Текст книги "Every Frat Boy Wants It"

Автор книги: Todd Gregory

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PART TWO

FALL

Chapter 6

expect you to kick his ass, you know," Blair said, _putting his arm around my bare shoulders.

"You know it. Piece of cake." I grinned down at him while trying to stay standing. In fact, I wasn't sure if I could stand up if I didn't have my arm around his shoulder. I didn't know how I could possibly wrestle, as drunk as I was, but was going to give it my best shot. I didn't want to let Blair down.

Big Brother Night for Beta Kappa is four weeks into the pledging semester. The second week of school is always Rush Week, but I got my pledge bid on the very first night. Marc Kearney, the pledge master, a nice looking twentyyear-old junior with a thick brown mustache, took me into the president's office, where I sat in a chair and was asked if I wanted a pledge bid. I grinned and said, "yes," and one of the proudest moments of my life thus far was switching my nametag from JEFF MORGAN-GUEST proudly to JEFF MORGAN-PLEDGE within an hour of my arrival that Monday night. That following Saturday night was the pinning ceremony. My eleven fellow pledges and I swore an oath to do our best and never embarrass the Brotherhood, and then we were given our pledge pins, manuals, and our little black books. We were required to wear the pin at all times, unless sleeping or in the shower, until we made it through the semester-likewise, the black book had to always be handy. A brother had the right to ask me for it at any time, and if I couldn't produce it, it was a strike. Three strikes and you could be depledged. And that was the last thing in the world I wanted to have happen.

I'd fallen in love with being a brother of Beta Kappa. It was more than just being in love with Blair-although that certainly didn't hurt. It was the first place I ever felt like I belonged, even though I didn't officially yet. Even though I'd been accepted at Southern Heights, even being Homecoming King my senior year, I never really felt like I'd belonged there, and I certainly didn't feel that way after we'd moved to Polk. Everything about Polk still seemed alien to me-except for Beta Kappa. All the brothers seemed to be cool, the lessons we had to learn from the manual every week didn't seem hard (the Greek alphabet, the creed of the fraternity, etc.) and even when they lined us up for what they called Hearth (we stood in what they called the Great Room-the big room in the front where we had parties and also served as a dining hall-on the ledge with the fireplace, they dimmed the lights, and we answered questions and recited our weekly lessons) it didn't seem so bad. There were all kinds of games, too. The purpose of the black book was to help us learn who all the brothers were-we had to get their names, home addresses, majors, and pledge semester recorded in there. They were also allowed to give us up to three assignments-within reason; anything that seemed out of line we were supposed to bring to the pledge master for his decision.

There was also a thing called bagging-two brothers or two little sisters, at any time, could "bag" a pledge-kidnap him and hang out with him for the evening. So far, I'd been bagged once-by Jerry Pollard and another brother named Chris Morales-and all they did was drag me back to Chris's off-campus apartment, get me incredibly drunk and stoned, and we hung out while listening to the Grateful Dead.

It was awesome.

And for the most part, I liked my eleven pledge brothers.

Beta Kappa was the best thing that ever happened to me. My parents were also excited about it. They'd gotten married right out of high school, and Mom had worked while Dad went to college. Dad confessed to me, after I proudly showed him my pledge pin, that even though he loved Mom and loved being married to her, his biggest regret was not being able to fully live the college experience-and he was glad I was getting to. They gladly paid my pledge fees-and still no mention of me having to get a job.

And I sure as hell wasn't going to get one until I had toI was having too much fun in my free time.

I'd really become fond of beer and pot.

Big Brother Night had begun with all twelve of us pledges meeting under the basketball post at the end of the parking lot. The house was dark and completely closed off; no one could see in or out. My eleven pledge brothers all seemed cool so far-my favorites were two guys my own age; Chris Moore and Eric Matthews. They were from Sonora, up in the mountains, and had apparently been friends since the cradle. Chris was taller than me, about six four, with dirty blond hair and gray eyes. He had a great body, as well. Eric was about my height, with dark hair and brown eyes. They were great guys, always joking and laughing. And when we lined up as a pledge class, we lined up alphabetically, so it was Eric, Chris, and then me. The guy who always stood to my right was Ted Norris, a junior majoring in Biology with an acne problem as well as a soft, flabby body. Ted was the odd man out in the pledge class. He was a loudmouth, and liked to brag-and he frankly got on my nerves. He was also a complainer. When Chris beat him out for pledge president, (unanimously, I might add) he'd asked for a recount. Everyone thought he was joking, but I could tell by the look in his eyes he wasn't. He also had trouble learning his lessons every week; we could count on him to choke and blow it on Hearth, no matter how much we worked with him beforehand.

