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The only universal constant from one state to another, between every college with a Greek system, was OG. They were the undisputed party house, the lords of the night. I’d heard rumors about their hazing rituals, but only rumors. OG accepted exclusively people who believed they could do no wrong, which meant that nobody ever slipped up and revealed details of the ceremony — or, they didn’t say anything and stay in the frat.
Their house at ULA was mammoth, so big it made all the other multi-storied houses next to it appear dainty. At the moment, it was covered in toilet paper from a recent bash gone wrong or by their standards, gone right. The swarm of girls around me flooded inside eagerly while I hung back, buzzed but not yet enjoying myself. From within the house, I heard the roars of men pleased to see so many scantily clad women. How boring.
One of my sisters grabbed me by the arm and tugged me along, and soon enough, I was swept inside with the rest of them. Bass thumped through the walls, and distinct sloshing noises could be heard from every corner — was that puking, or just the sound of liquor being poured? I dreaded the answer.
“Isn’t this awesome!” Grace shouted over the music.
I grimaced, and with forced enthusiasm replied, “You bet.”
“Oh come on, it’s a party. Loosen up!”
She was right. It was time to ‘loosen up.’ Just as that thought crossed my mind, four Jell-O shots appeared in Grace’s hands, two balanced on each palm, their neon hue glowing even in the house’s dark lighting.
“Take these,” she hollered, and I obeyed readily. One, two, down the hatch.
A strange thing about these parties was that the people inside, at least superficially, always seem incongruous to the common seediness of the house. Like, my sisters were dressed to the nines, and the frat brothers were dressed at least to the sevens — collared shirts, trousers, etc. And yet, all around me was Sodom and Gomorrah, a den of sins that I’d seen many times before but to which I’d never quite acclimated.
Whatever. If this was a den of sins, then I certainly belonged. Fucking a man six years my senior, and potentially jeopardizing his job? Sinful as all hell, no pun intended.
I didn’t like the party, and the guys annoyed me, but shots kept getting nearly shoved down my gullet, so in due time I loosened up, feeling my hips start to sway to the vaguely Spanish tunes that were playing from every part of the house. An inflatable sex doll appeared in my grasp. They were everywhere at events like this, a clear sign that these boys lacked imagination. I jokingly grinded on the doll, much to the shrieking delight of Grace and the hungry admiration of nearby brothers.
Shortly after I’d discarded the doll, one of the guys who’d been cheering me on descended the stairs, closing in on me.
Robert. I recognized him immediately. Any DOU would have. He was a senior at ULA and one of the hottest guys of the bunch. Neat crew cut hair, huge, bulging muscles and, apparently, a rather impressive cock.
“Hey,” I giggled. Giggled? Oy, I really was drunk.
“Hey right back,” he replied, his face wide open and friendly. “I liked your, uh, mating ritual with that doll.”
If I’d had a drink, I would’ve choked on it. Luckily, that wasn’t a problem for long, as Robert produced one as if out of thin air, and offered it to me.
“Beer?” he asked.
I nodded and took it from his hand. I’m not usually the kind of girl who trustingly takes open drinks from frat guys, but I’d run in similar circles with Robert for a while, even chatted him up a couple of times, and he was an all-around sweetheart, contrary to what his enormous pecs might suggest.
His smile, sunny and warm, stayed on his face as he asked, “Any chance you’d like to dance with me?”
“Oh, um, I—”
Robert quickly clarified, “It doesn’t have to be like how you danced with the doll. It can be a waltz, even.”
“How about a fox trot, you game for that?”
He turned his face into a mock angry expression and replied, “I never do the foxtrot, it’s a peasant’s dance.”
I laughed loudly, and his natural smile returned.
“So,” he began. “What do you say?”
And then I remembered Simon.
Robert wanted to hookup, that much was obvious. You just don’t ask girls to dance, not in my age group, without hoping for something more. That is, a dance is never just a dance, at least not in the minds of guys like these. I’d be happy to hang out with Robert. Hell, a couple of weeks ago I would’ve been downright delighted to dance with him.
But now? Well, like I’ve said — things had changed.
