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Review This Story || Author: Nick Carraway

Delta Gamma Delta Knows How to Party

Part 1

“Come on, Peter, I want to go,” complained Eduardo in his high, fey voice. “We need to get to the party so that we can leave the party and come back. I’m so sick of partying.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m working on it,” I said. I knew that Eduardo’s real voice wasn’t the lilting, lispy intonation he used around me but I never bothered to call him out on it. I guess it’s what girls like. Some girls, anyway.

“You’ve been messing with your hair for like 15 minutes, you little slut. I want to go.”

I hated it when he used words like “slut” as well, but that’s just how he was raised. One of those really conservative small towns on the eastern slope where they call men who seek pleasure sluts while they teach good little boys to be docile and obedient. I guess that’s the value of college: to expose you to new people and new experiences.

“Fine. I guess I’m ready,” I said, pulling on my tall skinny heels. They were hard to walk in but I’ll be damned if it didn’t give me the best ass on campus. Well, second best maybe, I thought to myself, peering at Eduardo’s high, tight, small ass protruding like twin grapefruits under the tight spandex of his dress.  The number barely came down past his cage so the light would occasionally reflect off the metal between his legs as he moved around. “You better not bend down tonight,” I told him. “Everyone’s going to see your nasty pussy.”

“Oh shut up,” he said, slapping my chest. “You’re bad.”

Even perched on heels twice the size of his I kept my balance easily when he bumped into me. The boy couldn’t weigh more than 90 pounds. That’s why he was such fish bait.

I texted Amy that we were ready to be picked up but she said she was too drunk already, so we took the 105 across town. I felt a little silly under the harsh bus lights in my miniskirt and tube top. It was the same bus I rode to school and I would never wear this to school. I tugged on the pleats of my skirt and caught the wandering eye of a disheveled hobo. I made a shocked face but she only smiled wider and made an obscene gesture. I guess if I’m honest I’ll say I felt like a bit of a slut just then. Eduardo just kept joking and laughing, grabbing the pole for support when he lost his balance and then inevitably sliding around it in a half-joking way, checking to make sure the group of butch girls in the back were watching.

I felt better back in the dark. We approached Amy’s sorority house, Eduardo trotting clumsily to keep up with my strides. We could hear the bass from the end of the block. The house had some of the only lights on the block. This soro house dominated one of the closest streets to campus- nearly twice the size of any other house on the block. As was customary, most freshmen had gone home for the second weekend of the year, making the house a magnet for upperclassmen in the neighborhood. I texted ahead so Amy met us on the street out front.

‘’Well look at this pair of pretty boys,” she said, eyeing us up and down. I knew my skirt had ridden up on my hips while walking, but I trusted that my new cotton panties and the ring hooking the end of my chastity device to my perineum piercing would keep me relatively modest. I resisted the urge to tug on the skirt and appear nervous.

“Hi Amy,” I said politely. “Thanks for inviting us.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” she assured with a sinister grin.

I met Amy on move-in day. She and a few recruiters were talking to the girls about joining their sorority, and Amy had been nice enough to introduce herself to me. She instantly stood out as the most gorgeous girl in the room. Not a half-developed girl like my classmates, but a true woman. What a college lady should look like. Everything about her was cute: her nose, her brunette hair in a tight bob, her small, perky breasts (tastefully concealed under a white blouse and yellow collared shirt the first day. Tonight they looked amazing under a tight cotton tank top). Even her shoes were cute.  With only three or four inches on me, I could nearly look her even in the eye when I was talking. Despite that she had thirty pounds of womanly curves on me.

Eduardo giggled nervously. “Thanks,” he whispered.

Amy, who had been reclining on the long, wide stairs leading up the house got up and slinked around Eduardo, so close he could feel her warmth in the early autumn air. She moved gracefully, confidently, like a dancer. “Who’s your friend, Peter?” she asked.

“His name’s-“ I started.

Eduardo spun around awkwardly to face Amy, jutting out a hand, saying “Eduardo.” He tipped off balance for a second but steadied himself against her with his extended hand.

“Well hello,” she smirked, looking at the hand on her hip. “Let’s get to know each other a little first, Eduardo,” she said, stretching “Eduardo” out.

“Ed’s my roommate,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind he came along.”

“Not at all,” she said with a smile. “Well come with me inside. Let me get you guys drunk.”

Ed found his (annoying, annoying) voice for long enough to whine, “I need to get to work early tomorrow so I’m just going to have a little.”

Amy smiled over her shoulder. “Of course.” I detected sarcasm in her voice but Eduardo’s shit-eating grin showed no signs of comprehension.