I doubted he'd make it through the pledge semester.

My other pledge brothers (our first lesson had been to memorize their names, year in school, majors, and hometowns) were:

Tommy Amundsen, a sophomore from Mission Viejo, was a short redhead who maybe weighed about one hundred and twenty pounds on a heavy day. He was majoring in Political Science, and was relatively quiet. He had a great sense of humor though, and would be sitting there quietly when all of a sudden he would just say the funniest damned thing that would crack us all up. He had a longtime girlfriend, Jan, who was pledging over at Delta Zeta.

Steve Bradley was a junior from Boston who said "caaaah" instead of car and was majoring in Environmental Studies. He was just under six feet tall with curly bluish black hair, brown eyes so dark they were almost black, and a big smile with large white teeth. He had started lifting weights as an early teen after he'd been hospitalized and gone through extensive physical therapy after a car accident ("I had to learn how to walk again," he'd told us all solemnly at our "get-acquainted" meeting, "and I realized how important it is to be in good physical condition.") He was always drinking protein shakes and there were always a couple of protein bars in his backpack. He worked part-time as a personal trainer at Polk Fitness, and offered to design programs for all of us for free.

Brad Cassidy, a sophomore from Walnut Grove in the Bay Area, was majoring in Pre-Law and was also in the campus ROTC. He was only about five seven, and because of ROTC his hair was clipped close to his scalp. He also wore a mustache and a goatee. While he was capable of relaxing and having a good time, most of the time he was deadly serious about his plans to become a civil rights attorney.

Michael Durkiewicz was from Chicago, with pale white skin, light blue eyes, and sandy brown hair. He was about my height, and had been a lineman on his football team in high school. He was a big boy, probably topping the scales at around two hundred forty pounds. He was majoring in Physical Therapy and was always joking about getting "his fat ass in better shape," but he ate like a horse and was always hungry.

Cade Fontenot was something else entirely. Cade was of pure Cajun descent from just outside New Orleans, and Cade loved to have a good time. He was a sophomore majoring in Computer Science, and was only about five five, but he'd been a wrestler in his high school ("finished third in the state both my junior and senior years" he often said proudly) and so he had a thickly muscled, well-defined body to go with his dark hair, green eyes, and olive skin. Cade was always the first to suggest that we either get drunk or stoned-or preferably, both.

Joe Garza was Hispanic and from San Diego, a freshman majoring in Business. Joe was another one who liked to have fun, was about five ten, and dark. He always wore sandals, was always lugging his guitar around with him, and would start playing and singing at the merest suggestion he entertain us all. He was a good player and had a good voice, and once confided to me when he was stoned that he "really wanted to be a recording artist," but his parents were making him major in Business as a backup. We bonded over that, since my parents were the same way about my writing.

Rob Ross was a senior majoring in Psychology, was on the Dean's List, and had already been accepted into the graduate program. He was a nice looking guy with blond hair and brown eyes from Cleveland, and was engaged to one of the sisters of Alpha Xi Delta-Carrie Drilling (which, of course, led to the joke "Wouldn't you rather be drilling Carrie?").

The last of my pledge brothers was Jason Ziebell from Madison, Wisconsin. While I had really bonded with Chris and Eric (and felt attracted to them in a way), if I hadn't been already involved with Blair, Jason would be the one that I would want. He grew up ice skating and playing hockey, and as such had the roundest, thickest, hardest ass I'd ever seen in my life. You couldn't help but notice it, especially since even in the baggiest shorts it was prominent. He was in good shape everywhere, but that ass-and his legs-were the things fantasies came from. Jason had bright blue eyes, light skin, thick lips, and curly reddish gold hair. When he smiled, he lit up the room. Jason was majoring in History and was a little on the shy side. But when he opened up, he had a great sense of humor and was sharp as a tack.

