That one time THE popular girl fucked me behind her athlete boyfriend's back. He's in the NFL now...And she just texted me. [MF]

Aight so boom.

It started in college.

I went to an HBCU around the way from this D1 football factory. The type of SEC program that churns out NFL stars every year.

I'm talking million-dollar stadium expansions, boosters who practically run the city, big racist money swirling around. Meanwhile, my HBCU had that smaller, more homey feel, but we had our own rich traditions.

I'm a scholarship athlete (not football, so I'm not overshadowed by SEC mania), and I'd just started to find my rhythm. My grades picked up, my performance soared. My locs were actually growing nice, reaching my shoulders at that point, so a nigga was feeling himself. Confident as hell, strolling around campus on some hot shit.

Then there's "Fried Chicken Wednesday." If you know, you know: it's a staple at many HBCUs, a day where the café whips out some dangerously good fried chicken and the yard turns into a fashion runway.

This runway was more important than Paris.

Everyone dresses to impress, to see and be seen. It's comedic how seriously folks take it.

Seriously. It made or broke you. I seen one girl littererally transfer because she fell walking to the café on the yard on fcw. Shawty heels exploded and her wig came off. Ima definitely date myself but yik yak and vine was going insane over that one.

I'd watch people come through in the hottest outfits just to stand in line for chicken. It's a statement day, you feel me. If there's drama, it happens on FCW. If there's a new couple, you see them holding hands on FCW. If someone wants to show off their new fit or hair, FCW is the day. It's legendary.

I'm on the yard, soaking in the atmosphere, the smell of fried chicken mixing with cheap body spray. Out the corner of my eye, I catch a swirl of motion. I smell something like cinnamon and cocoa butter. I turn to see this short, thick goddess in a tight outfit that showed off her natural BBL (some of y'all know what I mean--the type of ass sculpted by cornbread and genetics). She had luscious lips, arms toned from track practice, and a smile that made niggas stutter. People whispered, "That's Cora-Bell," and I'd heard the name floating around campus: she was the surefire pick to become Miss [My HBCU name]. No one even came close to challenging her for that title.

She gave me the smallest nod, and I was basically done for. You know how you see someone so fine you wonder if they real. That's how I felt. The rumor was she had a boyfriend who played tight end at the SEC powerhouse down the road. Not just any boyfriend--some kid from an old-money family, a legacy type, destined for NFL greatness like his uncles. This is the same dude who would drive her car with the pink and green plates around our campus and even his own down the way, bumping trash music, not paying for gas, all that mooching nonsense. She'd apparently been with him for three years. She'd eventually tell me she even gave him her virginity.

Which made it even more crazy to later hear stories of how he cheated, hooking up with random snowbunnies.

These stories are from her and from just being around campus. It was nearly an open secret.

She forgave him time and time again, for reasons none of us understood.

Sometime after that FCW me and her kept running into each other. I'd see her in the library, or we'd pass in the hallway. Turned out we shared a major, so we had overlapping classes. She needed tutoring in one subject, and I offered. That's how we started texting. I'd help her with notes, but then the conversation always drifted to personal shit. She found out I'm an anime nerd. She was into the same fandoms. We were both on Tumblr back when it was a free-for-all, no porn ban. She liked that Superwholock trifecta, but I could only stand Sherlock. She teased me about that. I'd nudge her about how corny Supernatural was. It was cool banter.

As we grew closer over texts, I'd see her IRL in class and she'd hardly even wave. That weird duality bugged me. I'd get these texts at 2 a.m. from her like, "Send me some porn. I'm bored," or "When's the last time you got some pussy?" She was super open about sexual stuff via phone, but in person, she was colder. I realized( and she later confirmed) it was because of her image--she was on track to become Miss campus, with that Jack & Jill pedigree. She couldn't be out here acting friendly with a random nigga from the sports dorm.

Reputation is everything, I guess.

So while me and her are building this text-based closeness, I'm hearing about her man cheating. He's basically the prototype of a big-headed athlete: tall, broad, good at football, and drowning in groupies. He wasn't a star but he was good enough that scouts was checking him out. He drove around in her pink and green plated car(iykyk) , hooking up with random snowbunnies from frat row at his school, apparently.

This nigga is not beating the D1 athlete stereotype 😂.

