You spot the studious Hindu guys, always looking vaguely uncomfortable for no reason. They need to learn to relax, seriously. Drink a beer and get lai... or something. Anyhow, the one guy who always gets the stares is the Black guy. As I walk through campus, wearing my Obama T-shirt with pride in the aftermath of his successful bid for re-election, the white students ( and others ) at school are staring. Let them stare. I am the new breed of Black man. I don’t play basketball, I don’t rap and I. My arms are wrapped loosely around your back……my fingertips dancing to the movements of the muscles in your back….I feel you take a breath of my hair, and perfume, and your fingers twirl in the strands that fall down from my shoulders. It’s a tender, innocent moment. When the song ended, I reached up to you, and gave you a kiss, lightly just to the side of your lips. I thanked you, and as it was chilling, we returned to my house. As is with all wonderful moments in time, one never wants to have. More

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