Bisexual Playground
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I honestly wonder if there’s something wrong with me sometimes. Folks say I’m a paranoid misanthrope. They think I’m abnormal. Then again, maybe I’m not. Yeah, I’m a little weird but this isn’t exactly a normal world either. Maybe it’s the world that’s crooked and I’m A-okay. Right? My name is Stefan Ambroise. A big and tall, kind of good-looking black man living in the city of Brockton, Massachusetts. These days, I’m an adventurer as well as a traveler. There isn’t much to do in the so-called City of Champions during the summer. And I am one bored cat. Seriously. I am so bored that I’ve taken to counting ceiling tiles. Yeah, it’s like that.
During the school year, I am quite busy. I attend the prestigious Hoover College in Chestnut Hill, near Boston. It’s a four-year, all-male private institution of higher education founded in 1974, named after the legendary director of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. I must say that I have it good, folks. My parents are quite well-off. My father, Armand Ambroise is the senior partner of Ambroise & Pierce, one of the top law firms in the city of Boston. He came to America from the region of Leoganes in the Republic of Haiti in the early 1980s and worked hard to rise to his current position. My mother, Katherine James Ambroise is the president of Wilson Academy, an elite single-sex private school located in Wellesley, Massachusetts. We have a fairly large mansion in the town of Milton. Yeah, we do all right.
Even though my family lives comfortably, I’m a firm believer in making my own luck in this world. No need for handouts. I worked my butt off while a pupil at Boston College High School and won myself an academic scholarship to Hoover College, the only all-male college in New England. I moved into the Hoover College dormitories in August 2007. The place was alright. The school has twelve hundred students and has a focus on liberal arts education. The criminal justice program is considered one of the best undergraduate programs in New England. I wanted to get my degree there, then head to the Boston Police Academy. Being a cop is a lifelong dream of mine.
The dorm where I stayed at was quite cramped. Kind of small, really. My roommate was a guy named Jeff Edgar, a graduate of Milton High School. I knew him from hanging out at the park. He was a six-foot-tall, brawny young man with dark brown skin, curly black hair and the kind of sharp, handsome features usually demarking Hollywood superstars. I don’t know if it’s because we had a lot in common, but I really didn’t like Jeff. He carried himself like a pompous ass and thought he was all that. Oh, and I almost forgot to say that he was a member of the Hoover College Men’s Ice Hockey team. I didn’t know any black people, male or female, who played hockey so I was kind of puzzled by Jeff. I found him an odd character. Doubtless he was puzzled by me too. I’ve never been fond of jocks. And I really hate being mistaken for one. As if a six-foot-three, 240-pound black man can’t be anything other than an athlete when seen on a college or university campus. Please.
In spite of our misgivings, Jeff and I reluctantly became buds. And I use the term buds here lightly. We were among the sixty or so black students at Hoover College. Jeff gave me a tour of the place. Located only a couple of miles from Boston College, the small campus of Hoover College was comprised of about twelve academic buildings, three athletic buildings housing a basketball court, a tennis court, an indoor track course and a swimming pool and finally three dorm buildings, each housing about two hundred students. The Hoover College dorms were on a first-come, first-serve basis and I had been fortunate to get a room. Preference was shown sometimes to in-state students. Jeff Edgar was somewhat of a legacy at Hoover College. His uncle, Jean-Louis Edgar used to be a varsity wrestler at the school in the 1970s.
I’ll say this for Hoover College, it impressed me in one aspect. The intercollegiate sports program. This is where they spared no expense. The Hoover College Department of Athletics sponsors Men’s varsity Baseball, Basketball, Indoor Track, Water Polo, Rowing, Swimming, Soccer, Gymnastics, Rifle, Volleyball, Fencing, Ice Hockey, Lacrosse, Golf, Tennis, Football and Wrestling. The sports teams compete in the NCAA Division Three. That means absolutely no athletic scholarships. Personally, I don’t really like it when schools offer athletic scholarships to young men and young women who may or may not be decent academics. To me, education comes first. Sports comes second, if at all. Of course, I didn’t share this sentiment with Jeff. I wouldn’t put it past him to cuss me.
