Being inhuman isn’t easy. It took me a long time to accept what I am. Many people would say the same, I think. Self-acceptance is hard. Many men struggle with the fact that certain parts of their bodies aren’t exactly as they’d like them to be. Women struggle with both increases and decreases in the size of certain aspects of their anatomy. Nobody has it easy. I don’t mean to sound like a wise guy, but I think most people have it easy compared to me. Try being a Half-Angel for a time then you’ll see what I’m talking about.

I grew up in what can only be considered a fringe dimension. You see, there are many worlds beside the one you know. Demons, vampires, werewolves, monsters, zombies, ghouls, they’re all real. As are fallen angels and pagan gods and goddesses. Yeah, so many scary things you thought relegated to the realm of fiction are real. And I’m one of them. At least partly. My father was a Fallen Angel named Asmodeus. Once, he was Lucifer Morningstar’s right-hand man. Together, they led the Dark Angels against the Armies of Heaven. Then Lucifer turned against his faithful servant and killed him. Three times.

During one of his brief escapes from the Kingdom of Hell, the fallen angel Asmodeus visited the planet Earth during the late 1980s. He came to the city of Boston, and met a beautiful young black woman named Esther Brown. She was a police officer at the time. He seduced and impregnated her before taking off. The end result of that affair is me. My mother married a fellow black cop named Jorge Lucas shortly after my birth. For a time, I thought he was my father. Until my powers manifested themselves.

The offspring of fallen angels and human females are known as the Nephilim. Men and women with extraordinary super powers. So far, I’ve discovered that I’m invulnerable. I can also run really fast. And I’m quite strong. No, I cannot fly. And no, I don’t have wings. It took me a long time to accept that. But eventually I did. I moved on with my life. I decided to focus less on the supernatural and more on having a life, you know? I started college, and it was great!

There is nothing quite like the feeling of pride I get as I walk through the halls of Volmar University. This small, historically black University has risen to the top of the New England collegiate scene in just a few years. Which is why it’s the place I now call home. My name is Alexander Brown, a student-athlete at Volmar University and I approve this message.

Contrarily to what many people will tell you, there are more black men in University than in prison. The proof is right here at Volmar University. The school was founded in 1981 by Francois Volmar, a wealthy businessman of Haitian descent. The man had a vision for the institution to which he devoted his life. He wanted Volmar University to become an exceptional school. In many ways, he succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.

The 2008-2009 school year saw many changes at Volmar University. The school welcomed its biggest freshman class ever. Three thousand six hundred and eighty six people. And over fifty three percent of them were either black or Hispanic. Volmar University has always been a favorite among the students from minority communities around the region. It’s affordable, and located in the heart of Boston. Within easy access of the city of Boston’s MBTA train system.

Personally, I chose the school because of its diversity. Volmar University isn’t the biggest school out there. The Boston area is full of large colleges and universities. Yet Volmar University stands out. Its ten-thousand-person student body mostly hails from the Boston area and nearby towns. It’s a commuter school for the most part. Most of the students don’t live on campus. Volmar University has seventeen dormitory buildings, each capable of housing two hundred students. It’s all on a first-come, first-serve basis unfortunately. I was lucky enough to get into the dorms. Volmar University makes exceptions for male and female student-athletes when it comes to housing.

I’m quite happy about it. Many people think of University sportsmen and sportswomen as stuck-up. They think we walk around with a sense of entitlement. It’s not easy being a University athlete. We’re under a lot of stress. We have to attend class and get good grades, handle the baggage of our own lives and represent our schools on the mat, the ice, the court, the field and the gridiron. Many of those same people who criticize us would simply fold if they were to walk in our shows for one day. They’d find out our lives aren’t easy at all. So if our schools throw us a bone when it comes to housing, that’s a damn good thing. Shit, it’s the least they could do.

Another good thing about Volmar University is the availability of athletic opportunities. The Volmar University Department of Athletics sponsors Men’s Intercollegiate Baseball, Basketball, Cross Country, Soccer, Swimming, Ice Hockey, Golf, Tennis, Bowling, Gymnastics, Water Polo, Rugby, Fencing, Volleyball, Football, Wrestling, Sailing, Lacrosse and Track & Field along with Women’s Intercollegiate Softball, Basketball, Cross Country, Soccer, Swimming, Ice Hockey, Golf, Fencing, Tennis, Bowling, Rugby, Gymnastics, Volleyball, Field Hockey, Wrestling, Water Polo, Sailing, Lacrosse and Track & Field. We have coed teams in Cheer leading, Alpine Skiing and Cycling. Our teams compete in the NCAA Division Two. All except the Men’s and Women’s Ice Hockey teams, which compete in Division One. There is currently no Division Two for University Hockey.

Overall, life on campus was good. There was an equal number of male and female pupils on the student body, which is a very good thing. Volmar University is a private school but we still fall under the umbrella of Title IX since we’re a coeducational institution. If the number of female students rose to significantly surpass that of male students, the Athletic Department would have been forced to slash some of the men’s sports teams. If you ask me, this law is outdated. Especially in an age where females outnumber males on most college and university campuses across America. That’s just my two cents on the subject of gender politics in collegiate America.