Inside the place was packed. The music was blaring almost unbearably loud (“I got two boy toys getting on me like unh-huh”) so the three scurried to the kitchen. Looking around, I felt a funny twist of nervousness in my gut despite myself. There were so many gorgeous women in such a small space, all hot and sweaty from dancing and drinking, many grinding against each other. Men could never be totally safe in a space like this from weight alone. Any one woman could easily restrain me, let alone more than one of them acting together. I’d heard about the dangers of going to sorority houses alone (which is why I didn’t go last week) but I took some comfort in knowing that only bimbo sluts got raped in sorority houses. Of course I chided myself after for having the thought, but I was comforted nonetheless. On move-in day there was a presentation on how to protect yourself from rape and being drugged. Still, some part of my brain was alerting me that the situation felt dangerous. Or it could be a horniness pang. These girls were gorgeous. The prime of their lives. So many bodies. Warm, sweaty bodies. With warm, sweaty pussies grinding underneath.

“Shots!” yelled Amy. I flinched. It was much quieter in the kitchen, and her voice much louder.

We threw back shots of cheap vodka and passed around a sugary sport drink to wash out the taste. I reminded myself to keep an eye on Eduardo. If that kid got four drinks in him I’d be dragging him home on the bus or spending the night, and spending the night didn’t seem like a great option. There are distinct disadvantages to being a Small, I thought to myself just before a passing woman grabbed a quick handful of his ass.

Ed let out a yelp. “Another! Let’s do another shot.”

I hid my face in my hand. We took another shot.

“Another!” cried Ed but I threw my arms around him and said, “No, not just now. Let’s wait a bit, buddy.”

“You guys look cute together,” said a black girl behind us. Sandra, I think her name was. We also met briefly the other week.

Eduardo smiled at her briefly and then staggered wildly. I grabbed him to keep him up. “I think the shots hit me, Peter.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. I gave Sandra a polite smile and nod and shuffled off into the other room to find Ed a spot on the ratty sofa in the living room.  I yelled to two women sharing a conversation in the right and middle seats if they could move for my friend. They glared at me before continuing to talk. I asked the woman sitting on the left.

“Sure,” she said, getting up. I eased Ed (plopped is probably more accurate) and climbed on to the arm of the sofa. Looking around, it dawned on me that we were the only boys here. Literally every person dancing was female. “Is your friend okay?” the woman, bending over me asked. She had nowhere to sit and she stood nearly a foot taller than me so she bent down to get her face near mine. I resisted the urge to look down her low cut purple tee and looked into her eyes.

“He’s fine. He’s just a pussy.”

She looked a little startled by my language for a moment but then asked, “Can I get you a drink. You want a beer?”

Hmm. Non-specific beer or probably-tainted punch? “No thanks, I’m good,” I said.

“You come to a party and you don’t drink? What’s up with that?” she demanded. She had a pretty face: large eyes, full lips, nice nose, but she looked truly spiteful with her face contorted in disgust.

I smiled to ease the tension, “Just finished a drink actually. I’m taking a break.”

She shook her head “no” and set off for the kitchen. In her absence four women inquired about Eduardo’s health. He gets all the looks.

The woman returned with two plastic cups full of punch. “Punch,” she said, handing me one.

I smiled again, having somewhat more difficulty than before. “No thanks, I don’t want any.”

“Okay,” she said, frowning, “suit yourself,” and put one cup on the floor behind me. “So who do you know here?”

“Amy,” I answered, looking for her in the crowd.

“Oh, Amy. She’s my ‘big sister’ in the house. She’s helping me become a full member.”

“You’re a freshman?” I asked in shock. She was built like a brick house. Not fat by any means, just big. Big arms, thick legs.

“Yeah, “ she responded, “but I’m like 25. They needed my help on the ranch for a few years. How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” I lied. Even Ed didn’t know I was 17. I don’t like having to explain that I skipped a grade because I’m smart. People don’t like a smart man.

“Wow,” she said. “That’s hot. Are you a virgin?”

“No,” I lied again. I certainly wasn’t an anal virgin, if that’s what she meant.

“So you’re unlocked?” she asked.

“No, I took the pledge,” I said. Males at the university were automatically enrolled in an extra 9 hours of ‘domesticity classes’ unless they took the chastity pledge and secured their penis in a school issued chastity device. The nurse at the clinic on campus fit them after the first assembly. I thought it was ridiculously sexist, having all of us men march past our classmates out onto the football field and into the gym lockers. The whole practice is absurd. Predicated on the idea that men are sexual animals who will wildly attack women on the street unless properly educated or restrained. Nevertheless, who has time for 9 more hours of class? And I heard the demonstration unit gets into some pretty humiliating and debasing lessons.

“Wow, neat,” she said, rubbing her nipple under her shirt as she nodded. She’s not being very subtle, I thought to myself. I glanced at Eduardo, whose eyes had closed. I smacked him on the leg as the girl asked, “what type of restraint?”

