Alpha Alpha Alpha There I was, at the back of Storm Hall. I didn’t see anybody. I don’t usually smoke, but I was smoking a cigarette then, because I was nervous. I don’t usually get nervous. Only in my dreams. I try (and succeed) to not give a shit about the slightest thing on the outside, and as a catch 22 I have nightmares. This felt like a dream. Two dudes came up to me from the path behind the dumpster. They were carrying textbooks and wearing preppy sweaters, but I felt like I’d seen them both before. One of the guys—the dark haired one—nodded at me, and kept ignoring me. For another few seconds. “Dennis,” said the light haired dude. “What’s up,” I said and dropped my cigarette and stepped on it. “Trey,” he said. I shook his hand. “Brent,” said the dark haired guy. I shook his hand. There was a pause. “Let’s cut to the chase,” said Brent. “We’ve heard stories about you.” “The whole campus has heard stories about you,” said Trey. “Now let’s get real. Some people think you’re disgusting, a weirdo, a horrible person,” Brent said. “But we think you’re just one of us.” “We want to induct you in to Alpha Alpha Sig Fi,” Trey said. “The what?” I said it loudly. “We’re a secret frat,” said Brent. Over the next couple weeks, I started going back and forth between my dorm and this rented house off campus, which served as the base of Alpha Alpha Sig Fi. The house was almost impossible to find and I needed to mention a password before I was even given the address. At first, I thought I was being inducted in to something that was basically the ultimate inside-joke: a parody of actual frats. But I came to understand that there was a specific mission of the frat. It was for college age bachelors. Players. Womanizers. Whatever you wanted to call yourself. Every dude in this house—and there were only fifteen—was in constant competition with the other to fuck more girls than the other, and so far, Brent held the record; thirty-two girls in one college year. This was why he was the leader of the frat. I was the youngest dude there. Everybody treated me with half-admiration and half-backhandedness. They let me drink their beers and come to certain events but they called me The Basic-Virgin sometimes. We had to compile our conquests in some way shape or form. Some dudes made porn movies with their girls. Others took pictures. Some did audio recordings. Most—including me—wrote them up in stories. We had our own secret website where we posted everything and all the stories were judged each week. So far, Trey held the record for the best stories; his work spanned all mediums. This made him second in command. Of course, there were rules, all of which I had no problem with. We used pseudonyms for all the female figures—real names would get us forced out (apparently, the frat had almost been exposed a couple years back, when one of the girls found out about the video he had posted, sued him, and won). Underage sex was an absolute disgrace, and Brent even said he would go to the police if he heard about it. No otherwise freaky, kinky, or illegal stuff (I don’t need to go in to specifics). Summer conquests didn’t count. If anybody slept with an escort or a prostitute—expulsion. And I was repeatedly told not to talk to anybody about this frat. Don’t even mention other member’s names. “There are rumors that go around about us, but nobody believes them,” Trey assured me. Before I was officially inducted, I would have to bang this one girl in the sister house—Jesus, we have a sister house? That’s what I said as soon as I heard. Yes, we did. They were even smaller; only nine of them. But we were having a Schmooze– that was what they called a party—on Friday night, and I had better be there. Brie and I woke up from our afternoon nap. The sun was setting through her windows. I looked at her bare legs and her pink slip. I massaged them with my hand. “Mmmm,” she said, stirring. “Do you have to go?” “Yeah,” I said. “I gotta go.” I got dressed and we stood in her doorway. “What are we?” Brie asked. I kissed her. I shrugged and walked away. I was chatting up Melissa. She was a blonde with a few piercings, wearing a white blouse and jean skirt. She was in the sister house. We sipped beer as we stood to the side of the beer pong table. “I’ve had enough of Holocaust jokes,” I said. “Anne Frankly I’m just sick of them.” She cackled and bounced her head against my shoulder. She was very drunk. “I wonder if I’ll be lying on that table later on,” she said looking at