Total Frat Move

by W. R. Bolen

  The song changed and triggered the girl in front of me to repeatedly drop her ass to the floor and then pop it back up, rubbing it into my crotch like she was trying to get me to pre-cum my fucking khakis. It took all my focus not to pop a raging boner, and all I could do was stand there and drink while she made me into a human stripper pole. Tim was leaning back with his chin to his chest, staring shamelessly at Whitney’s ass with both hands clenched high in the air like he just won gold at the Olympics.

  When the song ended my crotch masseuse turned around and smiled at me. She was a solid 5. I bailed immediately toward the back porch to try to find Amy.

  The party had continued to grow while my dick was being assaulted, and the back porch was filled to the railing with people as well. I was getting to the point of absolute sloppiness, but this was my fucking bid night. It was supposed to be the drunkest night of my life, and I needed to step it up another notch. I spotted a few guys ripping cigs and decided that getting some nicotine in my blood might help. I walked up and asked one of my pledge brothers, Ryan Penny, if I could bum one.

  “Yeah, no problem,” he said. “You don’t mind Marlboro Reds, do you?”

  “No, I don’t fucking mind, Penny. Do I look like a commie?”

  I took my first drag and tried to it play off when I immediately felt my knees go weak. Monte stumbled out of the house with Nate, smiling and holding the bottom of his shirt up as a basket to transport six beers. Nate, still shirtless and covered in sweat, pulled two from each of his pockets.

  “We’re shotgunning these fuckers!” Nate ordered.

  Penny grabbed a beer, pulled a knife from his boot, whipped it open, and stabbed a hole in the can in one fluid motion. Then he passed the knife to me, and around it went. Eight of us circled up, and Nate made a toast.

  “To this semester, and our pledge class. I love you guys, and just remember, no matter what these insane bastards put us through over the next twelve weeks, we’re going to come out alive on the other side and run this fucking campus!”

  We all yelled in agreement and popped our cans. Monte finished first and dropped his can at his feet, letting the remaining foam run onto the deck.

  “First, motherfuckers!” he celebrated. “I’m going in for more. We’re doing another round.”

  The rest of us slammed our cans as he took off into the house. Suddenly the Taaka girls, who clearly had just watched us shotgun our beers, were huddled around the eight of us.

  “Open up, boys!”

  These booze sirens had some sort of inexplicable control over us, so we all tilted our heads back and waited to be served. The girl who approached me was a tall blonde wearing a low-cut halter top, and when she smiled I had no choice but to make a run at her.

  “I’m Townes. What’s your name?”

  “My name is I’m dating a senior in Alpha.”

  I tilted my head back and opened my mouth immediately.

  She poured until I couldn’t swallow anymore, and then kept pouring until I spit up vodka all over Penny’s back.

  “What the fuck?” Penny turned around, confused.

  The alleged girlfriend laughed as she turned to walk back inside. I couldn’t tell if she was fucking with me, or the active she was dating had sent her out as bait knowing one of us would hit on her and be subject to pledge punishment.

  That last vodka “shot” took me from shitfaced to out-of-control-I-need-to-be-put-to-bed drunk. As I felt my mouth oversalivating, Monte reemerged with another shirt full of beers.

  “All right, let’s go again!” he said.

  “Damn it, Monte, you just avoided the fucking Taaka girls, you prick,” Nate scolded him.

  “Actually, they got me on my way out, so stop bitching and do another shotgun.”

  That put Nate in his place and he grabbed for Penny’s knife.

  Tim gave the toast this time. I didn’t really hear what he was saying because I was busy trying to mentally ready my stomach for another full beer, but it was something about America and the bald eagle and how Kennedy was right about the Russians. Then he counted to three and we pounded our beers. I finished a little over half before dropping the can and rushing to the edge of the balcony. Pink vomit launched from my stomach through my mouth. The guys were all very amused.

  “You all right, you fucking lightweight?” Tim asked as he kicked me in the ass while I was still leaning over the edge.

