Better, Brighter, Whiter Part 12 (Patreon)

“….That coupled with low education results in not only increased obesity rates in women, and drastically higher crime rates in men. Yes, Miss Knight. I see you. Put your hand down.” Professor Boardwell said, pacing back and forth as he clicked through his powerpoint presentation on the truthful origins of stereotypes in ethnic communities.

“With both crime up and education low, drug usage skyrocketed. And can anyone tell me what the primary drug distributed in black communities? Emily, you should know this one. Go for it.” He continued, changing the subject at the last second to bait Emmie into being forced to answer a loaded question. It was a tactic he was especially fond of, especially when he found something that even she couldn’t deny.

Emmie rolled her eyes into the back of her head with her eyes closed and sighed. “Marijuana.” She said dryly, much to the delight of her professor.

“And with Marijuana use comes not only increased usage of more illicit substances like cocaine, it also induces a stupor that lowers intelligence and increases appetite, which led to the current obesity rate of black women in America which is approximately…Er…What was it again, Emily?” He taunted.

“Eighty percent.” She said through half-gritted teeth.

“…However….” She added, her thoughtful eyes sexily rolling downward and across her desk as she thought of a response. “The main reason for the drug use and crime in the first place is lack of opportunities. You HAVE to sell coke or weed or whatever. You HAVE to stay high just to keep your mind off the boredom. And when you’re high, you eat. Black people aren’t being forced to be fat criminals, no. But they have so few options that that’s what inevitably happens to them. You create criminals by removing business and education opportunities, then all people have to spend their money on is weed and fast food. Then, when it’s all said and done, you punish them for it.”

Professor Boardwell bobbed his head side to side with his bottom lip raised as if he were considering her statement carefully. “Yeah, sure. I suppose that’s fair. But the fact is they still chose to do that instead of try to build themselves up. What concerns me most is that you seem to know a whole lot about this. Were you raised in a black community yourself?

“I was. Only my mom is white and so when he ran out on us, we had to live in the ghetto with my grandma.” Emmie chirped with only a small amount of shame showing on her face.

“So then you were a part of this culture too then? Are you telling me that you were a pothead too? You don’t look especially fat to me.” He asked.

Emmie sighed again.
“Yes. I did. In fact, since I moved on campus, I’ve lost almost 40 pounds in about 8 months.” Her tone notedly picked up after mentioning her substantial weight loss.

“Oh I do remember you waddling around in your femnazi leggings, Emily. Thank you for updating your wardrobe with something that *won’t* cause any arguments in my class, by the way. It’s a big improvement, and you look great. Well done." Professor Boardwell shrugged almost kindly.

Emmie decided to take the win and leave on a civil note for once. “Welp, turns out identity politics are bad and you can’t just politicize everything you see.” She conceded, shrugging just in time for the clock to strike 3pm and the mass of students to all get up and rush out of the room, regardless of the feeble protests from an increasingly disinterested professor. Emmie too was eager to leave, as Malcolm had promised to meet her for a photoshoot she’d wanted to do for her new Onlyfans page.

Emmie didn’t care too much about the money so much as it was something fun to do with someone who wasn’t a ditzy college girl for once. With Kate still dieting away the extra bulk she’d picked up before her student intervention, time spent with her was spent either complaining about the “unfair standards against muscular women in the patriarchal blah blah blah” ad nauseam. The rest of B.B.W. was of the mind that Kate had taken her Fitness First mentality too far, focusing more on the gym than her actual studies, but luckily, Malcolm was there to help bring her down from her protein high before she looked more man than girl. According to her, she had been enrolled in a supplemental instruction course that functioned effectively as a sort of rehabilitation center for students who were going too overboard in their studies and damaging both their mental and physical health. She’d received a new mantra as well as a change in schedule, though she didn’t feel comfortable talking about it until she was further into the program. Even so, her girls were infinitely supportive of her and made sure to tell her how much better she looked with more curved and fewer ridges on her.

(1)

Kayli spent most of her free time down at the beach or in some zendo meditation hut near the pier which was fun, but not something Emmie could see herself doing every day. Still, she couldn’t deny the effect that her tawny friend’s overly-healthy regimen had on her figure. Not to mention her sex life. When she wasn’t cooking up a storm in her cutesy, bohemian apron, she was being carried off to her own bedroom by whatever buffed out himbo got the pleasure of being stuffed to the gills with some pseudo-Polynesian banquet she stole from Pinterest and then spent way too much on making. Still, she seemed happy and Emmie couldn’t fault her for the indulgent shopping. Everyone had been enjoying the increased allowance from the BOA, so it was hard to complain about Sophie and Kayli buying hundreds of dollars in food per week when Emmie and Tori were receiving packages of designer clothing every other day.

