Author’s Note: Any similarities in fraternity names, nicknames, or hazing practices mentioned in this work are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real organizations, events, or individuals is purely coincidental.
August rolls around too fast, but I’m finally stepping into a dorm room with the smell of weeks old paint that’s just fresh enough to feel sticky. The late summer heat wafts through each room and the dark foam mattresses sizzle from the early morning sun piercing through the old glass windows. I stuff boxes of clothes under my naked side of the room. I haven’t met my roommate yet, but his name is Edward, so the optics aren’t great. I tried looking up his Instagram, LinkedIn, high school sports records, but fuck all came up, which also isn’t great. I was a bit anxious to meet him, honestly, but I couldn’t be holed up in my dorm room while I had my own optics to manage.
I found my routine here, finally. I think Carter backed off a little, finally. He still tried to fuck me but once I got my own space at the house and a bit more time to make friends, I started blowing him off to hang out with Lorenzo, and he stopped texting me first. Finn and I still wrestled together, but I feel like he regrets fucking me, and– I get it. He’s let his other staff take a more central role, especially as his logistics, I guess, have been picking up.
Reuben’s given me a few more bruises, but he’s been mellow even for his standards. Maybe Lachlan’s holding something over his head. Maybe he’s just used to me now. I almost miss it, you know? But I’m also not really looking forward to rush. I know I’m gonna get a bid, but I don’t wanna deal with the shittiness of being a pledge for a month.
Anyway, I end up spending a good part of my day exploring places I hadn’t really seen other than at night. It was nice to see the quads full of students, and of course, past Frat Row where I get to drink up plenty of men shirtless outside blasting music. It wasn’t nearly as extravagant as the Lachlan’s house, but I’ve never been able to turn away from the deep masculinity that effervesces from deep shouts over music that’ll make your ears bleed from down the block.
I meander vaguely down the quad that’s just a vapid surface lot reflecting heat back into the viscous air as punishment by God for anyone who’d be near a frat house. But, I personally, feel like I’m here to entertain. I’ve spent plenty of time working for what I’ve got, and I’ve built a solid fifteen pounds of lean muscle on top of what I had at the beginning of the summer. It really is revolutionary having such pissy constraints on my diet and workout routine. I’ve had summer as time to kinda half lock in and half fuck around, but now I’m totally in.
I peel my shirt off my body and bounce my pecs gently while fastening my sweaty shirt into the waistband of my linen shorts. I peruse through windows and around back porches, my steps unsatisfyingly careless and slow. I can feel eyes on me, and whichever house I look at seems to allocate at least a pair of eyes from shirtless men with bodies loosely covered in sun-faded tattoos, or freckles, or bodies bigger and smaller than mine. I wasn’t tall, but I’d gotten quite wide.
I slow my pace at the end of the street, and turn around as I catch my eyes on a small collection of sunburnt boys. One of them, lean, sharp and clean other than the yellowness of his bleached hair, eyes me up. He nods, just once, and I acknowledge him the same. I walk over with jitters creeping up the back of my neck but enough tension in my chest to keep my body still.
He stands with a solo cup dangling from his fingertips. His body shifts comfortably, claiming space from me as I step up onto the front porch.
“New face,” he says, tilting his chin up as I set my feet. His voice is deeper than I expected, but easy nonetheless.
“Yeah. Just moved in.”
He squints at me through the afternoon haze. “You rushing?”
“Thinkin’ ‘bout it.”
“You an athlete?”
“Wrestler.”
“Good shit. We’re looking for boys like you.” He smirks around the rim of his cup and takes a lazy sip. “You got the build,” he adds, nodding toward my shoulders. “And the walk.”
I give a small shrug, playing it off like it wasn’t what I was here for. “Worked for it all summer.”
He chuckles and then wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “Good. Good. Just want you to know we don’t hand shit out easy here.”
“I’m not asking for easy.”
That gets his attention. His head tilts just slightly and the corner of his mouth curls.