After we had lined up, Marc Kearney came out and took our car keys. "Welcome to Big Brother night," he said solemnly once he had placed our keys into a backpack. "Thus far, your pledging semester has been easy and fun. But starting tonight, it is going to get harder. So, to assist you, you are getting your big brothers tonight. Your big brother will help guide you through the semester. He will be your friend, your mentor, and your ally in Beta Kappa." He then flashed his teeth in a smile. "In a single file line, follow me now into the house."

We followed him into the Great Room, where he had us line up against the wall. All the brothers were gathered in a crowd, watching us file in. "Turn and face the wall," Marc instructed, and we did. "Now, you will be blindfolded." Someone came up behind me and tied something around my head, completely blocking my eyes. "Your big brother is standing behind you. He is going to put something in your hands. This is your house family beer. When your big brothers were pledges and got THEIR big brothers, they were given this beer to drink-going all the way back to the founding of Beta Kappa. You have to drink it as quickly as you can. You have to drink it all, pledges. And when you are done, you will place it upside down on top of your head to show us that you are finished. When you are all finished with your family beer, then and only then will you be permitted to find out who your big brother is."

A cold bottle was placed in my hands.

"Start drinking!" Marc instructed, and I raised the bottle to my lips as all the brothers started shouting. The bottle seemed bottomless, and I couldn't really taste whatever it was I was drinking. I just kept swallowing and trying to breathe through my nose. It seemed liked people were screaming at me from every direction, but I knew that wasn't possible. I just kept drinking and drinking until suddenly my stomach rebelled, and I leaned my head against the wall.

"YOU AREN'T FINISHED DRINKING, PLEDGE! THAT BOTTLE IS NOT EMPTY!" someone screamed in my right ear.

I lifted the bottle to my lips again, took a deep breath, and started drinking again. Whatever it was, it tasted absolutely horrible. My stomach kept trying to send whatever it was I was drinking back up but I kept fighting it down. Just finish it, just finish it and then you can throw it up if you have to, just keep drinking ...

"Just turn it upside down on your head," a voice I didn't recognize whispered in my left ear. "You don't have to finish it-just as long as the bottle is empty."

With a sigh of relief, I did, and some liquid poured down over my head, dripping down my neck and soaking my shirt.

I stood there, panting, fighting down the urge to let it all come back up.

I felt woozy and sick.

After a few more minutes passed, minutes that seemed to last an eternity, the shouting finally stopped, and in the silence, Marc said, "Okay, pledges. Nicely done. Now you may remove your blindfolds and turn around. The first face you see will be your big brother."

I reached up and pulled the blindfold up. I looked at my hand. There was a liter bottle of Olde English 800 in it. I turned around and Blair was smiling at me.

Delighted, I threw my arms around him. "But I thought you said-"

"Just fucking with you," he whispered in my ear. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

The previous Monday night we'd made our lists for our choices for big brothers. Blair had told me over and over again that they probably wouldn't let me have him, even if I picked him, because everyone knew we were already close. I picked him as my first choice anyway, and hoped. I also listed Rory, Marc, Jerry Pollard, and Chris Morales.

But I really didn't want anyone besides Blair.

"I'll try to take care of you tonight," he whispered, "but I can't promise anything."

"What do you mean?" I stared at him. That had a rather ominous tone to it I wasn't quite comfortable with. What did they have in store for us?

He just shook his head as Marc blew a whistle and the room quieted again. "Look at you pledges," Marc walked along the line of us, "you're all a mess. A disgrace to the name of Beta Kappa! Beta Kappas don't waste beer, you know, and every single one of you is wearing your family beer. You were supposed to drink it, not fucking wear it. Tsk, tsk, tsk. What are we going to do with these pledges?"

"It's a disgrace!" someone shouted, and other brothers began murmuring agreement.

Marc turned to the crowd of brothers. I looked at Blair, and he closed his right eye in a wink. "What should we do with these sloppy pledges?"

"Get them out of those clothes!" someone shouted.

The crowd cheered, and I looked over at Blair, who just shrugged his shoulders and gave me a sheepish grin. Marc blew the whistle again, and everyone fell silent. "You heard the brothers, pledges. Get out of those clothes," he said quietly.

Chris and I looked at each other, our eyes wide.

Are they serious?

Marc blew the whistle again. "Did I speak in a fucking foreign language? I SAID GET OUT OF THOSE CLOTHES!" he screamed at us.

