it to him as a gift, but he never spoke to me again after that incident and I overheard from my stalker tendencies that he hates chocolate so I ate it myself.

I still have the card and I still have those damn overpriced lamb skinned condoms.

I’m patiently waiting for the day they’ll come in handy.


One thought on “the crusher and the crushee

  1. Pingback: In the Eyes of the Crushee |

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