Life on the Hoover College campus was okay. The school was primarily a haven for young white men from wealthy families. My classmates were the sons of politicians, business leaders and other members of the Powers That Be, as I called the men and women who made up America’s power elite. Jeff introduced me to some of those people he considered interesting. There was Martin Fine, a tall, slender and bespectacled black man eternally clad in a dark suit. He was the Head of Library Services. He’d been with Hoover College since the 1970s. We also met his wife, the Assistant Director of the Library, Eleanor O’ Bannon Fine. A stocky, short-haired, matronly black woman in her early fifties. Those two were peculiar but friendly.
Jeff seemed to know everybody, even though he was only a freshman, just like me. I soon found out why. His mother, Susan Edgar, was the philanthropist after whom the Hoover College football stadium was named. Ten years ago, she donated five million to the Athletic Department to fund intercollegiate sports, which were suffering due to budget problems. Damn, I thought. I suddenly saw Jeff in a new light. His family had real dough. My parents were comfortably well-off, but we didn’t have millions of spare money to donate to rich private colleges. I met Jeff’s best friend, a tall, lean young man named Matthew Darcy. This jet-black, bald-headed and muscular brother hailed from New Jersey. Surprisingly, he was Jeff’s Hockey teammate. Two young black men playing college ice hockey. How about that? Matthew’s cousin, Lionel Peterson also attended the school. Lionel was tall, ruggedly handsome and quite burly, and he was even darker than Matthew. This charcoal-skinned brother was a lineman on the Hoover College football team. In spite of his eternally grim demeanor, I found out he was actually very friendly.
The four of us were part of an unofficial fraternity. A group of young black men from well-off families who were trying to make something of themselves at Hoover College. We were all so different. Yet we were all brothers. Nothing could get between us. At least, that’s what I thought. Then Jeff began dating Nicole Rameaux, a young woman who attended the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Jeff was a changed man when they began going out. The Jeff I knew was cocky, brash and a womanizer. He had a string of girlfriends at various colleges in the state, from Regis College and UMass-Amherst to Boston College. Personally, I could care less. I was in college to learn, not to socialize. I constantly warned Jeff about getting involved with the wrong chick or catching a disease. Even worse, he could get someone pregnant and watch his life and dreams get flushed down the toilet. Naturally, he didn’t listen to me.
When he introduced us to his new girlfriend, I knew she would be trouble. Not that she looked like it, though. Nicole Rameaux stood five feet ten inches tall, a little thick-bodied but in a good way, with a round, pretty face. She had long, muscular legs, pleasantly wide hips and the perfectly rounded booty from hell. Her skin was caramel-toned, and she had long, smooth black hair. The gal wasn’t just a pretty face, either. She played varsity soccer for an Ivy League school and had legions of male and female fans in the college sports world. Yeah, the gal was fine. And she had brains, too. In the underg
raduate civil engineering program, she was ranked at the top ten percent of her class.
Jeff introduced us to her one night at the dorm. I was watching Law & Order : Criminal Intent on TV while listening to Linkin Park’s hit song ‘Numb’ playing on Youtube. Matthew was reading a copy of Marvel Comics Wolverine and Lionel was playing the video game God of War. We were all shocked when Jeff walked into the room with the sexiest-looking female we’d seen in a long time. Yeah, the gal looked good but I thought she was trouble. Don’t ask me how I know. I’ll tell you. I know a troublemaker when I see one. The summer after I graduated BC High, I was eighteen and trying to have some fun. To that end, I dated this chick named Isabella Gaetano. An Italian beauty from a elite Rosemary College, an all-female Catholic school in the Boston area. She was tall, stacked and had both beauty and booty. Oh, and brains too. Unfortunately, she forgot to tell me that she was a psycho.
I’ve always been fond of the ladies. I like them all. Tall and short, skinny or thick, muscular or bony. I’ve dated all kinds of females. My preference is for a gal who is tall, thick and stacked, with a big booty. It doesn’t matter if she’s Black, White, Asian or Latin. If she’s feeling me, we’ll get down. Women are beautiful. Mysterious, dangerous and unpredictable, but beautiful. I’ve had fun with lots of them. However, I’ve also been known to have some fun with certain, um, gentlemen. I was introduced to the love that dares not speak its name by a tall, good-looking Haitian brother named Aaron DesChamps during that same wonderful summer. Aaron and I had a lot of fun together. We did it in the shower of his parents Back Bay town house, and we also hooked up in my recreation room in my parents Milton mansion. All this, of course, I kept from Isabella. I used condoms, so I wasn’t endangering her. Unfortunately, someone spotted Aaron and I exchanging a midnight kiss at a night club in Boston and told Isabella. You can guess the rest.
