This is a story about college and fraternity life. It contains explicit sexual activity between males. If such is offensive to you or if you are not of an age where reading such material is legal, please move on. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the story.
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DELTA IOTA KAPPA
by Macout Mann
Chapter 4
Fun and Games and Work
Sunday afternoon found James in the Game Room. Pool, Bridge, Chess, Five Card Stud, and Schafkopt (or Sheepshead) were the games most often played at the DIKa house.
Many years before, a brother from Wisconsin introduced his state's most popular card game to the frat, and Schafkopt became an official DIKa pastime. Has been ever since. Like Poker, it is ideally played by five participants and lends itself to wagering. Like Bridge, it involves bidding and taking tricks, but diamonds is always trump. Learning the game's complicated rules is one of a pledge's first tasks.
On this afternoon, however, James was at the pool table. Before coming to Sanderson, he'd never played pool, but was a willing and fairly adept pupil. That is adept, if playing against another novice. In a game of rotation with one of the actives he watched his opponent run the table against him and had to immediately relinquish his place to another pledge who had called "winners."
Gary Hansen, still another pledge, approached him as he was leaving the room. "Can I talk to you about something?" he asked.
"Sure," James replied. He was sure he was about to be propositioned again. It was getting to be routine.
"Guys tell me you've been showing them about sucking," Gary began. "Gosh, I'm gay too," he admitted, "and I'd like to get in on the action; but hell, man, I don't know how to tell 'em I wanna help 'em." Gary had been the boy that was so relieved, when Beau had given his presentation; but he was still a shy lad.
James had become much bolder in the last few days and decided it was time for him to do the propositioning. Gary was short but muscular, and had movie star good looks. James gave Gary's crotch a squeeze and invited him up to the room.
Gary sat on the edge of James' bed and James took his own chair. "Can you give me some help?" Gary asked.
Smiling broadly, James replied, "Look, man, I'm not really the person to ask. Until I got together with Beau, the only guy I'd been with was my best friend back home. Then, because I was with Beau, all these guys have been coming on to me. I love it, but that don't make me an expert."
"Well, I've been with plenty of guys," Gary responded, "but it's always been in restrooms or out in a park somewhere. Strictly anonymous stuff. I just don't know what to say."
"This is what I'd do," James told him. "Just be honest. If somebody says something about being with me, or wishing they were finding out what it was like, just say that you've had some experience and could help 'em out, if they'd like. They're not goanna put you down. Guys finding out I'm gay hasn't affected they way they're treating me. A lot of 'em are friendlier than before."
"You sure make it sound easy."
"Try it," James urged. Then he moved over to sit next to Gary. "You're probably as horny as I was before I got with Beau," he said, putting his hand on Gary's groin. "That's something I can really help you with." He undid Gary's belt and opened his fly, taking his gorgeous dick in hand.
"It's been three weeks since I was with anybody," Gary said.
In no time they were naked in James' bed. This time there was plenty of foreplay. They nibbled each others pecs, tongued each others ears, navels, and asses. When Jerry came into the room, they were engaged in a passionate sixty-nine. "Don't mind me, boys," he said.
James first class Monday was Freshman English. He was surprised to see that Max Paxton was in his section. So was Jessica Ormond, a girl he had met at one of the mixers he'd attended. She recognized him, and after exchanging greetings, he took the seat next to her. George Blaylock came in, but the twenty other students in the section were people he'd just seen around. Hadn't even spoken to most of them.
"You read the lesson in chapel yesterday, didn't you?" Jessica asked.
"I'm afraid I'm guilty," James replied.
"You read well."
"Thank you. Have you settled in all right?"
"Oh yes. I've met some really nice people."
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Dr. Emmett Samuels. They were a lucky section, being taught by the course coordinator rather than a doctoral candidate.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "I am Dr. Samuels, but in keeping with the university's practice, please call me Mr. Samuels. In the United States we call Doctors of Medicine, who have bachelor's degrees, doctor,' and real doctors mister.' But that's all right. I don't want an airline stewardess ever to ask me to do an emergency appendectomy at forty thousand feet."
There was appropriate laughter.
"Now let's see," he continued. "Who do we have?" And he called the role.
He spent most of the hour outlining the course, explaining that it was devoted equally to written expression and appreciation of literature. "We assume, not always correctly," he stated, "that you do have a proper grounding in grammar and spelling. If you don't, be warned that errors in either do count off.
"I became bored years ago reading about what students did on their summer vacations, so your first writing assignment, due Friday, will be a five hundred word essay on a subject of your own choosing. Just don't regurgitate something that you wrote back in high school. I'm pretty good at spotting that sort of thing. Also, you should begin reading Shakespeare's "Henry V," which we shall start discussing next week on Tuesday. As you know the class meets Monday, Wednesday, and Friday one week and Tuesday and Thursday the next. On Wednesday of this week, we will discuss John Gould Fletcher's poem, "Summer Symphony," which you will find in your textbook on page 134.