What pleases me to no end is the fact that we’re the only coeducational collegiate institution in North America where black males actually outnumber black females. Seriously. Black students make up fifty three percent of the total student body and black males comprise fifty one percent of the overall black student demographic. Black females make up forty nine percent of it. If I had the money, I would have gone down south to attend Morehouse University, home of many smart black University gentlemen. Or maybe Clark-Atlanta University. However, I didn’t know anybody in the state of Georgia so I chose to attend a Boston-area University. I’m glad I did, folks.

I’m one of three black males on the Men’s Water Polo team. Many people who’ve met me say I don’t look like a typical water polo player. I stand six feet four inches tall, stocky and muscular, with dark brown skin and curly black hair. I weigh two hundred and forty pounds. You won’t believe how many times I’ve been mistaken for a University football or basketball player. It gets really annoying at times. Do you understand why? Allow me to explain.

Even at a historically black school, black students and white students seem to stick to the usual sports. The men’s and women’s basketball, cross country, track & field and volleyball teams were mostly black. The men’s and women’s ice hockey, gymnastics, golf, tennis and wrestling teams were mostly white. Black males and black females rarely tried out for men’s and women’s varsity swimming. The men’s baseball and women’s softball teams comprised of a blend of black, white and Latino student-athletes. I guess some things never change. I’m not upset. I just find it kind of funny, that’s all.

One day, I came across an anomaly like myself. A six-foot-tall, voluptuous, dark-skinned young black woman who was the captain of the coed Alpine Skiing team. Her name was Rachel Meadow. The first time I laid eyes on her, I licked my lips. Folks, she was something else. There’s nothing quite like a beautiful black woman in this world. Especially one with such a pretty face and big, round booty. Trust me on that one. I just didn’t know any black university women who were into alpine skiing. I approached this young lady, and I was glad I did.

Rachel Meadow was something else. This dame wasn’t just easy on the eyes, she was also sharp as a whip. Majoring in civil engineering, she attended Volmar University on an academic scholarship. Yeah, the gal was pretty and she was smart. But that’s not what drew me to her. Something else simply pulled me in. When I approached her, she surprised the hell out of me by asking what took me so long. Huh? Rachel Meadow was surprisingly forward. While at lunch in the cafeteria, I picked her brain.

The gal was full of ideas. She wanted to be a successful engineer, and also mentor to inner-city youths. I found that an admirable goal. We had a lot in common. We were both natives of Boston. I attended Boston College High School and she went to Boston Latin Academy. We both had civil servants for parents. Her mother was a firefighter and her father was a corrections officer. I told her both my parents were cops, and she found it wickedly funny. I asked her out on a date, and she said yes. We agreed to meet at the movie theater located across from Boston Common.

I showed up in a black leather jacket over a red silk shirt, black dress pants and black Timberland shoes. Rachel Meadow was fashionably late, but she was worth the wait. She showed up in a shiny red dress under a long black leather duster. Man, she looked hot. She looked me up and down and smiled.

Apparently, she liked what she saw. We went to see Righteous Kill, and I found out she was a fan of DeNiro and Pacino movies. Finally, a girl who likes Scarface! After the movie, we strolled through Boston Common together. It was a cold, moonlit night. Walking together arm and arm, I felt right for the first time in ages. For some reason, I felt really comfortable around this girl. I didn’t know why.

I was lost in thought, and trying hard not to stare at Rachel’s fabulous ass when suddenly, two guys in ski masks surged toward us. They came from behind the trees. Flashing their guns, they demanded our money. Oh, shit. This was so not what I needed right now. I told Rachel to stay calm, and reached for my wallet. I wasn’t scared of the thugs, but I didn’t want to risk Rachel getting shot.

What happened next surprised the hell out of me. A feral growl escaped Rachel’s throat, and she surged toward the thugs. Grabbing the first one, she threw him fifteen feet into the air. I don’t know who was more surprised, the other thug or me. I took advantage of his surprise to lash out at him. He shot me. The bullet struck me in the chest. It stung, but didn’t penetrate my skin. I caught the gunman’s arm, twisted it and bent it. He howled in pain. I knocked him out with one punch. He fell, and lay still.

The adrenaline was pumping through me at a hundred miles per hour. I turned to look at Rachel, and gasped. My tall, beautiful black girlfriend-to-be was…scary. Seriously. Her eyes were bright yellow. And her teeth were longer and sharper than normal. Oh, and her fingernails had turned into six-inch claws. She stared at me impassively. I stared at her.

I decided to break the ice. Nice job with that thug, I told her. Rachel smiled, and her appearance went back to normal. Looks like we have something in common, she said. I smiled. Yeah, we did. When I asked her what she was, told me that she was a half-human and half inhuman member of the mythical anthropomorphic race that humans called Ghouls.

I nodded, and told her I was a Nephilim. Half human and half angel. She laughed, and said she could smell it on me. That’s why she was attracted to me. I looked at her. She was beautiful, sexy and dangerous. The gal had power. Along with beauty, brains and booty. I took her hand in mine, and we walked through the park. Like me, she wasn’t human.

\I didn’t have to hide what I was from her. In many ways, we were kindred spirits. This was turning out to be a fun date. And this, folks, is how I met my future ex-girlfriend. A very passionate, dangerous and exciting whirlwind romance awaited us both. I’ll tell you about the raunchy and gory details another time. Right now, I’m walking her home.

THE END