“Griffin,” he says, finally offering a name.
“Cameron.”
He nods, then glances back at the house. “Come inside. Meet a few of the guys. Might as well see what you’re getting into.”
I hesitate for a breath, then follow. The unsealed hardwoods groan under our weight as I follow Griffin into the living room where at least a dozen boys sit shirtless and sprawled around a tv. The room smells pleasant enough, but that’s the ritual with frats. Everything gets scraped clean with harsh chemicals at the beginning and end of summer.
“Yo,” Griffin calls. “PNM.”
Everyone looks up except for one. He’s posted up on the floor in front of the tv with his weight on his elbows and legs stretched long. “Who’s this?” He asks, his messy curls falling down over the buzzed sides of his head.
“Cameron. Freshman. Wrestler,” Griffin answers for me. “Thinking about rush.”
“You look familiar.”
I swallow. “I could be.”
Griffin throws himself in an armchair and kicks his feet over the armrest, letting his boys work me in.
“You wrestle in high school?”
“Played lacrosse, too.”
“Any accolades?" another boy pops.
“State champion in both this year.”
That gets a few boys more interested in me, a rolling silence filters through as they chat with their eyes.
“You play cards?”
“Some, yeah.” My eyes can hardly slot who’s talking to me now.
“Good.” He flicks the deck between his fingers and shuffles them quickly. “We play for dares. You in?”
I glance around the room as a path forms for me to sit on the floor in front of a wooden coffee table. The boy taps the deck in his hands twice and deals a few out for us both. A ring forms around us.
“We play bullshit rules,” he mutters as he passes me my hand. “You draw, you fold, you dare, you deal. Win or lose, you do what the hand says.”
“What if I don’t?”
He stares at me. “You don’t? You don’t get invited back.”
“Sounds fair,” I smirk.
“Good,” he replies. “Let’s see what kind of spine you got, state champ.”
I fan the cards and scan more as a stall than to strategize. The room’s gone quiet again, and I have a group leaning over my shoulder. The boy slides a low straight with a mindless flick. “Beat that.”
I drop a pair of queens without blinking. I don’t win, but I don’t fold. He lifts his brow.
“Not bad,” he says, gesturing toward me with a quick jerk of his chin. “First dare. Let’s keep it warm. Flex.”
I smirk, trying to seem unbothered as if my skin isn’t blistering inside and out. I pull up a double bicep, the veins already popping in my chest because of the heat. A couple of the boys nod approvingly, one whistles low. “Big boy.”
The boy in front of me nods. “Alright, Champ. You pass round one. Let’s play for real.” Someone hands him a drink as he deals a fresh five.
“Win this one, you deal. You fold, you drink. You lose–” his smile becomes almost boisterous. “Well, I’ll pick something fun.”
I look at my hand. Nothing special. I shove them forward with a tipped confidence. “Call.”
He raises an eyebrow then drops his: two pair, both higher. A few groans echo behind me. He doesn’t gloat, just leans in with his elbows on his knees now. “Alright, Champ,” he says. “Kiss the guy to your left.”
Laughter breaks out before I can even take inventory. My jaw tightens for a second as I meet the wide-eye jock caught off guard by his brother. I lean in and press a quick kiss to his sweaty cheek, lips dry with adrenaline.
“Easy,” I mutter.
“Solid.” He shuffles. “Round three.”
The cards slap down harder this time. Five cards slide my way. Nothing worth shit. Busted. I lean back slightly and flick the top card of the deck. Fucking useless, too. I lay it down anyway. He drops his hand and I’ve fallen 0-3 now. The crowd hisses in collective sympathy, even like half of them knew I wasn’t gonna win.
“Alright. Shorts.”
I drag the sweaty fabric down my muscular thighs. Now I’m in nothing but my underwear in front of a group of men I’ve never met before. I sit, but not before another guy’s palm lands square on my right cheek. Another round of laughter bubbles and he deals again.