  “I’m fine, just got an air bubble.”

  I checked my phone as I wiped my mouth. It was nearly 1 a.m. and I had three texts from Allison.

  Allison: Where areeyou? KT is lookjng for u. near the spearkers.

  Allison: Quitbeingafuckass holec

  Allison: UGGGGGHHHHHH

  I stumbled back inside and grabbed a beer out of the first tub I saw to freshen my breath. The party was still in full swing and all the guys split up to try to spend our final night of freedom with a female companion. I headed toward the dance floor and found Amy making one of the four-foot-tall speakers her dance partner while Allison and her other sisters watched, laughed, and filmed her with their iPhones.

  “TOWNES!” Amy screamed immediately and jumped on me. “Wheeeere have you beeeeen?”

  “I was outside with the guys,” I said, trying not to breathe my throw-up breath on her. “You doing okay?”

  “I’m fiiiiiiine!” She was using about six extra vowels for each word. “Here!” She handed me her cup of punch. “I don’t want this.”

  “And she definitely doesn’t need it,” added Allison. “Get her out of here. She lives on the eighth floor of Manor. Don’t you live in Manor?” She winked at me again. It made my dick twitch every time.

  As weird as it was to have a girl that I had recently been inside of, and totally would’ve fucked to completion had it not been for an ill-timed cannon explosion, now hooking me up with a younger sister of hers, there was no way I was passing it up.

  “Let’s get you home,” I told Amy.

  Amy wrapped her arm in mine and Allison slapped me on the ass as we walked away. We were passing through the asshole of the house when Amy caught her sandal on the doorstep and fell forward face first to the deck. I pulled her to her feet while she giggled. There was no way this girl was going to successfully walk all the way back to our dorm.

  “Where are you two lovebirds going?” Monte asked as he walked out behind us.

  “I’m trying to get Amy here back safely to Manor, but she can’t walk and I definitely can’t fucking drive.”

  “Fuck it, I need to get home and call Sarah anyway,” said Monte. “I’ll drive y’all.”

  I tossed him my keys before he could change his mind, threw Amy over my shoulder, and headed to my truck.

  Monte drove 20 mph the entire way home like an elderly woman with cataracts, but we made it. When we got to the elevator I pressed 8, and Amy spoke for the first time since we left the house.

  “No no no no no I don’t want to go to bed yet. Can’t I hang out with youuuuu?”

  “With me?” I said, surprised. “Sure you can.”

  I hadn’t pegged her for the type, and definitely didn’t think she’d be awake much longer, but this was a definite hookup move by her. Monte was making blowjob hand gestures behind her.

  “Absolutely, Amy,” he said. “You’re more than welcome to hang in our room.”

  When we hit our floor Monte dialed Sarah’s number.

  “I’ll talk to Sarah in the hall,” he said behind Amy’s back. “I’ll give you an hour.”

  “Tell her I love her,” I said sarcastically.

  “I love you too,” Amy chimed in.

  I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me, so I just ignored the misunderstanding.

  When I unlocked the door and hit the lights, Amy pushed past me giggling and flopped down on my bed.

  “Come here,” she said sweetly.

  I turned the light back off and made my approach. We made out for a few minutes, and then I remembered that I’d thrown up less
than an hour ago and pulled away.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing, nothing, sorry.”

  “Am I not good?”

  “Good at making out? I was just thinking about how ridiculous that party was.”

  “I can make you think about something else. Lay down under the covers and take off your shorts.”

  I ripped away the covers and pulled my shorts off like they were on fire. She climbed on top of me fully clothed and pulled the covers over us.

  “Try thinking about this.” She peeled off her shirt to reveal a pink-laced bra, and then pulled my boxers down to my ankles.

