Yes!

As you and Jamal get out of the pool and back on the patio for some snacks that Sarah provided, the patio slowly fills with new guests.

First comes laughter drifting in from the side gate, then the crunch of gravel under tires, doors closing, voices calling out names. Music gets turned up another notch, bass settling deeper into the stone beneath your feet. The smell of sunscreen mixes with something warmer.

People start appearing in clusters, Jason arrives with Mary, her arm looped easily through his. Jason’s smile is wide and relaxed, Mary’s laugh bright and effortless. They spot you and wave, and for some reason that small gesture makes your chest feel loose, welcome.

More faces follow, mostly Black students, mostly men, tall, broad, lean, thick, athletic, soft, bodies of every kind but all carrying that same easy confidence. A few women and some more white students sprinkled in, but the energy is unmistakably BSA. Loud, warm and unguarded.

Ashton shows up not long after, sunglasses perched on his head, hes already shirtless and when he sees you, his eyebrows lift.

“Well damn,” he says while walking toward you, laughing. “Okay, Emile.”

You laugh too, a little breathless. “Is that the reaction I’m supposed to be getting?”

“Apparently,” he replies, glancing pointedly at Trent, who's appeared beside you the other black man doesn’t deny it.

He’s closer now, not crowding you, but kind of in your general orbit. He presses a cold cup into your hand, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“Round two,” he says. “Trust me. This one’s smoother.”

You hesitate, glancing at Jamal.

Jamal’s eyes flick to the cup immediately. “You don’t have to,”

“I want to,” you say, surprised at how easy the words come out. You smile at him, soft and unbothered. “It’s fine.”

Trent’s thumb deliberately brushes your wrist as you lift the cup.

“You see?” Trent says lightly. “He’s a good white boy.”

Jamal exhales slowly, jaw setting, but he doesn’t take the drink from you. He just shifts closer, body warm at your back, like an anchor.

You take a sip.

It really is smoother, still strong and it sends heat blooming across your tongue and down your throat, but it goes down easier, and the buzz you already felt deepens, spreading into your limbs, your hips, your chest. You laugh at nothing, then at yourself.

“Oh wow,” you murmur. “Okay... Yeah... I get it now.”

Trent grins. “Told you.”

The water on your skin dries slowly in the sun, leaving the fabric of your suit darker, tighter, clinging to you like it was painted on. You’re hyper aware of your body now, the way your hips settle when you lean, how your thick butt jiggles with every move and the way people’s eyes follow your movement without shame.

You notice the others more too.

Jamal, standing close, his dark skin still damp, sunlight tracing every line of muscle in his shoulders and chest. His trunks sit low on his hips, the fabric clearly shifting when he moves, impossible not to notice the clear outline of his obviously very sizeable member, when you try not to.

Trent was wet again after another lap in the pool, water sliding down his toned dark skinned torso, his swimmer’s body all long lines and controlled strength. His skin gleams, and when he stretches his arms over his head, it feels... in a way intentional, oerformative even.

He catches you looking and his smile turns slow.

“You like what you see Emile?” he asks, voice easy, eyes anything but.

You blink, then laugh awkwardly. “I... Ahm... I...”

“That's what I thought,” he laughs and steps closer again, close enough that his big hand brushes your side when someone passes him. His palm is warm now, fingers resting briefly at your waist, feeling the thick curves of your body, but it feels like he’s steadying you, or maybe he's claiming space.

“You know,” he adds casually head closer to yours, “that suit? It really works for you. Especially like this.”

“Like... what?” you stammer.

“So wet,” he says simply, eyes flicking down your body and back up. “Shows the perfectly thick shape your body has.”

Heat curls low in your stomach, but it feels fuzzy, distant, like it belongs to someone else. You catch yourself and shrug, playful. “It’s just fabric Trent,”

Trent hums. “Nah bro, It’s how you wear it. When I make Justin wear this kind of thing, I want him to show of that perfect thick white bubble butt of his. Just like Jamal wants you to show of, what you got.”

You don't understand what he means by that, why should Justin wear what Trent tells him to?

"I, don't..." you start to say, but then the music suddenly gets louder and rolls deeper into the space, bass vibrating through the stone, through your feet, through you. The patio is crowded now, bodies everywhere, laughter overlapping, someone shouting from the pool as another splash sends droplets misting the air.

But Trent hasn’t moved away.

If anything, he’s closer now his toned arm brushes yours, his thigh bumps yours, its nothing rushed or clumsy, its clearly intentional, to everyone else but you.

“So,” he says casually, tilting his head as he looks down again, eyes slower this time. “You always look this good, or is today special?”

You snort, lifting your cup for another sip. “You’re just being nice.”

Trent chuckles low. “Nah. I don’t waste compliments.”