The cards hit the table again, and again, a group of scattered numbers. No pairs, no hope. I set down what I have, and he clears me easily. The crowd groans and hoots.
“Bad luck, man,” he teases. “Alright, Champ. “Strip– aaaand– gimme 50.” The boys take in my body in possibly the gayest way I’ve seen, even as a guy who's been with plenty guys. I drop to my knees and crank each push-up out with robotic control. My body’s pumped and my chest screams as I finish the last five, but I don’t slow down at all. Griffin nods in approval, and I reach for my underwear.
“Nope. Sit. You’ll get your underwear when the game’s done. Still in, or do you quit?”
“I’m in.”
He takes the cards and slaps out a new hand for me. My eyes light as a king and queen face me, but I have nothing else to salvage the hand. He plays two low pairs, and this time I lean my head back in frustration.
“Rigged,” one of the men behind me complains.
“Alright, Champ.” The boy looks around the room for a second. “Lick Griffin’s feet clean. And say ‘thank you, sir’ when you’re done.”
The room practically detonates and my stomach twists. I catch Griffin’s gaze as he flexes his dirty toes towards me. I crawl forward and stop at his feet, the floor gritty under my palms. I lower my face and my nose wrinkles as the musk hits my face. I drag my tongue from heel to toe, slowly, and back away slightly. I lick the second foot slowly, and Griffin curls his toes around my nose. I sit back onto my calves as the men around me laugh.
“I said clean.”
I lick again, across the ball of his foot and back down to his calloused heel. The taste is worse now, clinging to the dirt and fuzz on my tongue, but I don’t flinch. “Thank you, sir,” I mutter steadily despite the fire in my chest. The room around me rises.
“That’s it, Champ. Keep going, or quit?”
“Let’s go.”
Another deal, another dead shot. “Poor bastard,” the boy says. What are the fucking chances of this happening? My chest has begun visibly heaving, veins popping from the adrenaline punching through me. “You’re fucking washed, bro,” the boy laughs at me. He tosses the cards aside. “Gimme his shirt.”
The boy ties my shirt over my eyes and lays me down on the coffee table. Someone grabs my arms and ties them together with another piece of fabric under the table.
“Ten minutes. You cum, you lose. You beg, you lose.”
Fingers brush my skin, lightly at first, teasing my inner thighs, then firmer, grabbing at my dick which reacts almost immediately. My back arches and I gasp hard, my face flushing completely red. Pairs of hands explore my body while I just lay there, taking every bit of it voluntarily, because that’s what I need, right? A pair of hands brush over my nipples and by this point I can’t help but moan. Another finger teases my asshole, and some others tickle the bottoms of my toes. The hand switches to someone less patient and more aggressive. I shiver, bucking into the brother’s hand as a voice announces two minutes down.
“Fuck, he’s already breaking!” A voice jeers, close enough that I feel the heat of his breath. Laughter rolls through the room, and someone pours a liquid onto my chest and abs. It drips down my sides and I clench my jaw.
“Four minutes,” someone yells, and the chanting begins. Numbers out of sync to mess with my head. My legs shake, thighs trembling against the table as the rhythm threatens to undo me. A new hand takes over, slick with something that immediately brings me to the edge.
“Halfway, pussy.” The boy’s hand slows just enough to stop me from spilling over. My body contorts and the fabric binding my hands strains audibly. “Look at him squirm!”
“Squirm! Squirm! Squirm!” A chant forms around me.
“Don’t cum, pussy. Don’t cum!”
“THIRTY.” The countdown begins. The final seconds drag on like hours. The boys chant down the final seconds as another hand takes my cock and strokes it fast, firmly. Another hand cups my wet balls and squeezes them gently. The table groans under my weight. “You lose, you’re our bitch for the night.”
The hand speeds up and caresses my tip. I clamp my eyes shut, but just then I realize that I’m done for. My dick throbs uncontrollably and becomes impossibly hard, and a fountain of cum sprays from my heavy dick. My body betrays me, and my mouth can no longer hold back the stifled moans as my dick coats my abs generously.
