FRATERNITY RUSH WEEK, PART 2
If you've enjoyed this or any other story on Nifty, please consider donating to help keep this valuable, and highly entertaining, resource running: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
NOTE: This story, involving two college freshmen, is set in 1990, before most people had ever heard of (let alone seen) a cell phone, and the primary underwear options for guys were boxers and briefs. Truly, the Dark Ages.
Please send any comments to writerstuff@yahoo.com
My roommate wasn't a bad person, not really, but I resented his presence nonetheless. I hated how he neatly folded his endless array of T-shirts, each emblazoned with a logo or slogan, and the way his sandals squeaked when he walked back from the showers each morning, wrapped in a bathrobe. (What 18-year-old wears a bathrobe?) And, oh, God, the sighs he emitted every few minutes as he studied.
While he wasn't ENTIRELY at fault for the seething hatred silently directed at him, I wasn't willing to accept the blame. It was the university's fault, I reasoned: Forcing two strangers to live together for a year in a room the size of a prison cell was a cruel scientific experiment. Although I'm not the most outgoing person, I had tried to be friends, or at least to be friendly, but my roommate had no interest in that, or much else. What he did have was a girlfriend back home, and what I considered an unhealthy attachment to his parents. He called the former every night from Sunday to Wednesday, and the latter promptly at 5:45 on Tuesday. The only reason there weren't more phone calls was because, unlike me, he had registered early, and pulled off every student's dream -- no classes on Friday (as if I needed another reason to hate him). And so, each Thursday afternoon, he loaded up dirty laundry, and drove the two hours home, not to return until Sunday evening.
That was the only good aspect of our living arrangement: I was guaranteed the room to myself on those days, during which I could -- and did -- lounge around naked, and jerk off until my poor, abused dick pleaded for me to stop. Not that it was entirely about my unabating horniness. In a dorm room, privacy was a rare commodity; time alone, free to listen to music, watch crappy TV or take a nap uninterrupted was to be treasured.
I sat at my desk, reading an assignment for class, as my roommate packed for his weekly pilgrimage. "Any big plans this weekend?" he asked, his voice tinted with sarcasm. We acted out this same scene each Thursday, with me replying, "No." That was his cue to predict how hard, and how often, he was going to fuck his girlfriend who, at least in his telling, couldn't get enough of his huge cock. In our months sharing the same tiny room, I'd caught no more than a solitary glimpse of my roommate's bare ass, so I couldn't attest to the size of his schlong. However, I had eavesdropped on more a few of his phone calls with his girlfriend, which usually began with small talk about school and mutual friends, but invariably ended with him begging for a blow job or -- "C'mon, baby, please?" -- just a hand job. Even I, a virgin with a perpetual erection, was embarrassed for him.
But this Thursday, I veered off-script to inform him I was rushing a fraternity, and therefore had a full weekend schedule. He clucked his tongue and fired back, "A fraternity? Isn't that like paying for friends?" I was in too good of a mood to take the bait, and left his question unanswered. Instead, I resolved, I would jerk off in his empty bed (again), and this time deposit the fruit of my labor inside his pillowcase.
With my roommate finally out the door, I realized there was only an hour until Travis arrived to take me to the rush event, some sort of scavenger hunt that struck me as more than a little silly. However, if it meant spending more time with Travis, and maybe -- fingers crossed! -- snatching another peek at his dick, I'd happily play along. Stripping to my boxers, I grabbed my towel, soap and shampoo, and headed to the showers, where more often than not I quickly shot a load down the drain while keeping a watchful eye for any prankster who might yank open the curtain and announce his discovery to anyone with ears. My dick was already half-hard, primed for its usual starring role in the proceedings, but I had other plans: to quickly scrub and primp, then dress to impress. Fifteen minutes later, my cock well-washed but disappointed, I shuffled back to the room to select an outfit that would accentuate any assets and, hopefully, disguise my shortcomings. I opted for a slimming blue Oxford shirt, and tan chinos, which both showcased my bubble butt and, somehow, made my package look larger. Passing inspection in the closet's full-length mirror, I headed downstairs, prepared to wait a while for Travis to show up.
Instead, I found him sitting in the lobby, perusing the school newspaper and bobbing his head to a song only he could hear. A grin stretched across his face when he saw me. "Hey, K!" he shouted, and swiftly closed the distance between us. Throwing an arm across my shoulder, he leaned in and whispered, "I'm a little high." We walked that way out of the dorm and toward his car, my nose filled with a heady blend of weed and Travis' cologne. "This scavenger hunt sounds boring as hell," he continued, "so I figured I should have a toke first. We'll get you high as soon as we can!"