  Thirty seconds of sucking later and I was still as soft as a wet, uncooked hot dog. This couldn’t even be classified as “whiskey dick.” More like in-order-for-your-vital-organs-to-function-we-have-to-shut-down-everything-else dick. I closed my eyes and desperately tried to imagine Victoria’s Secret models’ tits bouncing down the runway, but instead I got the spins. Amy must have been too drunk to notice, because she went right on working on my windsock like a champ. The only sound in the room was the squelsh squelsh squelsh of her fruitless efforts.

  I decided there was no reason for both of us to go unsatisfied and flipped her around on her back. As I was kissing down her stomach I looked up into her eyes, and we both knew where I was going.

  “Do it,” she said as she raised her hips slightly. “Do me with your tongue.”

  I dove in and used my tongue as a weapon in the swordfight against her vagina. She immediately let out a moan and wrapped her legs around my head, squirming and gripping my hair with both hands like she was controlling me with dual joysticks.

  “Yes yes yes yes,” she whispered. “Right there, don’t stop.”

  I was licking like a lizard that hasn’t had a drink in months and just discovered a pool of delicious water. Every thirty seconds or so I tried to change my approach and work in some finger action.

  Finally she let out a long, satisfied sigh and pulled me up by my hair to kiss me. I crammed myself up against the wall next to her in my tiny bed as she rested one arm on my chest and closed her eyes.

  “I’m tired.” She yawned. “I’m sleeping here.”

  “I thought that was a given,” I said. “Good night, Amy.”

  “Night night, Townes.”

  I closed my eyes and fell asleep almost instantly.

  The next morning I woke up on my back with my boxers still around my ankles, and, ironically, a raging case of morning wood. Amy was gone, and Monte was still asleep in his bed.

  “Monte!” I yelled to wake him.

  He rolled over and barely opened his eyes.

  “Jesus, what?”

  “Were you awake for that?” I asked.

  “Was I awake for what? I passed the fuck out on a couch in the hallway and when I came in around 4 a.m. you guys were out cold. You better have fucked her.”

  “Dude, I wish. Way too much punch. I ended up tongue deep for like thirty minutes.”

  “It happens. Now leave me alone, we’ve got one more hour to sleep before we have to go to house cleanup.”

  Just thinking about how Mr. Weston was waiting for us at the absolutely trashed house made it impossible to fall back asleep, so I took a bottle of water from the fridge and grabbed my laptop. As I looked through Facebook pictures of the guys and me covered in paint at the Alpha house it suddenly became real that rush was over. I scrolled over and clicked “Deactivate your account” as Mr. Weston had demanded, and then closed my laptop and tried to ready myself to face pledgeship head-on.

  Bid night is one of the most celebrated nights in Greek culture. For the actives it’s the end of having to convince a bunch of younger guys that joining the fraternity is the best decision they’ll ever make. For the rushees it’s the beginning of a whole new life in the fraternity with a whole new group of best friends in their pledge class. It’s also their last chance to get as blackout drunk as they can before the rough stuff starts…

  On Bid Night, Getting Fucked Up, and Fucking Shit Up

  Give that guy two bids, cause he’ll probably lose one tonight. TFM.

  Alcohol is only a depressant if your life sucks. TFM.

  Drinking away problems you don’t have. TFM.

  What I do when I’m blacked out is none of my damn business. TFM.

  Getting “light the wrong end of your cigarette” drunk. TFM.

  The “No Alcohol Beyond This Point” sign might as well say, “I bet you can’t chug that whole drink.” TFM.

  The door that got kicked in last night was a beer pong table this afternoon. TFM.

  Proving the “beer before liquor, never been sicker” phrase is complete horseshit on a daily basis. TFM.

  There’s a fine line between confident and cocky, and I just snorted it. TFM.

  Losing a pledge on bid night. Like actually losing him. Seriously, he’s still missing. TFM.

  The correct way to use a pool. TFM.

  Flipping tables for fucking fun. TFM.

  “I’m not picking this shit up. Call the pledges.” TFM.

  “That door was old anyway.” TFM.

