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They’re not allowed to move until one of the frat brothers needs an errand. If there are no errands, they don’t move until midnight, when they head back to their dorms. They have to keep up their grades and sleep does a body good, after all.
Some of the brothers are really rough on the pledges, just on principle. I don’t like to do that. I mean, call me a softy, but the fraternity really is meant to be a brotherhood. These guys are going to be living in close quarters for at least a couple of years, so it’s probably better not to scar them too deeply right off the bat.
But still, I have to be nice to them. They are freshmen, after all. Practically insufferable. They still smell like high school locker rooms. None of them have even cracked a three hundred-level book yet.
As I pass, I notice a couple of them really have taken some deep sunburns on one side of their faces. Nothing I could do to them would be worse than that.
We don’t have practice for another couple of hours, so I cut through the foyer toward the computer lab at the back of the house. I have Wi-Fi in my room, but it is better to use the communal PCs sometimes. That way any kind of search term embarrassment gets spread out among all the brothers.
If I’m just writing papers, I can do that in my room. If I really need to Google “undergrad threesome with Jenna Tokars,” I want that lost in the sea of other tawdry searches.
It’s not five yet, so the computer room is empty too. I pick the laptop closest to the window, so I can keep my eye on the door for a little bit of privacy. If anybody comes in, I can switch to a tab of open source bug requests that have been logged for the artificial intelligence project I’ve been working on.
I saw her again today. In the figure-drawing class. She was sitting next to that other girl—what’s her name? Linda? The weird one.
At first it was just a regular class. I just stand up there, pose against a chair or pedestal or whatever, and let everybody try to draw me. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it’s hilariously bad. It’s like nobody here knows how to draw at all. I don’t even know why they go to class. They never get better. It’s like they are barely even trying.
The weird one was there. She actually can draw. Or she could, until recently. I haven’t seen her finish a drawing for the last few classes. She just stares at me like I’m some kind of god. Like she’s trying to memorize me. I like that a lot.
She was just sitting there, her hair all fluffy and soft, her pink lips parted as she gawked at me. I have to admit, I made sure I was looking right at her. It’s nice to be stared at by somebody who can actually wield a stick of charcoal with some skill.
But today, she put down one line and that was it. One line, and the rest of the time she just stared at my dick.
Modeling for our classes is some of the best paying work on campus. Three hours and I make a hundred and fifty bucks. Used to be less, but I have been at it for a while. And since classes request me all the time, I just edged up my rate until it was worth doing.
Getting stared at by horny female undergraduates is just a free bonus.
Jenna came in late. As soon as she crossed the doorway, I knew she was there. We were on a break, but it’s like I could hear her. I could hear the swish of her ponytail. The slightly low pitch of her voice. She sat down right next to the weird one and started muttering about being late, so I cut my break short and got back into position.
While I am modeling, my mind tends to wander. I try not to think about things that are too exciting because popping a boner in the middle of class is uncomfortable for everybody. Not for me. I don’t care. Twenty people staring at my hard-on doesn’t really bother me at all.
But experience tells me that not everybody else feels the same way. Especially if I see a hottie I want to talk to. Having my dick pointing at her all during class actually makes it less likely she’s going to want to have conversation with me.
I don’t know why. Girls are a mystery.
But Jenna, yeah. I can see that.
We took a class together once freshman year. I sat behind her. She plays volleyball, so her hair is constantly in a ponytail. It’s shiny and thick, like a real horse’s tail. Behind her, I was thinking about grabbing ahold of it and tipping her head back, biting her neck, and sliding my hand across those big, heavy tits.
But it never worked out that way. Though I had it all set in my mind, she’s on a different major track. We never had another class. I thought I was playing it cool, but I sort of missed my chance.
Now, two and a half years later, she’s taking this figure-drawing class, another elective. Or maybe it is her minor. Anyway, whatever was there is still there. She’s hot.
And I’m determined to find out how hot.
Great thing about being in computer science is I know all the nerds. I’m like their king. I don’t look like one of them. For one thing, I smell good. Somehow programmers have some kind of mental block about hygiene. It’s my personal mission to remind them to take a goddamn shower once a week.
At first I thought maybe it was just an unusual thing, like maybe somebody’s parents didn’t stock the bathroom with soap or something. But there are just too damn many of them. They smell bad. Get everybody together in a classroom, and the smell of ass is just overwhelming.
But on the plus side, I know all the side projects these smelly people do, too. There is a secret collection of notes about all the decent-looking undergrads. For obvious reasons, it’s kept completely under wraps. But with a little luck, I might be able to find more about Jenna in the BUST—Bellman Undergrad Smut Tables.
It doesn’t even have a URL, just an IP address that I’ve memorized. I tap it into the browser bar and wait, then enter my password, checking the door to make sure nobody’s coming right now.
The welcome screen pops up, with a slider of thumbnails featuring the newest entries into the BUST. Pretty girls. Usually the girls don’t know their picture is being taken. Candid shots. Mouths open, chewing, those are real favorites. If you can get a girl eating a banana, it will be favorited for sure.
On the front page, the pictures are mostly clean too. This isn’t an all-access pass. There are layers of membership. The really good stuff is behind another couple of password-protected portals.
And that’s where I’m going. I find the pixel link hidden on the front page and enter a password. Then again on the next page and enter another password. Now I am in the deepest level of the BUST. Balls-deep, you might say.