This was getting awfully personal, but I didn’t want to annoy her again or look like a prude so I said, “I’ve got a root piercing. I’ve had it since I was a kid so I’m pretty used to it now.” Ever since puberty, it seems, there was some plastic or metal hanging between my legs. Early high school was the worst because it seemed the crotch snake would puff up to strike at anything but controlling erections got easier with age.

I could tell that she wanted to know more, but she held back for a second, perhaps picking up on my discomfort. After a bit she asked, “So what’s your major?”

“Oh, that old question. Everyone asks that. I’m a Lit major,” I lied again.

“Really? I’m a Lit major,” she said, excited. “Who do you have for Theory?”

I considered for a moment making up a name but instead told the truth. “I’m actually a Men’s Studies major with a focus on Literature.” My voice cracked on the first syllable.

She rolled her eyes briefly and turned to face the room.

“What?” I demanded.

“Nothing,” she said unsmiling. “What’s the world going to do with another Men’s Studies major?”

“Ha,” I said, unlaughing. “I bet you never hear that as a lit major.”

Now she looked at me, blinking without understanding.

I tried a different tact. “Do you know how many men made major contributions to history? There’s a huge wealth of history and knowledge that’s being lost to our society due to pure indifference. We need someone in this world to remember.”

Now she looked outright hostile. She stood straighter up, puffing out her chest and crossing her arms along the bottom of her breasts. “You’re not one of those uppity masculists, are you?”

“No, I…” I started, but she couldn’t hear me. I hopped to my feet, indignant. “No I am not a masculist,” I said, stressing each word equally. “I am just interested in men’s literature.” She snorted a bit at that. “And what’s funny about that?” I demanded. This wasn’t going great but the alcohol had burned my empty belly and now I had a fire inside. She was just being so… dismissive.

“Nothing,” she said, “we just don’t really study men’s literature in Lit classes. It’s not really of the same quality. It focuses mainly on domestic scenes. Boring, boring stuff. And usually tasteless.”

That last jab was probably at the so called “Equality Erotica” that had been filling sex shops recently, portraying unlocked men freely masturbating without any kind of keyholder. For a few months there had even been penetration scenes with unlocked men and women, but the new set of decency laws ended that. For once I actually agreed with a Gender Relations Committee. That sort of behavior is better kept behind closed doors.

“I’m not saying that men deserve equality. Far from it,” I said, “but you have to admit that there are vast inequities in society. I mean, look at this school alone. Incoming male students has dropped below 15% for the first time in half a century. Only 10% of the faculty is male. We make up over 30% of the population of the US.”

“Yeah, you were probably told that by the male teachers. I think most, if not all of them, are in Men’s Studies. “

“Yes,” I admitted.

She looked away lazily and then turned back to say, “You know, you bimbos show up with the prettiest faces and the tightest little asses, but you open your mouths and it’s all shit flowing out. That’s why the only good man is one slurping up my cunt,” before leaving for the kitchen.

I stood there shaking with rage for less than a minute before another voice asked me, “Hey you want this beer? I got an extra.”

“No,” I shouted, too loud even for the music. I got a few glances from the room.

“Hey, what’s up?” Amy asked, handing me the beer. Absentmindedly I took it.

“Nothing.” I said. “Just. Just some jerk. Shouldn’t waste my time on her.”

Amy shrugged. “Well, you know. People are people. Girls will be girls.”

“Girls will be girls” I repeated hollowly, taking a sip. When the bitter taste hit my tongue I realized I was drinking, but at that point it seemed silly to back out of the sip. When I finished my sip I set the cup on the ground behind me, careful to bend at the knees not the hips.

“So what do you think?”  she asked, raising her voice above the din, “Is Sigma Nu the hottest bunch of bitches on campus?”

I looked around at the expectant faces. “Damn right,” I yelled, not feeling the spirit at all.

“Damn right,” the crowd cheered and went back to dancing.

“Look, I think we’re going to get going. Ed’s not feeling well.”

We both looked at Eduardo who opened his eyes and blinked around for a bit before settling into an empty stare in front of him. He must have pre-gamed before I got home, I realized.

“Really?” she asked. “You just got here.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

She smiled that same flirty, sinister smile. “I thought we were going to have a fun night tonight.”

I sighed. I did feel a bit guilty. “Look, I’ll make it up to you. We can go out to lunch tomorrow and you can show me the city. How about that?

She took my hands in her much larger hands and stepped closer, jutting her chest in my face. She rocked back and forth slightly, swinging my arms locked in her hands. “If you want to go then how come you’re being such a flirty baby, huh?

I didn’t smile that time. I wiggled free of her and took a step back. Her eyes were surprised for a second, and then hurt. I knew I had hurt her pride. I knew it was time to go.

Review This Story || Author: Nick Carraway
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