(2)

Emmie brushed through the crowd of students all trying to make their way through the corridor after class. Normally she would have met up with Sophie and headed to get covfefe together, but the purple-haired latina was nowhere to be found. She’d ditched class that day in order to meet up with someone at their beach house in a secluded area. She wouldn’t say who, but it had been pretty obvious that she had been getting really flirty with Mr. Aloysius from the Advisory Board for the last couple months.

Interestingly enough, Emmie found it to be oddly liberating to walk the halls on her own without having everyone stare at her. It was the second semester of the year, and while she wasn’t EXACTLY your typical Bright Girl, Emmie could pass as long as no one paid too much attention to her diminutive C cups. Sophie however was the one who regularly garnered all the attention ranging from catty snickering to brainless ogling as she near-waddled her massive ass across campus. 

Sophie was definitely the fat girl of the group, and between her combative, bratty attitude and her unusually dark motif, she stood out like a sore thumb. She pretty enough to not embarrass herself, but the rest of the girls in B.B.W. were regularly amazed at her level of confidence against the constant scrutiny she received. Often times Emmie found herself gossiping with Kate and Kayli about Sophie’s look, wishing that she and Tori would finally commit to losing weight and taking some more pride in their appearance, but in the end would have to remind herself that that was exactly the reason that their group existed: To diversify what is acceptable for the girls of Bright University.
Still, despite working to be more accepting of others, Emmie couldn’t help but feel happy to fit in for once.

(3)

Upon returning to the house, she saw that Malcolm’s car was already parked alongside Tori’s and seeing as how he wasn’t awkwardly hanging out in his Corvette listening to anime soundtracks, she figured that Tori had already let him in. She opened the door, imagining that he’d be fiddling with his phone or talking Tori’s ear off about some new tech gizmo or pipe dream project, but instead she found the curvaceous blonde planted on her bed. 

“EMMERRRS! IS THAT YOU?” Tori called out from her bedroom, pink light pouring into the common area as she did her makeup in massive vanity mirror covered in hair and cosmetic supplies and heavily adorned with LEDs and pictures of makeup and hair looks as well as the very same discount advert for plastic surgery that sat taped to Emmie’s own bedroom dressing table. When Kate had returned home from her session with Armande, the school’s guidance counselor she had adopted a very sudden interest in getting breast enhancement surgery after she muscled down a bit. She had with her several cards that she said were redeemable for 20% off any procedure, and while neither Tori nor Emmie had acted on it, they both found the offer increasingly enticing as time went on.

“YEAH? WHAT’S UP?” Emmie yelled back.

“YOUR BOYFRIEND’S HERE.” Tori yelled from her room, shifting on her stool to lean towards the open door until Emmie was in sight.

“Your boyfriend’s here.” She said succinctly, a glossy, pink shade of lipstick freshly applied and a bottle of eyeliner in her dainty, nail-polished hands. 

Emmie rolled her eyes and sighed for the umpteenth time that day. It had become something of a hallmark of Emmie’s mood that whenever she was wrong, embarrassed, or just not getting her way, the caramel skinned blonde would sigh and roll her eyes as if she were better than the situation at hand and therefor immune to it.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” She said dryly, her face neither emotionally charged or entirely neutral. It was a statement that came across as too smooth for what it was. The fact that Emmie hadn’t vehemently denied it told Tori everything she wanted to know, and more or less convinced her of what everyone else had suspected for some time now. Tori grinned and began unscrewing the cap from her eyeliner bottle.

“Well your not-boyfriend is waiting for you in your room, where he has somehow ended up for the third time this week.” Tori said, now facing her mirror again and carefully applying her makeup.

(4)

“Thank you.” Emmie half-shouted into the room somewhat curtly and Tori yelled out “Have fuuuun” in response.

Emmie sauntered into her room to find Malcolm nose deep in her Nintendo Switch and wandering around her Animal Crossing island before realizing the door was opening and hurrying to hide that he was playing with it. He failed, but she didn’t mind in the slightest. In fact, it was more likely to happen eventually anyways since she only played it when she was hung over and in need of something entertaining to do that required little moving or emotional labor.

“Oh! Hey Emily!” Malcolm said, smiling dorkily and clearly still a little nervous to be in her room with her despite Tori being correct about the frequency of his visits lately.

“Hello Mr. Dell.” Emily said in an almost flirtatious tone as she half-shyly began setting her things down and getting comfortable. She wandered over to the bed and picked up a plastic wrapped UPS package from next to where Malcolm was sitting with his hands politely in his lap, bouncing his legs slightly as he did.

