The Hazing

He let me out in front of the Alpha Tau house at Longwood University in Farmville, dazed, confused, glad to be alive, keyed up, and angry—all of those. When I’d closed the truck door, I turned to ask him through the window who he was and how I could get hold of him again, but he pulled away from me, looking straight ahead through the windshield, and was gone. I didn’t exist for him anymore. He probably was beginning to think I shouldn’t have existed for him in the first place. I was just a fortuitous piece in the night for him.

I don’t know why I tried getting his number. I must have been in shock—or unguarded and being honest. I sometimes wonder what he would have said, and done, if he’d heard what I asked.

The guys were still heavy into their pledge hazing party. All of the lights in the house were on and I could see them cavorting inside through the windows like banshees. Probably all drunk as skunks, probably engaging on indignities on other frat pledges like they’d done to me. They probably thought I’d been drunk too—that I wouldn’t remember half of this—but I wasn’t drunk and I wouldn’t forget this.

They’d stripped me down to shorts, tied my hands behind my back, put a burlap sack over my head, and drove me in the trunk of Chaz’s Impala.

“Where you leaving me?” I’d asked when they hauled me out of the trunk after what seemed like a half hour of driving over rough roads, and relieved me of the burlap bag and wrist restraints.

“That’s for you to find out,” Dennis said, giving me an ugly grin and getting back in the car, where three of the other brothers were laughing and catcalling.

And then I was alone. It was the end of the road, stopping at the shore by a big lake of some sort. I was just in my briefs, bare-footed. After deciding they weren’t coming back for me, I began to walk away from the water, on the grassy verge of the gravel road to protect my feet.

I stepped off to the side as headlights approached. A Ford pickup, not new by any means, coasted passed me and further toward the shore of the lake. It slowed down as it went by me and I could see there was one guy in it, giving me the twice over, but it was too dark out to get a good look at him. He did stop, continuing toward the lake, but then he did a U-turn and came back to me.

A window was cranked down and a guy—thirties maybe, a redneck, decent-looking but obviously a country guy, bare-chested, muscular—talked to me with a cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth.

“Night jogging in the altogether, are we? Easier when you’re swinging free, is it?” he asked, an easy, leery smile painted on his face, a fourth-grade vocabulary, tops, coming out of his mouth.

I told him about Longwood and fraternities and hazing, which covered what I was doing out here just in my shorts. “And where is out here?” I asked. “And what are you doing out here at night?”

“We’re by the Sandy River Reservoir, on Old Metcalf Road. A hard fifteen miles from Farmville. I were goin’ fishin’ in the reservoir, but I could just as well go huntin’ if you need a ride home.”

“You were going to fish at night?” I asked.

He laughed. “You didn’t see the sign at the road turnoff, did you? It said ‘No Fishing.’ So, nighttime’s the best time to be fishin’ the Sandy River Reservoir.”

Then he told me what a ride would cost me. “You want a ride home, you gotta ride what I got for you. You’ll like it. Eight hard inches. You look to be a tender honey. I’m thinkin’ you want it too.”

I declined. It wasn’t that I hadn’t done it before or that he was too greasy looking. I was scared. I didn’t know what all he’d want to do.

“Suit yourself. Have a nice walk,” he said, driving off, slow, away from the lake. He stopped and waited for me to walk up to him. I did, passing him and just kept walking at a pace that hurt my feet as little as possible. He laughed, started up again, passed me, and stopped ahead of me, waiting. I walked by him again.

“It’s three miles of this until we get to the main road, and even that road ain’t too main,” he said. “I know you want it, and you got me hard now. How much more of this do you think your bare feet can take?”

When I got into the truck, he drove a bit and then turned off into a dirt track and parked. He came around to and opened the passenger door and I turned toward him, putting my feet on the cool ground. He was unzipped and out, already erect. He was bigger than Dennis, bigger than Chaz even. I gagged as I held his hips and he held my head and made me deep throat him.

He seemed a bit surprised that I could—and would—and did deep throat him.

He said something about the bed of the truck, but I never got out of the passenger seat. He turned me, facing down in the seat, my throat on the center console, my feet still on the ground beside the truck. I moaned, my briefs stuffed in my mouth, as he knelt behind me, grasped my hips and pressed his face in between my butt cheeks he was squeezing and separating. I cried out, lifting my head and grasping back at the frame of the door as he entered me, big, throbbing, thick, cruel, insisting. The muscles of my passage walls undulated over the cock, pulling him in, deep, spreading open for him, loving it. He breeded me good.

“Yeah, I knew you wanted it and knew how to do it,” he called out after letting out a laugh. After he had set up a rhythm, I started rocking back on his cock to the point where he just stopped thrusting and held steady, grasping my hips, while I moved on the shaft, taking him deep in my soft core, milking the cock by setting the muscles of my passage walls to ripple over it. Yes, Chaz and other frat brothers had made sure I knew how to take cock.

He didn’t take me right back to Farmville, and this was where I got a little scared, wondering what else other than fucking he might have in mind for me. He drove away from one lake but only to go to another one. He said it was Millwood Pond and was on the way back to Farmville—but he had an itch again and wanted to stop at this lake. He drove right up to the shore of the pond and sat in the passenger seat staring beyond me out at the rippling water, while I sat in his lap, on his shaft, facing him, while he grasped and squeezed and pulled my buttocks apart and I rode his cock to a second creaming. I gave him a good time, and I’m pretty sure that he knew I wasn’t being shy either.

Standing outside the fraternity house, ready to go in, and looking up to the lights of the house where the brothers were still having their party and no doubt hazing other pledges, I decided not to let Chaz and Dennis know I was back until tomorrow’s classes, where they no doubt would be surprised to see that I’d made it to class. I’d act twice as cowed as I really was. My feet were sore and a bit cut up, but the only real regret I had was that the redneck night fisherman hadn’t given me a way to contact him.