She was furious each time but always took him back. I'd see her crying in the library corner. She told me over text about how she'd confronted him, and he'd fed her some line of bullshit that she found herself believing. It's that cycle: "He cheats, I get mad, he apologizes, we fuck, he does it again."

Me?

The way I'm set up?

The type of nigga I am?

I tried to keep my distance from that.

I'm not trying to be a side nigga or get in the crossfire of an NFL-bound dude who might get big money and big anger issues. But she kept leaning on me for emotional support. And like a dumbass I kept giving it.

She'd ask me to call her so she wouldn't cry herself to sleep. I'd talk her down from the ledge, but I'd also think to myself, "Why are you staying with him, sis? You can do better."

Then one October day, out of nowhere, she told me she found out he was hooking up with some white girl at his school she hated. "An Alfredo assassin" she called the chick. I died laughing. But she was furious. She said, "He didn't even try to hide it this time."

Now let me cut to the chase.

It's Halloween, junior year.

There's a big costume party off-campus, loud as fuck, big crowds. I'm dressed as Static Shock (I had locs at the time that fit the costume well). She shows up in a slutty vampire getup--tight black dress, fishnets, fangs, and a dripping maroon lipstick that made her lips look extra luscious. She sees me across the yard, storms over, basically ignoring the entire party vibe, and goes, "I want to fuck." Just like that.

No hesitation.

I was shocked. "Wait, what? Are you serious?" She basically said, "Yes, that motherfucker cheated again. I'm done. And I'm horny. I need to get this rage out."

My mother didn't raise the type of man who questioned me blessing.

She grabbed my hand, yanked me away from the crowd, led me to an upstairs bedroom in the house. We locked the door behind us, and that's when it hit me: I'm about to fuck the little Miss Perfect of campus, behind her NFL-likely boyfriend's back, while I'm dressed like a black superhero.

You can't make this shit up.

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The moment the door closed, she slammed me against it, pinned me with surprising strength for her short stature. Her eyes burned with anger and lust. She pulled me in for a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, frantic. I let my hands roam her body, feeling those track-honed thighs, that plump ass that was hardly contained by the fishnets. She moaned into my mouth, pressed her body close, so I could feel the heat radiating from between her legs.

She reached down, groped my dick through the Static Shock costume, half-laughing at the irony, "Can't believe I'm about to cheat with a nigga in a cartoon costume." I smirked, "And I'm about to fuck a vampire, so call it even." She snorted, went back to kissing me, letting her nails drag across my scalp.

I had a fresh retwist so I really felt that shit.

We stumbled toward the bed, ripping at each other's clothes. I remember it felt weird because of all the family pictures around. I tossed my jacket aside, yanked down the top of her dress so her tits spilled out. She had these dark, chocolate-brown nipples that made my mouth water. I latched on to one, swirling my tongue, and she gasped, threading her fingers into my locs. Meanwhile, her hands slid under my shirt, feeling the lines of my back, then down to unbuckle my pants.

When my cock sprang free, she looked down, licked her lips, "Mmm, I guess it's true what they say about you." I'd heard rumors swirl about me after I'd messed with some chicks on campus, but I just chuckled, not letting it go to my head. She pushed me onto the bed, stood there with her fangs and that wicked grin, yanked her fishnets down. Her thong was already soaked, a dark patch of wetness glistening.

"Goddamn," I muttered, "You sure you want this?" She gave me a glare, "Nigga, shut up," then crawled on top of me. We let our kisses turn sloppy, tongues wrestling. I groped her ass, hooking my fingers under the thong, pulling it aside. She moaned, grinding her pussy against my bare cock, letting the wetness smear along the shaft. My heart hammered in my chest, reminded me of how I used to feel right before a big match.

That adrenaline surge. What it felt like when time slowed down and your body knew just how to move.

Finally, she reached down, positioned me at her entrance, and sank down slowly. I hissed. She was so warm, so unbelievably tight. We didn't even need lube.

Not that I had any.

She buried her face in my neck, letting out a trembling groan. "Fuck, I've wanted this for so long," she whispered. "I can't believe I'm actually fucking you."