  The Hazement

  NORMAL STUDENTS HAVE NIGHTMARES ABOUT GIVING a speech naked in front of a packed classroom, or sleeping through a final exam. After our first lineup I had a nightmare where I was walking through campus wearing cargo shorts and an Affliction tee. Everyone I passed was pointing and laughing. I woke up, startled, when Mr. Weston jumped out from behind a tree with blood smeared down his face and a paddle in his hand. Every morning the first thought that popped into my mind was Fuck, I’m still a pledge. Each day brought a different set of completely pain-in-the-ass tasks, like getting eight orders of chicken fingers for two stoned actives, fighting like gladiators in the sand volleyball pit for their amusement, or washing one of their trucks until he could see the pubes on his nut sack in the reflection. (Really, I had to sit there and watch him check.) Every time my phone rang I knew it was another active with another chore, and we were on call 24/7.

  No matter how hard we worked, there was no reward. Two weeks in, Monte and I dusted, swept, and mopped a five-bedroom house for two hours. When we finished, the seniors who lived there let their black Lab inside completely covered in mud, and chased him through the house, splattering filth all over the floors. Then they made us clean the entire place again. Every Tuesday night at 11 p.m. we had “pledge meetings” in the basement, which consisted of reciting everything we’d learned from the pledge handbook, and paying dearly for any mistakes our pledge class had made that week. Those lineups were the easy ones, because we knew they were coming. If one of us made a mistake that Mr. Weston felt deserved immediate punishment, he could call a surprise lineup at any time. Unfortunately, when you’re a pledge, literally every fucking thing you do is a mistake, and Mr. Weston loved surprise lineups. We ended up having at least three a week.

  One fateful Thursday I found out what it felt like to be responsible for such a lineup. I was on the way to my 1 p.m. economics class when I was stopped by an Alpha.

  “You’re one of our pledges, right?” he asked.

  I knew he was an Alpha because of the 2007 rush T-shirt he was wearing, but he was obviously one of the older guys who didn’t come around much anymore. I would’ve remembered seeing him because he was six foot five with a barrel chest and veins popping out of the receding hairline on his forehead. I held out my hand to intro him.

  “Sir, Alpha pledge Prescott. How are you today, Mr., um… I’m sorry, sir, I don’t recall your last name.”

  He gripped my hand tightly, smiled, and said, “Not as fucking sorry as you’re gonna be.” Then he walked away.

  That night at 9 p.m. when I was studying finance in my room I got a call from Mr. Weston.

  “Eleven o’clock meeting tonight in full pledge uniform at the house.” Click. Fuck.

  Before every lineup the forty-two of us would meet in the parking lot to get in alphabetical order and jog into the h
ouse, where we’d receive our instructions. The mood was never cheery, and that night was no different, except that we could see Mr. Weston waiting for us outside on the balcony. As we made our way toward the staircase he started barking orders.

  “Don’t even fucking come up here. Get into the basement, get into your spots, and get ready to have your fucking nuts cut and handed to you.”

  No matter how many times we were sent to the basement, there was no getting used to it. Broken glass and bottle caps were strewn about the floor, which was comprised of hundred-year-old dirt, dust, and grime. The thick air carried the permanent scent of foul body odor. In one corner was a decrepit couch that was definitely older than me, and in another was half of a foosball table that had been in a fire at some point. There were generations of junk down there, but no windows, no lights, and no escape. From the first time I was introduced to the basement on bid night until I take my last breath, it will be a horrifying danger zone that signifies mental incapacitation.

  I shuffled through the door and up against the wall with the rest of my pledge brothers, raised my chin to the sky, and glued my eyeballs to the ceiling. I heard several sets of feet making their way down the stairs toward us, and quickly made sure my tie was straight.

  During a lineup, it was best not to draw attention to yourself. The less you are singled out, the better. This seems a simple task when there are forty-one other pledges shoulder to shoulder against the wall wearing the same uniform, from blazers to boat shoes, but it’s not.