The brothers started chanting, "STRIP! STRIP! STRIP!" and clapping in unison.

I looked at Blair, and he made a face as he nodded. I started unbuttoning my shirt. The brothers kept chanting. Blair and the other big brothers walked up to their little brothers and stood in front of us. "Give me your clothes," Blair said over the chanting. "I'll put 'em in my room. Don't want you to lose them. That's happened before."

I handed him my shirt and took off my shoes and socks. "Why do we have to get undressed?"

"It's just part of the ritual of the night," Blair said. "It won't be the last time you're in your underwear in front of the Brotherhood."

"Um-" What the hell does that mean?

"Relax," he whispered, "it's no worse than wearing that bikini at that pool party we had, remember? And at least no one here is going to be judging your body."

I undid my pants and pulled them off, handing them to Blair, who folded them. All around me my pledge brothers were fumbling to get out of their clothes. I felt drunk from the Olde English 800; at one point I leaned back against the wall to maintain my balance. The brothers were still all screaming. Ted Norris fell down when pulling his pants off, and I looked at him with more than a little disgust. His body was even worse unclothed than I could have imagined. He had tits, for God's sake, and it looked like his skin had never been exposed to the sun. He had this stricken look on his face, and his big brother-a tall, good-looking guy from Oregon named Dave Pittenger-looked just as disgusted as I felt. Ted was constantly bragging at pledge meetings about being a star jock in high school, how popular he'd been, and how many "chicks" he'd bagged. How was thatpossible, I wondered, looking at his soft flabby body. He doesn't look like he's ever done any kind of exercise his entire life. What is wrong with him? Why does he lie all the time? Why can't he just be himself and stop trying to impress everyone?

Not for the first time, I wished he would drop out of the pledge class.

Marc blew the whistle again, and the crowd of brothers moved back again. Marc walked along the line of us, looking us up and down. When he reached the end of the lineup, he walked back along, this time shaking his head. He walked out in front of us. "All right, pledges, do you know what I see when I look at you? I see a bunch of clay that needs to be remolded into brothers of Beta Kappa. You've had it pretty easy so far this semester, but from now on it's going to be a lot harder. We need to find out if each and every one of you has what it takes. You are a unit. If one of you fails, all of you fail. You have to help each other out. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link-and likewise, your unit is only as strong as its weakest link. Do you understand me?"

"SIR! YES SIR!" we shouted back in unison. They'd taught us that-they called it the "sir" sandwich; if we were ever addressed by the name pledge, we had to start each sentence with sir as well as finish it that way. It was kind of like being in the military in a way; I'd commented about this once to Blair. Blair shrugged, "I think it comes from the after World War II period, when everyone was in college on the GI Bill. They joined fraternities and brought the whole military thing with them."

I glanced at Ted out of the corner of my eye. He was going to be the weak link in our chain, there was no question about that in my mind.

"Good." Marc replied. "Now, it's game time. Pledges vs. their Big Brothers. Are you ready to compete, pledges?"

"SIR! YES SIR!"

"All right. Let the games begin." He smiled. "And don't embarrass me too badly, pledges. You know your performance reflects on me. Don't let me down."

The first game was called beer relay. Two troughs of beer were set up, and the pledged lined up alongside their big brothers. When Marc blew a whistle, the pair at the front of the lines had to run to the trough, stick their face in it, and drink as much as they could for a minute, when Marc would blow the whistle again. Those two went to the back of the line and the next two took their turn. Whichever trough emptied first signified the winning team, while the rest of the brothers stood around with cups of beer cheering on the brothers-jeering and mocking us.

I didn't know how I could possibly drink any more beer after chugging down that huge bottle, but the other pledges were in the same boat as I was. Actually, some of them looked worse off than me. Jason Ziebell looked positively green. His curly reddish gold hair was soaked through and plastered to the side of his head. He was either going to puke or pass out at any second. I couldn't help but look at his ass, though. His white underwear was soaked through and clung to him like plastic wrap.