Both of our predictions proved true: The scavenger hunt was silly AND boring as hell. But it was also a decades-long tradition that none of the fraternity members had the heart to abandon. So, each semester, someone put together a list of clues, and then hid throughout the city some items related to the group's history and principles. Rushees, as we were called, were paired together, placed with a couple of fraternity brothers, and sent out into the night; the group that uncovered the most items won ... I don't know, something. Travis and I piled into the back of a car steered by a couple of fraternity members, determined to make the best of the evening. We chatted about the organization, about school, about whatever, until we arrived at our first destination, a statue on campus. All four of us scoured the area, but turned up nothing. The same sorry scene played out in a half-dozen subsequent locations.
We finally reached a small greasy-spoon diner, which, according to our deductions, SHOULD have contained an item attached beneath the table of the third booth. It didn't. Travis playfully elbowed me and snorted as the fraternity brothers exchanged defeated glances. "So ... having fun yet, guys?" one of the brothers, Grant, said with a sheepish grin. "You just want to grab some coffee or something until it's time to go back to the house -- my treat?" We all agreed, and squeezed into a booth, where, over multiple cups of coffee, we continued the conversation that began in the car. After 45 minutes or so, I excused myself to pee before we headed back to the house.
"Hold up, K!" Travis said as I maneuvered the narrow space between the diner's counter and booths, sidestepping a couple of tired-looking waitresses. "I need to take a wicked piss, too." When we got to the men's room, I pushed open the door to find it was little more than a closet with a sink and a toilet. I backed out, and told Travis he could go first. "Nah, go on in," he replied, gently pushing me through the door and then following close behind. "There's room for both of us." Wedging himself between the wall and the commode, Travis unbuckled his belt. "C'mon, man, go ahead. You've already seen my dick, no big deal." He paused and then laughed, realizing the joke.
Some guys, they say, are "growers," and others are "showers"; I was neither. As I mentioned before, my dick was five inches when rock-hard, and usually about two and a half inches when soft. While I wasn't exactly embarrassed by its size -- it is what it is, after all, and it had provided me with pleasure on an almost-daily basis for more than a decade -- neither did I put my cock on public display (unlike, say, Travis). I wore my trunks to the swimming pool; I stepped out of the dorm shower with a towel firmly wrapped around my waist; and I opted for a restroom stall over a urinal, whenever possible.
Travis pushed his jeans down his muscular thighs, exposing gleaming-white briefs that gave new meaning to the term "tighty-whities." While they were pristine, they were also two sizes too small, and hugged his dick and balls. As if anticipating my question, Travis cupped his package and said, "I like to support my boys." My eyes darted back to his face, to find him staring back intently. "Go ahead," he encouraged, nodding toward my own crotch. "It's just us guys." My hands trembling, I unfastened and unzipped my pants. Travis nodded again, which I took as a signal to push them down as he had done.
"Man, do you like those?" he asked, studying my boxers. "I tried them a few times, but could never get used to them." With that he pushed down his briefs -- no small feat -- and offered me an unobstructed view of his cock and balls. As I surmised the night before in the alley, his dick was about three inches, cut; his smooth balls, exposed to me for the first time, were plump, if not exactly large. He sported a light forest of pubic hair, neatly trimmed. My face flushed as Travis placed himself on exhibit. "Your turn," he said, rather nonchalantly.
I hesitated only for a heartbeat, worried that if I waited much longer the moment would pass, or else that my already-tingling dick would spring to full mast. I tugged down my boxers, aware that my now-untucked shirt offered at least some cover. Flushed, I returned my gaze to Travis, who said, "Pull up your shirt a little, so you don't get piss on it." It took me a few seconds to realize he actually wanted a better view of my dick, but why? To compare? To make fun of me? Certainly not because he actually wanted to ... see my dick, right?
Taking hold of his cock, Travis grunted and let loose a healthy stream. Mesmerized, I forgot I was supposed to be doing the same; I simply stood and watched. "You joining me, K?" he asked as he directed his piss around the porcelain bowl, like a little boy. I held my own dick, which was beginning to grow. Panicking, I forced out two hesitant spurts of pee before a steadier flow followed. "Yeah," Travis encouraged in a whisper. "That's it."
He then crossed his stream with mine, laughing, "You ever do this as a kid -- sword fight?" I replied that I had, and we playfully dueled until our bladders emptied. Although we'd finished, neither of us moved to zip up. Instead, we stared at each other's cock and balls; both of us were by then semi-erect. Travis finally broke the spell by gingerly shaking off the last drops of pee. "My gym teacher in junior high always told us if you shake it more than three times, you're playing with it."