Isabella is one of them jealous types. I’ve never been the jealous type. If someone isn’t feeling me, I move on. No guilt. No anger. Life is short, have fun when and where you can. And do it often. Isabella caused so much drama that I had to dump her. Unfortunately, she just wouldn’t let it go. She told all of her girlfriends and also made some insinuations to my parents. I vigorously denied her allegations, of course. I don’t know why I ever bothered with Isabella. She wouldn’t give head. And she considers her ass off-limits. I’m a butt guy. It doesn’t matter if I’m with a male or a female. If they won’t give up the booty, I drop them. Plain and simple. Using one of my dad’s lawyers, I obtained a restraining order against Isabella and continued my affair with Aaron until he left for Northeastern University in the fall and I moved into Hoover College.
Yeah, dealing with psycho women isn’t fun. Ever since that unpleasant experience with Isabella, I’ve been real careful around women. If they show a hint of being crazy, possessive or jealous, I tell them to hit the road. My experiences with men however were pleasant. Many men are totally down with casual sex. Unfortunately, most women aren’t. That’s too bad. Anyway, I now have an affinity for spotting psychos of the opposite sex. And when Jeff introduced me and the brotherhood to Nicole Rameaux, I made her for one of them immediately. Convincing Jeff of that was another matter.
Nicole Rameaux was a member of the Powers That Be, as I suspected. Her father, Haitian-American Congressman Nicolas Rameaux was one of the most popular politicians in the state of Massachusetts. Her mother, Clothilda Sarassin Rameaux was a high-ranking Massachusetts State Police Officer. Yeah, the gal came from interesting stock. I knew why Jeff liked her. She was good-looking and smart, and also she was an Ivy League woman whose parents were among the Haitian community’s Power Couples. Black men like Jeff and myself dreamed of meeting intelligent, sensible and capable black women like Nicole to marry someday and start dynasties with. That’s what men like us dreamed of doing, far into the future of course.
Jeff and Nicole became a couple in spite of my misgivings. There was absolutely nothing I could do about it. My roommate was in love with her. And whenever I pointed out something about her which seemed a little off to me, he dismissed it off-hand. I decided not to fight what I saw was a losing battle and instead focused on getting through my first year at Hoover College. Tuition costs thirty four grand a year for in-state students and thirty nine grand for out-of-state students. The school isn’t cheap. The fact that I was a scholarship student never left my mind. The school’s rich young men constantly reminded me of that. One of them really got on my nerves. His name was Anderson Brockwood, and he was the biggest asshole on campus.
Anderson Brockwood was tall, good-looking, wealthy…and black. Yes, my nemesis at Hoover College was a fellow black man. An African-American student-athlete who made it his business to hassle me. Anderson Brockwood was untouchable. As the captain of the school’s basketball team he was considered a demigod on campus. Also, his parents were rich. His father, Achilles Brockwood was the President of the North American Association of Black Authors & Publishers. His mother Eileen Brockwood was a former supermodel who made a fortunate and achieved international acclaim as a women’s fiction author.
Anderson was full of himself. He thought he was all that and didn’t mind letting folks know it. He was dating a tall, blue-eyed blonde named Myra who attended Regis College. I thought he was a pompous jerk. I didn’t think we had anything in common other than being young black men at a rich white school. Even Jeff, the Golden Boy of the Ice Hockey team, found Anderson a complete bore and a jerk. Later, I found out how much Anderson and I had in common and used it to blackmail him. Folks, there was a time when I envied the guy. He was six feet six inches tall and very good-looking. And everyone on campus worshiped him. His parents were multi-millionaires. His girlfriend was tall, stacked, hot as hell and had the kind of fantastic ghetto booty that was extremely rare on white chicks. He had it all. I hated him.
