Page 38 of Thwack!

“Perfect.”

Chocolate wasn’t actually his favorite. He had no idea why he’d said that except his favorite was white cake with white icing and that seemed so… vanilla. He could hardly call himself vanilla, not with his head full of thoughts about getting squeezed between Bubba’s thighs like a tube of toothpaste. But if Bubba thought chocolate was perfect, then he was glad he’d picked chocolate.

“Seven o’clock tonight, in the common room. Everyone’ll be there, right?” Bubba glanced down the long table with authority and the guys all nodded like they were afraid to say no. “Oh, and Hayden, wear something you can move in. Like track pants. Not jeans.”

“Okay.” What did that mean? Why?

He looked across the table at the sophomore who’d been assigned to mentor him—a quiet, studious guy named Aaron—but Aaron was looking the other way, kind of like it was on purpose, and when brunch was over and everyone dispersed, Aaron took off like someone had pulled the fire alarm.

Hayden went through his day in a sort of haze. Bubba was buying him a cake and the whole frat was going to turn out to celebrate his birthday. It felt sweet and thoughtful. Special. But the gleam in Bubba’s eye and that warning about wearing something he could move in cast an ominous pall over the event. Obviously more than cake was in store.

Dressed in his nicest track pants, freshly showered and with his hair slicked back so it would stay out of his eyes, Hayden edged nervously into the common room shortly before seven. Already half a dozen men filled the room—mostly seniors whose names Hayden barely knew—and the cake was there too. A full sheet cake with “Happy Birthday, Hayden” written across it in blue icing. Bubba stood next to it dressed in his customary shorts and tank grinning like he’d made it himself.

“This is really nice of you.”

Someone snickered, but when Hayden looked around, he couldn’t figure out who or why.

“Least I could do.”

Another snicker. The room was filling quickly. By the time the grandfather clock in the corner struck seven, it seemed like the whole frat was there. Except Aaron. Not much of a mentor. Hayden could really use some guidance here. Was he supposed to make a speech? Everyone was staring at him. But before he could make up his mind to do something, Bubba took control.

“Today is Hayden’s birthday,” he said, raising Hayden’s arm by the wrist like he’d just won a boxing match. “And I think most of you know how this goes. First, we gotta sing him the song.”

There followed a vigorous rendition of a song that had obviously been made up by the frat. Hayden didn’t catch all the words, but it was something about making your way through the gauntlet toward manhood, growing stronger as you grew older, with a rousing chorus that urged him to move resolutely forward.

Bubba kept his arm around Hayden’s shoulders as they sang, squeezing him right up under his armpit, which was about where his head came to on Bubba’s body. Bubba’s armpit smelled like fresh, manly sweat, and between the pheromones and the tight embrace, Hayden was getting a little woozy.

He was starting to think the track pants had been a bad idea, or at least that he should have worn something more substantial than a jock beneath them—even if he was going to have to run some kind of gauntlet, which the song was making him think he might—because his dick had firmed up enough to push them out in front. When he glanced down to check how obvious the bulge was, his gaze landed on Bubba’s bulge, which was super obvious.

The guy must really have a lot going on down there, and he appeared to be freeballing it because Hayden could make out where the head of his cock hung thick and heavy near his right thigh. Bubba gave him an extra hard squeeze, and he flicked his gaze away fast, concerned he’d been caught. Either way, ogling Bubba’s bulge wasn’t doing anything to make his own go down.

After one last chorus, the song ended with a blood-curdling scream that had Hayden jumping halfway to the ceiling. Bubba patted his head.

“Ready for cake?”

Hayden glanced over his shoulder at the cake behind them, still wondering what he was missing. Was Bubba going to smash his head into it? Yeah, that was probably it.

“Sure,” he said, steeling himself for the mess and the laughter. He could be a sport.

“Great.” Bubba clapped his hands together. “But first you gotta earn the cake.”

“Okay.”

“So you go over there.” Bubba gave him a push and he staggered forward through the brothers who parted for him like the Red Sea to the other end of the room. When he couldn’t go any farther, he turned uncertainly back in the direction he’d came from to see his frat brothers arranging themselves into a single file line, their legs spread wide like cowboys after a long day’s ride. At the end of the line stood a wildly grinning Bubba, his massive thighs spread the widest of all.

“What am I supposed to do?” Hayden asked, because everyone was looking at him like he ought to know.

Bubba beckoned him with a crooked finger. Go to Bubba? But he’d just come from there. He took a hesitant step forward and was met by the firm arm of the first brother in line. He tried to dodge around it, but the guy—a junior nearly as big as Bubba—grabbed him to stop him.

“Through here,” the junior said, pointing to the gap between his legs. “You gotta run the gauntlet, birthday boy.”

The gauntlet?

Ooooh. The gauntlet.

His cheeks flamed red as a childhood memory overwhelmed him with a humiliating flash. The playground. His friends. Birthday spankings. Oh, God.

Nothing turned a person gay. That wasn’t a thing. But if anything had turned him gay, it was crawling between his friends’ legs, his head brushing their groins, their hands slapping his ass. He’d been prepubescent, but his little dick had gotten hard and his heart had raced and he’d been so full of awareness and shame that he’d been sure everyone on the playground could see it.