“This for me?” She asked sweetly, grinning over her shoulder as she sauntered over to the bathroom with the package.

After a few minutes, she came back out in an orange t-shirt and matching panties, subtly posing a couple times as she approached the trembling man on her bed.
“You ready? She asked, and moved to the common room couch to begin shooting.

The photoshoot itself went well. Just as Malcolm proved to be a fantastic cameraman, Emmie was a fantastic model with no limit to the number or organic looking poses to cycle through. She postured in various ways, holding each position for only a moment before moving on as Malcolm rapidly snapped picture after picture while directing her to the next sultry, puffy-lipped look.

“Ooooooh, that one’s good.” Emmie gushed as she and her photographer looked through the photos he’d taken having returned to the privacy of her room. They weren’t all winners, but the majority did turn out well due to Malcolm’s apparent knowledge of how to get the perfect angle and timing for each pose. Several times, he would simply describe a mannerism that the pseudo-Bright Girl had displayed previously and she would recreate it, blushing slightly and masking her shy smile as playing to the camera as she did, giddy and endeared by the realization that Mr. Dell clearly paid a lot of attention to her mannerisms and knew which ones he liked.

When she had gone to the bathroom to change again, she came back out to see Malcolm reading the plastic surgery discount offer taped to her vanity with a slightly sly grin on his face.

“What’s this, huh? I thought you were all about keeping it natural?” He teased, his heart already pounding at the situation.

“Oh. I guess.” Emmie said, passively but pointedly NOT looking at the card as she walked by, even avoiding eye contact.

Malcolm was apparently feeling bold.
“What happened to not being boujie or… sending your extra cash back home to ‘benefit the community’ and all that?” He pressed, a big, toothy smile on his face.
Emmie rolled her eyes and sighed towards the window. 

“Eh….” She began slowly as if still coming to terms with her feelings on the matter. “Honestly it’s whatever. Like I only have the money to even think about that kinda thing because I worked my ass off to get it. I figure I deserve something for me every once in a while, and Kate offered…so. Yeah. I’m considering it I guess.”

Malcolm laughed mischievously. “Can you imagine what your family would say if you left home all chubby and natural, then came back all skinny with blonde hair and a boob job?”

Emmie plopped her head heavily on her pillow and stared at the ceiling from her bed. 

“Fuck them, honestly. I spent my entire life trying to help my community just to be told I am not black enough to really be one of them. I’m still too black for white society, but too light to be considered ‘down with the struggle’ or whatever. Plus, I made my wealth myself. They’re the ones who sat back and cheered while I did all the real work myself. Black Excellence…but only if you do it all by yourself FOR everyone else. It’s not a community if only one person’s working to better it.” Emmie said, venting more than she initially intended, the thoughts now bouncing around in her head like rubber balls from an old 90's quarter machine. 

“Oh.” Malcolm said, slightly surprised and unsure of how to respond.

“Well, forget what they’d think about it, sorry. Do *you* think you’d look good with a boobjob or whatever?” 

Emmie was silent for a full twenty seconds before answering with a question of her own, her unblinking, blankly thoughtful eyes never leaving the stucco ceiling.

“Would *you* like it if I did that?” She asked without even the slightest hint of emotion in her soft voice.
Malcolm was stunned for a moment.

“Well….I uh..” He muttered, stumbling over his words. “I mean, I think you’d look really good if you were all busty and stuff. Not that you need to be like the oth-“

“Would I look better with implants?” She asked sterilely, cutting him off while still staring at the ceiling and making constellations out of whatever tiny white hills her brain decided to link together in thebpopcorn ceiling.

“Well, you already look amazing just as yo-“ Malcom started before being cut off again.

“Would I look better to you with fake boobs?” She asked clinically, but directly.

Malcolm swallowed hard, feeling the dryness in his throat as he did.

“Yeah? I mean...I think so.” He said meekly, bracing for the backlash he’d come to expect from such careless statements.

“Then I’ll do it.” She said with a sense of finality, sitting up to look at him with the same emotionless, certain look on her face as before.

“I’ll book the appointment tonight.”

Malcolm swallowed again as she began crawling over to him on the bed, wearing only a pair of shorts and a tee with no bra or underwear to speak of. She straddled his lap, gasping slightly as she settled herself onto him, pleasantly surprised by the feeling of the steel hard-on he had pressing painfully against his jeans. With the only warning being a dreamy, almost misty eyed stare, she pressed her mouth against his, passionately kissing him as she laid him down onto his back.

“…..Oh.” He said, his heart pounding in his ears.

Emmie grabbed a remote from her bedside table and with a press of a button, turned off the lights.