And Ted looked like he was going to blow chunks at any minute. He was leaning on Dave Pittenger, who looked like he wished he were anywhere else but there. Even Chris and Eric, who took great pride in how much they could drink, looked glassy eyed. All of my pledge brothers looked the worse for wear, and when Marc blew the whistle the first time and Tommy staggered to the trough and stuck his face in the big puddle of beer, I worried he might not be able to get back up again. Tommy was a lightweight when it came to drinking-one beer made him drunk, two and he was a complete mess-so I wasn't sure how long he would last. Sure enough, once the whistle blew again, Tommy couldn't get up. His big brother, Chris Morales, had to help him to his feet, and even then he couldn't straighten up. Chris walked him to the back of the line, where he passed Tommy off to Jason-which was kind of like propping up a sand castle with water. I just kept taking deep breaths. My stomach was lurching, and I knew it was just going to be a matter of time before all that beer was coming back up. Every so often Blair and I would make eye contact, and he would give me a reassuring smile as we moved closer to the front of the lines.

When it was finally my turn, Blair and I raced up to the trough. It was obvious the brothers were going to finish their trough long before we were, but I gamely stuck my head down into the beer, gulping down as much as I could stand despite the turmoil in my stomach. When the whistle blew again, it took me a lot longer to run back to the end of the line than it should have-and I almost fell down once or twice. Chris Moore stepped up and helped me to the back of the line, both of us weaving. "Thanks, man," I breathed out, bending at the waist and taking some deep breaths. Everything was kind of spinning in my head, and I was having trouble focusing. Chris smacked me on the back.

"You okay?" Blair asked. He was standing next to me, kneeling so our faces were at the same level.

I just nodded, letting out a huge belch that tasted like beer.

He shook his head and smiled. "Hang in there, Jeff. This should be over soon."

My second time at the trough, I really didn't think I was going to be able to get back up again. When I got to my feet, everything seemed out of focus, and the room did really start spinning. Suddenly I could feel all the beer starting to come back up ... and my entire body seemed to heave. I fought it down, but my stomach fought back.

"HE'S GONNA PUKE!" someone shouted, and through the haze I realized they were talking about me.

"Get to the bathroom, pledge!"

"Don't you dare blow chunks in the Great Room!"

"Puke! Puke! Puke!"

I realized the race had been paused, and all the brothers were chanting "Puke!" at me. Every eye in the room was focused on me, and as I looked around the room, my body still trying to reject the beer out my mouth, I saw the delight on the faces of not only the brothers but my fellow pledges-every single one of them wanted to throw up as well, but didn't want to be the first. Once one of us puked, the rest of them would follow suit-but no one wanted the disgrace of being the first.

And then my gaze locked with Blair's.

He shook his head slightly "no."

I looked around at the other faces.

I looked back at Blair and smiled.

No fucking way was I going to be the first. No way was I going to puke before Tommy or Ted. Uh-uh, no way. Not going to happen.

From somewhere, I summoned the will to keep the beer down.

I turned to face the brothers and bowed my head slightly. "Not me!" I shouted as I got my stomach under control. "IT WON'T BE ME!" My stomach seemed to settle, and I raised my hands over my head like a boxer who's just knocked out his opponent. "More beer! Bring me more beer!"

Man, was I drunk.

The brothers let out a cheer.

And just as I shouted the words, Ted Norris made a gagging noise and a stream of foamy beer launched out of his mouth on to the floor. He fell to his hands and knees, and even after everything had stopped coming up, he had the dry heaves. Dave Pittenger just shook his head and went for a mop. He slapped the mop handle down in front of Ted. "When you're done, you can mop up that mess." Dave stood up rolling his eyes, and walked over to the keg.

Blair smiled at me proudly, and the relay started up again like it had never stopped.

I only had one more turn at the trough before the brothers won. Instead of drinking, I just stuck my face down there and pretended to swallow while breathing through my nose-but the smell of the beer didn't help my stomach any. It was all over me, and my fingers were even beginning to wrinkle. My hair reeked of beer and was completely soaked. Once the brothers were pronounced the winners, drinking games started up at the tables set up throughout the Great Room-Mexicali, Quarters, Cardinal Puff, every conceivable drinking game was going on, including some I'd never heard of. Blair grabbed me. "Come on, let's get you out of here for a minute," he said, and steered me to his room, shutting and locking the door behind us.

"Little bro," he said, throwing his arms around me. I put mine around him and picked him up, hugging him hard in my drunken stupor. "You're hurting me!" he laughed, pushing me away. "Let me down, you big drunk prairie boy!"