No more than a second elapsed before he reached across the toilet to gently tap the top of my stiffening dick ... one, two, then three times. Smiling softly, he started to pull his hand back, but instead tapped a fourth time, and then lightly traced a finger up the length of my hard spike. I swear to God, I think I actually swooned; there's no other word for it. I know for a fact that I moaned. Wide-eyed and red-faced, I looked at a slightly flushed Travis, who smirked as he pulled his briefs up over his stiffening cock. "We better get going," he said hoarsely. "They'll wonder what's taking us so long."
He was right. When we returned to the booth, an impatient Grant asked precisely that. "Keith had to take a dump," Travis laughed, elbowing my ribs. "It was like something had died!" I was embarrassed by his lie, but at least it explained away my flushed face. We returned to the fraternity house to reunite with the other participants in the scavenger hunt, all of whom had better luck than we did. The winners declared, the event swiftly began to break up. Grant and a few other brothers invited us along for some beers, so we walked with them to a nearby dive bar that offered cheap pitchers and, more importantly, seldom bothered to check IDs.
Over the next two hours, we took turns buying pitchers, selecting songs on the jukebox and challenging each other to darts. Between the music, the laughter and the alcohol, I had little time to dwell on what happened back at the diner. By the time everyone was ready to call it a night, Travis and I were so thoroughly drunk that we swayed when we walked, and attempted (mostly unsuccessfully) to lean on each other for support. When it dawned on Travis that he was in no shape to drive home, his cool composure momentarily faltered. Remembering, even in my impaired state, that it was Thursday, I offered him my roommate's empty bed, which brought back his signature (if now drunken) smile.
Hitching a ride back to the dorms with one of the fraternity brothers, Travis and I stumbled to the elevator and then to my room. "Ta-da!" I loudly proclaimed as I turned on the light, imitating him from the night before. When I presented him with my roommate's bed, the tension that had subsided at the bar came roaring back. We stood staring at each other, both of us struggling to maintain our balance. "I sleep bare-assed, if that's OK," Travis slurred as he pulled off his sweatshirt and fell back onto my roommate's bed. I plopped down on my own bed and kicked off my shoes. By that point, Travis was lying down, struggling to remove his jeans. "Little help?" he asked pitifully.
I stood, wobbly, grabbed his pant legs, and pulled with as much strength as I could muster. I succeeded in my task, but at the cost of my balance, and fell back onto my own bed. That, of course, triggered another round of laughter; Travis lay in only his too-small briefs, his entire body shaking. I stripped down to my T-shirt and boxers turned off the overhead light, and staggered back to my own bed.
"Little help?" Travis slurred again, his nearly naked body illuminated only by the light coming through the window. "Bare-assed, remember?" I steadied myself and crossed the four or five feet to the other bed, my dick once more at full attention. Travis lay cross-way, with his butt and torso on the bed, and his bare feet planted on the floor. "I'm too drunk to get these off by myself," he almost whispered.
My hands shaking, I gripped the waistband at each hip and eased down the briefs, instructing him to raise up. As the underwear continued its slow journey, Travis' cock sprang into view in all of its erect glory. He was larger than me, but not by a lot; his dick was five and half inches long, or maybe a little more. I left his briefs just below his balls, and stood up so I could properly take in the sight. Travis' eyes were closed, most likely to prevent the room from spinning. Emboldened by alcohol and horniness, I openly ogled him. My gaze wandered from his face to his chest, and then followed the light treasure trail of hair back down to his cock, which visibly throbbed, as if aware it was in the spotlight.
The spell was broken by Travis' loud burp. His eyes now open, he watched me memorize every inch of his body. My own stiff dick peeked out the fly of my boxers, but I was too inexperienced, and too unsure of myself -- and of Travis -- to make the next move. Luckily, he had no such hesitations.
"Suck it, K," he whispered, his cock twitching for emphasis. "You know you want to. You wanted to last night in the alley." He was right, of course; he had me pegged from the start. "I've never --," I replied, unable to take my eyes off his erection.
"Yeah?" he said as he raised up on his elbows. "Get down on your knees." I did as he instructed, never removing my gaze from my prize. "Pull my underwear all the way off." I did, and he continued. "Now, lick the head."
I gripped the object of my desire, the first dick other than my own that I had touched since I was 13 or 14. I lightly squeezed it, eliciting a faint moan from Travis. I caressed his balls with the other hand, and he spread his legs to give me better access. "Go ahead, man, lick it." I touched my tongue to the tip, and continued all around the head. A pearl of pre-cum oozed out of the piss slit, and I greedily lapped it up. "Fuuuuuck," Travis groaned. I'd watched, and read, enough porn to know I needed to cover my teeth with my lips, so after a few more licks, I took the head into my mouth.