the beer pong table. This was about the sixth overt sex reference she’d made that night. “I dunno,” I said. “Want to try it out?” I had been joking when I asked it, but, as seems so often the case with me, it actually happened. First, we played spin the bottle. She kissed the first time the bottle pointed at me and stuck her tongue in my mouth. I felt her up the second. I fingered her and she felt my c**k on the third. Yup, this was in front of everybody. We went in to a private bedroom and began undressing each other. I stood there and slid my hand over her butt and inside her from the back. She held on to my neck with her arms and moaned with each rub of my fingers, staring straight at me. She shut her eyes and leaned her head against the ridge of my neck. I heard a crowd chanting in unison outside. The chanting got louder and her clit got wet “I think they want us to come out,” she said, looking back up and smiling. I laughed. “Okay,” I said. “Here goes something.” She lay on the sticky, beer streaked pong table and I kneeled on it, pumping in and out of her. At first it was a matter of the half-full solo cups rattling and tipping over and the splashing sounds of beer mixing with our breathing. Then Melissa began moaning louder and all of Alpha Alpha Sig Fi chanted louder. Melissa occasionally shouted things for effect. “Deeper!” she said. “Come on, deeper!” She pushed on my a*s as she said it and I pushed myself further in, her legs stretching backwards and over my shoulders. I was wearing a condom, but it didn’t even feel like it. I went faster and harder, my forehead bumping in to her foot occasionally, prompting laughter from everybody. I opened my eyes and looked down at her face, and she arched her head back, squinting"not quite shutting her eyes"emitting sounds of half laughter and half-heavy breathing as her mouth opened wider and wider about every five thrusts, and her upper body jerked back and forth with each thrust and her hair jumped around everywhere like it was electromagnetic. Everybody chanted. Hands grabbed me by the waist. I was yanked out of Melissa. The condom flew off my c**k with the combined force of the tightness of her vagina and the hands that wanted to mangle me. I toppled backwards off the table, a*s hitting the floor, and I turned around to see Brie. She glared at me for a small moment. Small, but large enough to realize everything that both of us had been doing behind one another’s backs for who knows how long, and how we both suddenly knew. She forgot about me. She marched up to Melissa and swiped at her. Melissa ducked away and scooted off the table. “Enough fun for you, b***h?” Brie yelled and slapped Melissa on the face. “What the f**k is wrong with you?” Brie shouted back. “Oh my God, what the hell is this?” “Do you know who he is? Do you have a single brain cell that know more than how to cheer for sports teams that will let you comprehend that this guy you’re f*****g belongs to me?” They proceeded to shout at each other and call each other b*****s. I stood, limp-dicked, pants down, and watched. What else could I do? It was right around the part when Brent and the girl who led the sorority strode over to both girls that Brie struck Melissa on the jaw. Melissa jumped back, completely bewildered. She charged at Brie and began slapping her upside the head. Someone in Alpha Alpha Sig Fi yelled; “Catfight!” Everybody began chanting it. Brent and his sister-leader held back for a few moments, letting the spectators have their spectacle, before deciding to intervene again before these two females killed each other. Brent grabbed Melissa and Brie was grabbed by her sorority leader. They continued to shout at one another. Brie was clearly a much better fighter. Melissa looked roughed up, and it took one more set of hands to hold Brie back. I went back to the bedroom where Melissa and I had been. I put on my boxers and pants. I picked my wallet up and put it in my pocket. I left the room and as I did, I met eyes with Brie, now being sat down on the couch, being lectured/soothed by a few of her soon-to-be-not-sisters. Her look was so hateful I couldn’t bear it. I went out the front door and nobody tried stopping me. I passed John, who made elaborate naked drawings of each girl he banged. He was smoking a cigarette and looked like he’d been here for a while and just didn’t care. “You aren’t coming back, are you, Dennis?” he said. I looked at him. “No,” I said. I ran off down the black, black road.