We started with a slow rhythm, letting ourselves adjust. Her pussy clenched around me in waves, each roll of her hips sending sparks up my spine. I grabbed her waist, helping her bounce. Our breathing synced. My lips found her tits again when she bent down, nibbling her nipples. She threw her head back, little fangs glinting in the dim light, letting out a throaty moan. The house party noises thumped downstairs, but up here, it was just the wet slap of our skin and our ragged breaths.

She started picking up speed, thighs flexing as she rode me with more urgency. Her nails scratched my shoulders, leaving a faint sting that fueled my lust. I thrust up into her, meeting her halfway. The friction was insane. I'd never felt so lost in a moment. Her eyes locked on me, an intense blend of anger, lust, and a twisted sense of triumph. It's like she was punishing her cheating boyfriend with every bounce.

"Fuck, I'm close," she gasped, "Don't you dare stop." I had no intention of stopping. I gripped her ass, pounding upward, feeling the bed creak beneath us. I felt like if I came in that moment she would take everything from my body. It felt unreal. The costume got half-tangled around my legs, but I didn't care. I loved that I was in my silly cartoon fit while giving her the best strokes I had.

She let out a long, shuddering moan, body spasming as she climaxed. Her walls gripped me so tight I almost lost it, but I fought to hold off. She collapsed onto me, panting. But she wasn't done. She murmured, "Now fuck me from behind. Hard." I nodded, flipping her onto her knees, sliding back in. She pressed her face into the sheets, arching her back so I could watch that perfect ass bounce with each thrust. She moaned louder now, not caring who heard. My brain fogged with the intensity.

Her ex didn't cross my mind once. In that moment, it was just me and her, sweat mingling, the ring of music from downstairs overshadowed by our fuck-lust. I hammered into her, feeling that coil in my gut wind tight. "Shit, I'm gon' cum," I groaned. She pushed her hips back, practically impaling herself, "Do it, fill me up." That direct instruction snapped my last thread of control. I exploded inside her, body wracked with pulses of pleasure.

We collapsed, breathing like we'd run marathons, limbs tangled. The air reeked of sex and Halloween candy. After a minute, she rolled off, still flushed. "Damn," she sighed, half-laughing. "Better than I'd imagined." I smirked, brushing a damp loc away from my forehead, "You're good too, vampire."

That was the turning point.

We kept hooking up in secret. She insisted it never be public, 'cause her boyfriend was that big SEC star, destined for the NFL. He had that future locked. She didn't want drama.

Funny enough I guess I was cool with being the side nigga, I won't lie. The sex was too good to pass up. Over the weeks, I'd get random texts, "You free?" I'd hustle out to meet her in a car, an empty dorm lounge, sometimes in a random park, one time on the top of the campus chapel(iykyk). She was always hungry for more, like I'd unleashed something in her. Meanwhile, her boyfriend kept doing his scandalous bullshit. She said he suspected nothing, 'cause his own cheating overshadowed any paranoia about her. The irony.

Eventually, she graduated, moved on. He did get drafted into the NFL, somewhere in the late rounds, but still signed a contract. She moved to his city for a while. We lost touch. Then out of nowhere, I'd get random late-night texts from her: "Remember that time on Halloween?" or "Yo, I'm in town, you busy?" Usually I'd ignore them if I was in a relationship, or I'd chat politely. But once in a while, I'd entertain the idea of hooking up again, though it never quite panned out.

So yeah, the popular girl from campus, Miss Perfect, the one who was basically locked down by her big-time SEC dude? She ended up fucking me behind his back. I'd never told many folks this, but I'm high as shit right now, my girlfriend's asleep upstairs, and Cora-Bell just texted me again.

I guess I'm writing this post so I don't text her back, occupying my hands by typing instead. It's weird to think about how we lived that double life--her boyfriend was a star who ended up in the NFL, and there I was, a random nigga just giving her the strokes he wasn't.

No regrets though.

The sex was next-level. She might have stayed with him or maybe they're broken up, I don't even keep track. But I'd be lying if I said I haven't considered answering her text. But for now, I'll let it be. I'm older, (slightly) wiser, and not trying to get entangled in that bullshit again.

Hope y'all enjoyed the story. It's hella late, and I'm stoned, so maybe I'm oversharing.

But if you read this far, guess it was worth sharing. Life is wild sometimes--especially when the hottest chick on campus decides you're the cheat code to get back at her NFL-bound boyfriend.

And who am I to argue with a blessing?