"Goddamn!" Travis responded, and ran his fingers through my hair. "Suck that cock, man. Show me how much you want it." I happily took more into my mouth, a novice cocksucker grateful for Travis' five and a half inches. I'd practiced with carrots, but never had the pleasure of the real thing, before now. I bobbed up and down, alternately sucking and licking, and, I'll admit, gagging a time or two when Travis thrust without warning.
He then abruptly sat up and pulled my head off his cock; a string of drool momentarily crossed the empty space between my lips and its head. "I wanna see you naked," Travis said, his voice hoarse. Too worked up to be hobbled by my inherent modesty, I stood and removed my T-shirt. As I threw it in the general direction of the closet, Travis surprised me by pulling down my boxers, exposing my five-inch hardon. "Cool," he said. "Now turn around." I did so, stepping out of the underwear to give him a closeup view of my bare, round ass. "Cool," he repeated and grabbed a cheek in each hand. I jumped as he lightly smacked my bubble butt. "Now get back on your knees and suck my cock."
I dropped to the floor as gracefully as I could in my drunken state, and returned the fleshy rod to my mouth. This time Travis firmly gripped my head in both hands as he thrust his cock upward, again and again. I steadied myself by holding onto his muscular thighs, enjoying their firmness as Travis fucked my face. "Man, you're a good cocksucker," he said. Apparently realizing his comment could be misinterpreted, Travis added, "That's a compliment. Seriously." I smiled up at him, and then ran my tongue up and down the length of his cock; my mouth needed a rest. "Oh, nice," he exhaled, leaning back and spreading his legs wider. "Suck on my nuts, too, K."
I didn't need to be told twice. I bathed his smooth sack as I massaged his rock-hard dick. I took turns slurping each ball into my mouth, to the approving moans, grunts, and occasional curses, of Travis. After several minutes, he interrupted my ministrations: "Fuck, I'm getting close, man. Get back on my dick." I eagerly took the head between my lips, and was rewarded with a steady trickle of pre-cum. As I slid the full length in and out of my mouth, Travis lifted my right hand and inserted my index finger between his lips. Aroused yet puzzled, I felt both the heat and the copious saliva. Removing my finger, he instructed, "Press it against my asshole. I fucking love how that feels when I nut."
I didn't think it was possible for my cock to get any harder, but it did. Travis inched his ass off the edge of the bed, presenting me with a direct path to his fuzzy asshole. I momentarily pulled off his cock to better assess what I was about to do. While I had been playing with my own hole since I was 12, I'd never touched anyone else's. Aware that the spit-coated finger was drying, I added some of my own saliva, and then pressed the lucky digit into Travis' inviting crevice. His ass crack was sweaty, which made my assignment a little easier. Although I couldn't actually see the wrinkled portal in the darkened room, I could sure as hell feel it -- it was scorching hot. I pressed against it twice before it gave, permitting only the end of my finger to enter. "Fuck, yes," breathed an appreciative Travis. "Keep it there and suck me off."
I eagerly obliged, reveling in this early, and utterly unexpected, exploration of his butthole. My finger sank deeper as Travis lifted repeatedly off the bed, driving his cock into my welcoming mouth. He was thrusting so fast -- his moans and occasional declarations of "Fuck!" by this time had devolved into a rapid "Uh! Uh! Uh!" -- that I knew he couldn't last much longer (frankly, I didn't think my mouth could take much more either). I twisted my index finger, sinking it a little farther into his puckered hole. "I-I'm gonna cum!" Travis stuttered breathlessly. He shoved my head down, his pubic hair tickling my nose. "Taking my fucking load!"
His cock pulsed, sending the first volley down my throat. I coughed and pulled back, allowing the next splashes to land across my tongue. It was the first load other than my own I'd ever tasted, and I loved it. I won't pretend it was the sweet nectar of the gods -- it was tangy and a little bitter. But, Jesus, I wanted more, and prayed Travis would provide it to me regularly. I savored the taste and texture, and ran my tongue over the already-softening cock. As I eased off, nursing the head between my lips, I suddenly realized two things -- well, three: Travis was panting like he'd just finished a marathon; my finger was trapped within his fiery asshole; and my cock was still painfully hard, and likely to explode at the slightest provocation.