I put him down and sat down on the bed. "I'm so wasted." I looked up at him in wonder. The posters on his wall were all blurry. "Oooohhhh-I don't think I've ever been this drunk. Ever." The room began to spin a bit, and I closed my eyes. Deep breaths, take lots of deep breaths.

"Well, if you need to puke, make sure the coast is clear and do it out the window into the bushes." Blair replied, getting the dragon out and loading the bowl. "You know they keep track of every pledge who pukes and write it on the chalkboard. The goal is for every pledge to puke-but I wanted you to take a break from the drinking for a while, spend some quality time with your big brother, and get a little stoned. Besides, all the games are rigged, if you didn't notice. You boys are outnumbered, and the brothers are going to gang up on you all until you puke." He grinned at me. "Besides, you need to be ready for pledge wrestling later."

"Pledge wrestling? What's that?"

He handed me the dragon. "Around midnight, the pledges who haven't puked yet are gathered in the Great Room, drenched in beer and have to wrestle each other." He shook his head. "Wrestling will make you puke, trust me. Any pledge who makes it through the night without puking earns the respect of the brotherhood though-especially since the whole purpose of the night is to make the pledges puke." He inclined his head toward the window. "So, you might want to go ahead and do it now-in secret-so later when it comes to the wrestling, not only will you not puke, you'll win." He grinned at me. "Sure, it's cheating, but who cares? I want everyone to be jealous of my little brother."

The room started spinning again when I sat up. Nausea swept over me, and I felt hot. "Maybe ... I ... should ..."

Blair walked over to the window and looked out. He slid the window open. "Go for it."

I stuck my head out the window, opened my mouth, and a stream of foamy beer spewed out. I wiped my mouth with my hand, and immediately felt a lot better. I turned around and said, "Thanks, Blair." I sat down again on the bed.

"What are big brothers for?" He sat down at his desk and took a hit off the bong.

We got stoned and cuddled for a little while, and then he said we needed to get back to the Great Room. As we passed the chalkboard, I noticed that every pledge's name was up there except mine and Eric's. "Hmmm," Blair said, looking at the board. "Looks like you and Eric might be wrestling. Unless, of course we can make Eric puke before midnight."

I winked at him. "Sounds like a plan."

We walked back into the Great Room, and joined a game of Quarters that Eric and his big brother, Marc Kearney, were also playing. It didn't take long to figure out what was going on. Every time a brother got a quarter in the cup, either Eric or I had to drink. Eric was looking pretty drunk. I was buzzing pretty hard myself, but since I'd puked up most of the beer I'd already drunk, it was mostly from the pot, so being forced to drink during the game wasn't bothering me. I kept looking at Eric. Every time I made a quar ter in the cup, I made Eric drink. The brothers, though, soon figured out what I was up to, so they started ganging up on me. Eric was hopeless. Whenever it was his turn to bounce the quarter, it didn't even come remotely close to going into the cup.

His eyelids were drooping, and even though he was sitting down, he was weaving from side to side. His usually curly hair was drenched in beer and plastered to the side of his head. The hair on his chest was also wet and stuck to his skin. He had a nice tan, and an even nicer body. His shoulders were broad, his chest and arms thickly muscled. His waist was narrow and his stomach flat. His white underwear was also soaked through, and I could see the dark pubic hair and his thick cock and balls clearly. He was hot, and he looked strong. If we had to wrestle sometime with him sober, he'd probably wipe the floor with me. Drunk as he was, though, I could probably take him if it came down to that.

And it did. Somehow, he made it through another half hour of the game without either passing out or throwing up.

He'd just taken another drink when Marc suddenly stood up and blew the whistle. All sound ceased, and everyone turned to look at him. He climbed up on his chair. He was pretty drunk himself, and I looked at Blair, who winked. "Brothers!" Marc shouted. He was weaving on the chair, and looked like he might fall off any minute. "We have two pledges left who have not yet tossed their cookies. You know what that means?"

"PLEDGE WRESTLING!" someone shouted in response, and everyone cheered.

Blair leaned over to me, "Okay, little bro, are you ready for this?"

"I think so." I put my hands down on the table and pushed myself up. I wobbled a little bit once I was on my feet, but at least I was able to get up by myself. Two brothers had to help Eric up, and even then they had to stay with him.