Laughter and cheers course through the room. “Fucking busted, Champ!” someone yells, and a hand slaps my thigh. Someone rips the blindfold off of my eyes and I blink into the harsh light as I lay there still tied down. They raise their cups in a fake cheer, smirking predatorily over me while my chest heaves.
“Well, wellll, Champ. You fucking lost. Told you bro, you’re our fucking bitch for the night.”
“Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!”
“Nah,” I mutter under my breath.
“What do you mean, ‘nah’, faggot?” the dealer hisses, his voice going from teasing to anger.
“I’m not your bitch,” I say, still under my breath.
The boys fall silent but Griffin laughs, a sharp, barking sound that slices through me.
“Oh, you’re gonna regret that one, Champ,” Griffin nods to someone behind me, and the fabric is yanked loose. “You’re still ours, and now you’ve earned something special.”
I force myself to sit up, the table creaking under me and the front door taunting me barely fifteen feet from here.
“First, clean that mess off your abs. Use your fingers ‘n lick them clean for us, tough guy.”
The brothers hoot, some filming now. “Do it, faggot!” They yell.
I shake my head. “Fuck that.”
The silence is instant, dangerous. The dealer’s grin vanishes, and Griffin steps over me, his bare feet scuffing the hardwood. “You think you get to say no, Champ?” He grabs my chin with a bruising grip. “You lost. You’re ours. And now you’ve pissed us off.” Griffin lets go and steps back. “Boys, what’s the penalty for a bitch who thinks he’s better than us after showing up on my porch?”
I’ve been sitting in the corner with my shirt bunched in my mouth for who knows how long. Groups of men have flowed in and out of the living room, but Griffin has stayed sprawled and pampered with his eyes between me and the door. “Hey, bitch,” he pipes. “Got one more thing for you to do before you can get the fuck out of here.”
I can’t help but smile as I crawl over to him almost too eagerly. “First. You’re gonna apologize for speaking back to all of us. And then, you get to choose one you’re gonna give the ultimate apology to. Start with me. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’m your slut, sir,’ to everyone. Kiss our feet, too.”
I slide to my ass, my knees raw and my body screaming as I lean down and kiss the bony top of Griffin’s foot. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m your slut, sir.”
“Next,” he says, kicking me toward the dealer. I crawl, one brother at a time scraping an apology off my tongue. By the last brother, I’m exhausted. Sore, and I just want to get the fuck out of here.
Griffin steps back over to me, his eyes unconvinced. “Now, slut, you’re gonna beg to suck one of us off. You choose.”
I slump down, my shirt bunched by my side and marked with my teeth and spit. The room’s quiet now, a dangerous kind of quiet while all the boys wait with their phones out, ready to see if I’ll break.
“Fuck that,” I gurgle.
Griffin’s laugh cuts through, sharp and cruel. “You’re a slow learner, Champ, and– well, I’m not a patient guy.” He grabs my hair, yanking my head back until my scalp burns. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re ours ‘til midnight, and you keep making it worse.”
I stand, an unsteady thing I am now, forcing my legs to lock as I meet Griffin’s eyes. “I said, fuck that,” I spit, louder this time. A mix of gasps, laughs, and shouts crackle through the room. Griffin, though, doesn’t find it all that funny.
“Get out,” he rumbles. “Get out of my house.” The room quiets again, and the short relief I feel gets replaced by a room that’s about to collapse into me. Griffin steps closer and presses his chest into mine. “You think you can walk in for a drink and chill, disrespect us, and just stroll out without honoring your word? You’re done, Champ, grab your shit and go. If you’re not back tomorrow, these videos are going everywhere.”
The early twilight pulls me out down the front porch and back onto the road. I wipe my chest down again and jog down to the wrestling facility. I pop a locked door open and scramble to the showers, nearly tripping over my own underwear. I lather generously, even putting soapy water in my mouth to pull the dirt and bitterness from my tongue. I change into the fresh clothes that I keep in my locker, and as I’m heading out, I lift my head to Finn’s figure approaching me.