Hoover College became a very lonely place for me as Anderson teased and taunted me. I’ve always been sensitive about my weight and looks and having the bastard calling me names pissed me off. I felt so alone, folks. Matthew and Lionel were busy with their new girlfriends. I was a lonely, somewhat chubby and deeply closeted bisexual black guy on a campus that worshiped handsome, wealthy and athletic heterosexual males. Jeff was too busy hanging out with Nicole and her dumb-ass friends to help a brother out. So I had to solve this problem myself. One night, the solution presented itself to me. I was at this gay bar on Boston’s South End, drinking a Bloody Mary while watching good-looking guy after good-looking guy get picked up while I sat alone. Guess who walked into the bar? Anderson Brockwood!
He walked in with another guy, a tall, good-looking older white man. I didn’t recognize the guy but I heard Anderson refer to him as Lloyd as he chatted with the bartender, a burly, bald-headed white guy. Man, I couldn’t believe this shit. I ducked into a corner and observed Anderson chat, drink and even make out with his handsome older friend. I snapped a few pictures with my camera phone. Then, I went straight home. I created a fake profile on Faceworld and created a group titled ‘ Exposing College Athletes On The Down Low’. I used a headshot of Anderson as the picture on the group’s profile. Snickering, I rubbed my hands together and laughed evilly. Then, I went to sleep with a smile on my face. The shit was about to hit the fan and Anderson Brockwood was going down. Yeah!
When I went to school the next day, I was smiling from ear to ear. I sat in the cafeteria with Jeff and Matthew. Lionel was currently in class. A
nderson walked by with his sportsmen and called me porky. Inside, I seethed with anger but I only smiled and shrugged. Jeff got pissed and called on Anderson for making such a crass remark. Anderson laughed and walked away. I touched Jeff’s arm and shook my head. Anderson was a jerk and a loser. He wasn’t worth it. Then, I resumed eating my egg sandwich and read my favorite book, Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman. I love Trickster characters. They’re so funny. And so cool, too. I really love it when a smart guy uses his wit and cunning to outsmart and defeat wicked men and wicked women who are much more powerful than he is. Trickster characters rock. They’re my heroes. I prefer to use my mind to overcome obstacles and enemies rather than brute force or verbal lashing.
A week later I got my revenge. Someone saw the group about Anderson online and mentioned it to the students. And before you know it, the whole school knew. Anderson tried to deny it but he couldn’t. The evidence was irrefutable. Pictures of him kissing an older white guy in an unquestionably gay setting. He became the laughingstock of the school. Contrarily to popular misconception, all-male environments such as prisons, single-sex private schools and certain religious orders aren’t exactly kind to men who engage in same-sex romantic or sexual relations. In one instant Anderson Brockwood went from superstar athlete and campus demigod to social pariah and laughingstock. His spectacular fall was destined to be the stuff of legends. Man, the campus would never be the same. Folks were surprised when, three days later, Anderson Brockwood shot himself in his dorm. No one knew where he found the gun. The incident shocked the campus, and later, the nation. My heart bleeds for the useless, self-loathing jerk who preyed on his fellow man for no reason. Yes, the bastard could dish it out but he couldn’t take it. What a loser! I hope he’s in hell now. Hey, Anderson, who’s laughing now?
Like I said, life on campus was never the same. One by one the students who mocked fallen superstar Anderson Brockwood expressed regret in their part in his demise. I put on my best game face and faked sincere regret. Only one thing bothered me. Could the website be traced back to my computer? The case had landed on the news and they did a segment on how social networking sites could seriously endanger students. I deleted the online group then destroyed my computer. I used my allowance money to buy a new one. I had completely destroyed my enemy. Life was good. The school year went by relatively peacefully. I got A’s in all my classes, and I took pride in my accomplishments. Jeff and Nicole broke up after a six-month affair. I couldn’t help but smile when Jeff finally realized his girlfriend was a control. She stalked him after he called off their relationship. I advised him to notify his parents, along with the proper authorities. He did as I told him. Nicole finally backed off. Oh, she’s still mad. But she never suspected I’ve been wanting to sabotage their relationship from day one. No one ever suspects me of anything. Simply because I’m smart, quiet and meek. Don’t mess with the meek, folks. One day the world will be ours.
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