As you swallow, he reaches out, fingers brushing very lightly along your side, just above the swell of your hip. It’s brief, almost testing, like he’s checking whether you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, you shiver, more surprised than anything, and laugh softly. “It’s cold,” you say, even though his hand is warm.

“Yeah,” he replies, not moving it right away. “Water does that.”

His thumb traces the edge of the fabric for half a second before he slowly pulls his hand back like nothing happened.

Jamal is nearby, you can feel him without looking. His presence is solid, watchful, his attention sharp even while he talks to someone else. Every time Trent gets even closer, Jamal shifts subtly, shoulders squaring, body angling in like a silent barrier that never fully forms.

You don’t notice it, since you’re too aware of how everyone looks right now.

Dark skin glistening under the afternoon sun. Muscles moving when people laugh, stretch or jump into the pool. Swim trunks hanging low on hips, hiding nothing, fabric darkened with water, clinging in ways your brain isn’t used to processing yet.

Trent peels his attention away from you for a moment and dives back into the pool, clean and smooth like it’s second nature. When he surfaces, water rolls down his dark chest and stomach, sunlight catching on every line, every flex. A few people whistle. Someone claps.

He grins, shakes his head, slicking his hair back, then swims to the edge and pulls himself out effortlessly.

Up close, he’s all heat and water and confidence.

“You swim a lot?” you ask, words slightly loose now, buzzing.

“Competitive,” he says easily, grabbing a towel but not using it yet. “Since high school.”

“That explains...” You gesture vaguely up and down his body. “All of that.”

He laughs, loud and pleased. “Careful, Emile. You keep looking at me like that, people are gonna talk.”

You blink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re interested in some dark chocolate, if you know what I mean...” he says with a smug smile while he moves right in front of you, body very close to yours.

You feel warmth creep into your face, but it doesn’t panic you like it would’ve earlier. You just smile, a little crooked. “I just... don’t see bodies like this back home.”

“That so?” he says, stepping even closer again, water dripping onto the stone between your feet. “Then you picked the right party.”

He reaches out again, this time placing both his hands on your waist, thumbs resting along your sides, fingers splayed comfortably like it’s the most natural thing in the world. As you look down, you can clearly see the contrast of his dark skin encaseing your pale white one. His hands are big and you see how veins are going up his forearm. For some reason it feels nice to have another man be this close to you, to have someones warm hands on your bare skin. It let's your heart beat a bit faster for a moment.

Trent stays like this for a moment, his wet thumbs brushing along your drying skin and his grip gets a big stronger, really feeling your body. You are not sure if it should feel this good, but for some reason it does, and you are buzzed enough to let it happen.

Trent also seems like a nice guy, yes he's obviously a bit cocky and harsh at times, but if anyone just spares him one look, they instantly know why he is like that. You give his body a few more glances, everywhere you look you see toned dark skin. Water drops flow down his abs and end in the fabric of his very low hanging swim trunks. They hang so low, that you can clearly see that he shaved and it's crazy for you to think about, but you think you can even see a bit of skin below that...

Trent very much fills out the front of these wet trunks, just like with Jamal, the outline of his obviously very sizable member is almost clearly visible with how the wet fabric clings to his skin. You have never looked or noticed another man like this, but for some reason you can't help but look at these objectively hot black men...

But before more inappropriate thought fill your brain, you hear something from above you. But the words you hear doesn't make anything better.

“You’re built nice,” Trent says, voice lower now, only meant for you to hear. “Perfect thick white curves where they should be and that ass?” He gives a soft, appreciative laugh and one of his hands moves down from your hip onto your ass and gives it a good squeeze, before moving it away again “Yeah. People notice a thick body like yours.”

You make a small moan like sound from the surprise of his touch, and your brain goes fuzzy for a second.

You try to laugh it off, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I wrong tho?” he smiles wide, as if he knew that he won. You don't see it, but his eyes look away from you for a moment and he gives Jamal, who stands behind you a triumphant smile.

You don’t answer and as the black man let's go of your hips, you just take another sip of your drink to calm down.

Behind you, Jamal’s jaw tightens. He steps closer now, close enough that his arm brushes your back, his chest almost at your shoulder. He doesn’t interrupt, at least not yet but his presence is heavy now, unmistakable.

Trent clearly notices, his smile turns sharper, amused in a way.

“You always get this protective over a white boy?” Trent asks casually, eyes flicking to Jamal.

Jamal meets his gaze, calm but intense. “Only when I need to.”

You sway slightly, buzz settling deep, and laugh again. “Guys,” you say, light and playful, “it’s a party. Relax.”

Trent chuckles. “See? He’s fine.”

Jamal exhales through his nose, but he doesn’t pull you away.

You are now just standing there between them, warm, damp fabric clinging to your skin, music thudding through your chest, big dark hands brushing your body like it’s nothing, you feel looser than you ever have.

Unaware that the attention you’re swimming in is anything but friendly.