“Holy shit,” I blurt, startling back against the locker. “Fuck, man. Fucking scared me.”
“What the hell are you doing here so late, Cameron?” Finn’s eyes scan me.
“I was on campus and I wanted to shower.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “I’m calling bullshit, Cameron.”
“Frat house,” I admit.
Finn cuts me off before I can continue. “What the fuck did Reuben do this time?”
“Not Reuben. Different Frat. I was gonna maybe rush, and I thought I was going in for a beer and to get to know them, but then it just ended up being all sorts of hell.” I don’t indulge the details.
Finn steps closer, though, his bulk crowding the space and his green eyes locking onto mine. “Cameron, that’s not how frats work. You’re fresh muscle meat and they’re gonna do anything to tie your name to their frat. You can’t just walk in alone and expect to skate by. That’s your first mistake.”
“I don’t know. I just thought I could restart with a different group of guys.”
“That’s not really how frats work, bud,” his voice is endearing even if the weight of my own stupidity reframes it. “You’re a big shot, and everyone knows and will exploit it.”
I nod. “They took videos of me. Said if I don’t come back they’re gonna leak.”
“If they leak them it’d burn the house down. There’s no shot. Go home. Rest. You got a weekend ahead so you don’t gotta worry about being here for a bit. Find something you actually wanna do.”
I end up crashing with Carter back at the house. I just wanted to be somewhere I could crash around people. The sunlight filters through Carter’s windows and his familiar scent fills my nose. He’s already awake, his frame hunched over a desk and scribbling down.
“Sleep alright?” he asks.
I shrug.
“Yeah, I can tell.” He stands and crosses the room toward me. His hand rests on my shoulder, and for a moment my mind illuminates with everything that happened when I first met him. How I first felt about him, and sometimes I still feel that way, but I can’t even admit it to him anymore. “But–” he trails, “I’m glad you’re here.”
I wish I could ask Carter to reassure me, but I know that the hazing is gonna end up just the same at the end of it. Carter leaves the room not long after, and I decide to leave the house, but not without eyes following me.
Reuben ventures out after me as I walk along the road. “‘Sup?”
“Gonna go grab food.”
“I’m joining.”
“Perfect,” I utter sarcastically.
“So, Cameron. Gonna rush?”
I shrug. “Not sure.”
“Come on, bro. You’re practically in. It would be easier to rush than to untangle yourself.”
“Why are you so impassioned about my rushing?”
“Cause I want more meat around the house.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking, but he seems more comfortable now that I’m not spending every second down Carter’s throat. “Right.”
After we eat, pretty much in total silence, I divert down Frat Row just to take a peek, and I catch Griffin perched out front again.
“There’s the slut,” he calls, without regard for Reuben by my side. Reuben smirks, turning on his heel to face Griffin as I try to let Reuben’s frame do the talking. “And his big burly boyfriend, too.”
“What did you get yourself into, Cam?” Reuben’s voice drips with amusement, and just as I thought he would be chill with me, he’s back to his old self. “Your slut?” he calls out back to Griffin, eyes alight.
Griffin steps off the porch and approaches both of us. “You should’ve seen this boy begging to be our bitch last night.”
“Oh, really?” Reuben smirks, a low chuckle vibrating his frame as he daps Griffin up.
“Sup, Griff.”
“Reuben, my man. Good summer?”
“Fuck yeah, dude. Spent it here but it was good.”
“Good shit.”
“Should stop by the house sometime. We gotta hang,” Reuben rests his hand on my shoulder like he’s claiming me.
“For sure, bro, for sure.”
“Good to see you back Cameron. But it looks like you’re in good hands. Come in for a minute, Reuben.”
He nods and walks with his hand around my shoulder. We enter together, and the boys spread out in the living room like they were yesterday. Several of them stand and greet Reuben with varying hugs.
