Jamal Durant looked to have a promising future in the NBA, until he blew out his knee during a Final Four game of March Madness. After his graduation, the handsome, 6'8" black man had no idea what to make of his life. Being a skilled athlete was pretty much his entire focus in college, although he was also smart, and had maintained a good grade point average.
He was surprised when a letter arrived from the Willow College. After all, it was a very exclusive all female school. His eyes flew wide open as he read its contents. It was a job offer! The Dean of Human Resources, Mrs. Electra Velde, was offering him the position to teach Physical Education at their institution, a job for which he certainly had the necessary skills. His heart accelerated when he read the details - the salary, while nowhere near the NBA range, was enough to make him feel very comfortable, especially because the offer included accommodations in off-campus housing, rent-free.
When he met her in person, Mrs. Velde couldn't have been more supportive. "Good morning, Mr. Durant. Please call me Electra," she said in greeting. That was about as familiar as she'd allow, however. In her tailored business suit, with her horn rimmed glasses for reading, her blonde hair twisted into a stern bun, and her only cosmetics a swipe of neutral colored lipstick, she looked quite formidable behind her desk. This was a woman that had a lot of power, and knew it. This was especially due to the fact that her husband, Duane, was the college's president.
Not wanting to make a bad first impression, Jamal smiled politely and made a lot of eye contact, forcing his eyes not to dip down and scope out Electra's bust, which, although encased in that suit, seemed to be making its top button work hard to keep from popping off. He formally accepted the job, and formally shook her hand. Electra even walked him around the campus, giving him a brief tour, and introducing him to other faculty members. During their walk, Jamal was startled that Electra could travel without even swaying her hips. As she clipped along on her heels, she held herself ramrod straight.
His first weeks at Willow were nearly perfect. One main challenge he faced seemed to be finding gracious ways to deflect the 'come-ons' from his female colleagues - the college had a strict 'no fraternization' rule. And, he had difficulty in keeping his erections under control when teaching the horny, pampered young women in his classes, most of whom were white, and of legal age - but they were definitely forbidden fruit, and he knew it.
Like many black men, he was rather fascinated with many things about white women. He'd had little interaction with them when he was at his college. Their looks, their smells, the texture of their skin when they'd accidentally bump into him were very attractive and provoking. Sometimes, when they were huddled together while he gave them instructions during a basketball game timeout, their soft silky hair would brush against his neck. If he walked through their locker room after they'd all gone to their dorms, and inhaled, the scent quickly had his cock straining at the confinement of his pants.
In those first months, when his female colleagues referred to him as the 'big man on campus' he suspected that they weren't just referring to his height, or his academic skills, but he didn't let it faze him. Sure, the stereotype of the massively hung black man could be demeaning, alright. "But what the hell," he thought. "At long last a racist stereotype is working in my favor." It looked like he'd found a lovely place to begin his new career.
Jamal received a phone call from Mrs. Velde. "Hello, Jamal," she began. Yes, they were both now on a first name basis with each other. "Some friends of mine would like to meet you, so I'd like to have a dinner party in your honor at my home. Would you be available Saturday evening?"
"That sounds delightful, Electra. Thank you for the invitation. I'll be there. I'm looking forward to meeting your friends." After fixing a time, they hung up.
Unfortunately, when Saturday arrived, during the afternoon, Jamal met up with some of his old college teammate buddies to go to a sports bar, watch the game, and have some beers. It was just what Jamal needed. Being together with his friends allowed him to 'depressurize' and let go. He hadn't realized how much stress he'd been under, walking the tightrope around all those women, teachers and students alike. One thing led to another, and Jamal completely forgot about the Dean's dinner party. When he got back to his apartment, in the wee hours of the morning, he saw he had a new voicemail.
"Hello, Jamal," he heard the recording begin, "This is Electra. All my guests are here. Are you on your way?"
His stomach knotted, and his heart lurched. "Oh shit!" he thought. "Shit, shit shit!" That proved to be an accurate foretelling of his future at Willow College. But the next morning, he tried a little damage control by visiting the Dean in her office.
"Hi, Electra," he said in greeting. "I got your message, and I'm truly very sorry that I missed your dinner party."
"Yes? What happened?" she asked, with a bit of ice in her tone of voice.
"Well. This is embarrassing," he replied. "Some of my buddies invited me out in the afternoon, and to be very honest, I just plumb lost track of the time. Again, I'm sorry, Electra."
Her voice now went frigid. "That's Mrs. Velde, or Dean Velde, Mr. Durant. I see that the gathering that I worked so hard to put together to honor you wasn't important enough to be foremost in your mind. They do say that familiarity breeds contempt."
"But I..." he started to say, but she cut him off.
Brusquely, she said, "That will be all. I have work to do. Good day." She was really pissed! It didn't escape his notice that she was no longer on a first name basis with him, adopting a more formal tone in her anger. The knot in his stomach returned in full force.
It remained there over the next couple of weeks as Mrs. Velde (he daren't call her Electra now) seemed to be going out of her way to make his life miserable. She, who'd been so instrumental in his hiring, had decided to make his life pure hell. It seemed like every day she called him to her office to address some new failure on his part. He expected her carpet to start showing a path from her door to her desk, he'd been called onto it so many times.