Holding Travis' shriveling cock, I eased it from my mouth, and gave it a light squeeze, which produced one final drop of cum. My tongue flicked out reflexively, catching the delectable bead. "Let me see," said a breathless Travis, now sitting up, supported by trembling arms. I wagged my tongue, offering him the view he desired. "You like the taste?" I nodded, drawing my tongue back into my mouth with an exaggerated "Mmm." Travis smiled and actually tousled my sweat-soaked hair, as if I were a child, or a pet. "That was ... fuck," he said, chuckling.
After a pause, he added, "You can take your finger out of my ass." I stuck out my lower lip in an exaggerated pout: "Aw, do I have to?" Travis laughed again, and then fell back onto my roommate's bed. "No, but it'd probably make sleeping uncomfortable, at least for you." He raised up again, and looked me in the eyes. "Thanks for doing that, by the way -- the butt thing. The blowjob, too, of course, that was great. But ... do you think the butt thing is weird?"
Despite my intoxicated state, I somehow managed not to burst out laughing. He'd just face-fucked me, and fed me his load, yet he was worried I might think he was weird for enjoying a finger up his ass? "Nah, it's not weird at all," I assured as the digit finally worked its way out of his hole. "It's hot, actually."
He then sat up so quickly that I thought he was already gripped with regret and ready to bolt for the door. "Oh, shit! You haven't nutted yet, have you?" he said, a little too loud, as he looked down at my steely nail. "Jerk off for me, man. I want to see you shoot."
Still on the floor between his legs, I finally reached for my dick, which I'd somehow managed to ignore the entire time. "It won't take long," I warned. Travis nodded, staring intently at my leaking rod. "That's OK, man. I just want to watch you do it." I nodded, and slowly began to tug on my cock, desperately wishing to make this last, but knowing it wouldn't. "You look so fucking hard," Travis marveled, almost childlike. "Did I do that?" I nodded. "Cool," he breathed. I saw his sticky, shriveled cock move, as if threatening to come back to life.
"Do it, man," Travis said, leaning in with his elbows on his knees. I could smell the beer on his breath. "I've never seen someone else nut. Shoot for me, K."
I had so many questions about Travis, and his sexuality -- was he just some straight guy who got off any way he could, or something else? -- but at that moment, I only wanted to perform for him. Using two fingers and a thumb, I started jacking my five inches for all they were worth. My breathing quickened. "Talk dirty, man," Travis instructed, as if directing a porn movie. "Tell me how fucking good it feels."
"Fuck, yes!" I responded, my ass bouncing off the floor. "So fucking good!"
"Yeah, motherfucker!" he fired back, now fondling his own cock. "You like me watching you beat your fucking meat, don't you?" "Fuck, yeah," I panted. "I motherfucking love it!"
I paused, but only for a second, to process that admission. I DID love it, I realized. I'd have to sort through that revelation later, though, because right then I was about to bust my nut, for Travis. "Fuck! Fuck! Gonna cum!"
"Do it, motherfucker! Show me how you shoot that load."
And I did. I raised up off the floor as cum exploded, hitting first the side of my roommate's bed, then Travis' ankle, and finally my legs and the carpet below. I fell backward, nearly hitting my head on my own bed. Travis stood up, himself unsteady, from both the beer and the blowjob. His dick was at least half-hard. "Oh, man! You OK?
Catching my breath, I nodded, and then laughed. My entire body was shaking. "Wow," I finally gasped. "I think that was the hardest I've ever cum."
"Cool," Travis said as he extended a hand and helped me off the floor. I sat on the edge of my bed, smiling and panting. Travis stood in front of me, his dick trying to determine whether to harden or deflate. He casually scratched his balls, adding to his cock's indecision. "I'm fucking exhausted ... and drunk," he declared, as if I might not know. "Maybe we should go to bed?"
"Yeah," I said, knowing Travis was right, yet hoping we could continue. Come morning, I realized, he might very well proclaim he had been so wasted he couldn't remember anything that happened. That possibility made me more than a little sad. "Good night." I crawled beneath the covers, expecting Travis to retreat to my roommate's bed. I closed my eyes, only for them to fly back open as Travis -- bare-assed Travis -- clumsily stepped over my body, his dick and balls dangling mere inches above my stomach, as he climbed into bed with me. "I like to sleep on the right side," he explained, as if THAT answered my questions. The small bed shuddered as Travis settled in beneath the blanket and lay claim to part of my pillow.
Turned on my side to give Travis more room, I felt his body press against mine, his semi-erect dick nestled at my lower back. His breath warmed my neck. Although part of me (my cock, mostly), wished he would flip me over and fuck the hell out of me, at that moment I was content. Drunk, and more than a little confused, sure, but content.
"Good night," I whispered, uncertain whether Travis had already passed out. Seconds ticked by before he finally muttered, "'Night ... dude."
To be continued ...