“Boys who don’t know the king himself,” Griffin begins, “this is Reuben. And beside him is the slut.”
“Slut! Slut! Slut!” They begin chanting.
Reuben pumps his fist, but announces that we’re leaving and heads out the door. “Really making a reputation for yourself, Cameron,” he teases. I flush red. It’s true. “Well, boys– We got Cameron, so you leave him alone. And we’ll also be leaving now.”We walk in silence for a bit while I try to assess my position.
“All the frats talk, by the way. Everyone usually knows people and is friends with the other frats. I don’t want you giving up your body to any others, understand? Your chances go down the more you become a party favor for the others.” That’s the first piece of good advice I’ve gotten from Reuben. “Just–” he sighs. “Have your fun, do whatever– be a slut. Just don’t bet all or nothing because shit gets deep quick. You’re not gonna prove yourself over a group of men who already have. You’re gonna get hazed, Cameron– that’s just how it works here, and if you’re not playing it right you’re gonna make a joke out of yourself and you’re gonna do that without getting a bid.”
“Be undeniable, Cameron. That’s why Lachlan’s put up with any of your bullshit.” I follow him inside. “Oh,” he adds as he heads upstairs, “and next time Griffin calls you a slut– don’t smile.”
I am undeniable, though. I worked all summer and focused on myself just so I can be slutted out by a frat that I’m never gonna step inside. I don’t get it.
I decide after my lift on Sunday that I’d finally unpack into my dorm. I spend several hours playing tetris with my sports gear, clothes, and a bunch of books that I picked out because I like the idea of looking like I read more than I actually do.
Edward sprawls across his bed with his gaze set on his phone.
“Hey, man,” I say. “Good to finally meet you.”
“I’m Teddy.”
“Cool, Cameron, or Cam.”
Teddy hops out of bed slowly. “Good t’ meet you,” his voice is deep and steady with a Southern cut to it. “You play somethin’? You look like you do.”
“Wrestler.”
“Checks out. I’m a defensive end. Where you from?” Teddy asks.
“Damn. Wilmington, man. You?”
“Charleston. I got some family here so it’s only right to follow.”
I nod, folding my last shirt and putting it into my drawer. “What’s your major?”
“I’m looking to go into International Relations or Political Science.”
“That’s chill, man. I’ve been eyeing the same— maybe accounting.”
“Big math guy?”
“I have a thing for numbers. Always been good with them. Good money, too.”
“It is always about the money. You’ll get you a good woman I reckon,” he continues.
I blink. “Yeah, maybe.”
Teddy reclines into his bed again, phone back in hand. “You thinking about rushing?”
“Yeah, I’ve been looking.”
He nods, scrolling absently. “Where?”
“Delta Rho Kappa.”
“Ahhh, D-rho. My uncle was in it. I’m looking at Sig Theta. They play tight, too elitist for me.”
“I know a few of the guys.”
He nods slowly. “Fair ‘nough. Sig Theta’s more about politics. I like ‘em because they’re social but they’re also hard on academics and like business boys.”
That’s like every frat, though. “I get that, solid choice.”
Teddy grins, setting his phone on his chest. “They keep you in line. No nonsense about finding yourself or all that gay artsy shit.”
I chuckle, “not exactly my thing either.”
He leans forward, eyes serious before returning back to their glittered mindlessness. “But hey, it’s more about making moves and getting power than how good you draw.”
“Sounds like you got it figured out.”
“I hope so.”
“You ever think about what happens if you don’t play the game right?”
I shrug, setting up my desk and carefully aligning my books on a shelf. “Guess I’ve been warned about hazing and all that.”
“Hazing’s easy. It’s about getting in the groove. You need to have power. My dad taught me that so much shit goes on behind the functions and the girls.”
“No pressure, huh?” I joke.
“Nah. You’re smart. Don’t get caught up in it, though.”
“Enough bureaucracy talk–” I don’t think Teddy knows what that means– “You ready to hit the gym tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah, I’m in.”