"I hope you will enjoy the class. It doesn't have to be drudgery. We can have some real fun. Now for the rest of this hour, let's see if you do know any grammar."
He called on a student to make up the most complex a sentence he could think of, which he wrote on the board. Then he had students identify the parts of speech of each word, and finally had the class diagram it. Most of the section performed very well. The only person he called on that completely bombed on the answer was Paxton. He identified "the" as a conjunction.
At the end of class Paxton passed James and said, "Fag frat boy got himself a gal?"
"What was that all about?" Jessica asked.
"I dunno, I think he's mad because he didn't get a bid from DIKa," James answered.
"Oh? Did you pledge DIKa?" she said, obviously impressed.
"One of the lucky ones, I guess."
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. James took Jessica for coffee. She was one good looking gal. Auburn hair, brown eyes, nice boobs. He thought she might make a good steady, if she didn't want to get too intimate.
George Blaylock had overheard Paxton's slur, however, and mentioned it to Maurice Bannister, the pledge master, that afternoon. He in turn asked James if Paxton wasn't the person he'd talked about at the pledge meeting and was told that yes, he was.
After Britt Galloway, Sanderson's star quarterback, returned from practice, Maurice spoke to him about the "Paxton problem." Britt said that one of the other seniors on the team, an SAE, had mentioned that Paxton's britches were too small for his balls. "I'll look into it," he promised.
Britt and Morgan Burwell, his friend from SAE talked to the coach about Paxton. At the next practice a misdirected pass caught Paxton squarely on his Adam's apple. He screamed in pain and when he got his voice back yelled, "Goddamn, Galloway, watch what you're doing!"
"This aint high school, shit ass," Burwell interjected. "You some kind of fairy boy?"
A little while later, a tackle knocked the wind out of Paxton, and by the time practice was over he was pretty bruised up. In the locker room, none of the upperclassmen would speak to him.
He sought out the offensive coordinator. "Hey coach. What he hell's going on? I not only got the shit beat out of me, but I'm getting the cold shoulder."
"Maybe you need to realize you're not king of the hill around here, Paxton. These guys don't appreciate you wising off to 'em, especially about their frats or in front of their girls."
Back at the Acacia House Paxton encountered Sonny Rutledge, a sophomore Journalism student. "What the hell happened to you?" Rutledge asked, "get run over by a semi?"
"Fucking football team's been using me as a punching bag. I sure as shit aint given `em any reason to do that."
"Maybe it's just freshman hazing," Rutledge ventured.
"Aint beating up on any other freshmen. Coach Judson said something about wising off about their frats and saying shit around their gals. But I aint done none of that."
"You sure? Some of these old line fraternities take themselves pretty seriously. And like, you've got Burwell. He's SAE. Galloway and Winslow are both DIKa."
"Well Burwell was mouthing off at me during practice all right. And..." Then it hit him. That little fucker in his English class had to be behind this. He was a DIKa pledge, and he'd been with that gal. Yes. "...well, we'll see," he finished the sentence.
At Wednesday's English class, Mr. Samuels showed that "Summer Symphony" was one of his favorite poems. He demonstrated that each of the sections had different tempos, like movements of a symphony. He had James read the opening line, "The glittering leaves of the rhododendron..." and then "da...da...da" the rhythm of what he'd read. "That's allegro," the professor exclaimed. In the last part, when another deep-voiced freshman read "I will abide in this forest of pines," he almost shouted, "Andante." The poem is an excellent example of the use of speech rhythms to enhance meaning, and the good real doctor made excellent use of it as a teaching tool.
James had invited Jessica for coffee again, but as they were leaving class, Paxton intercepted them. "I need to talk to you," he told James.
"I'll meet you at the Union," James said to Jessica, and she went on her way.
"Look, dickhead," Paxton began, "where the fuck do you get off sicking your fairy frat brothers on me?"
James was furious, but he'd spent his adolescence being the macho man and had learned his pledge lessons well. "What d'ya mean, Man?" he responded. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"The fucking football team beat the shit out of me, because of what you said to your frat boys. Fucking coach told me so."
James couldn't help laughing. "Guy," he said, "I still don't know where you're coming from. I sure as hell haven't talked to any coach. And sure, we've got some guys on the football team, but I haven't talked to them either. Don't even know `em.
"If you've got a beef with anybody on the team, man, talk to them, not me!
"You know, you've had a hard-on about DIKa since the first time you ever talked to me. You keep hinting that DIKa's gay. I've told you we're not. If you've got something against us, take it to the Inter-fraternity Council.
"Right now, I'm supposed to be having coffee with my gal. That's hardly gay, now is it?" And James walked away.
When he joined Jessica, she asked, "What did he want this time?"
"Oh, I dunno," James replied. "He thinks the football team's down on him or something. I think maybe he should've gone to school somewhere else."
That afternoon he did tell his mentor, Jerry Squires, about his conversation with Paxton. He was concerned that he may have gone too far, when he invoked the IF Council. He related every detail of the conversation. "Did I do o.k.?" he concluded.
Jerry laughed. "I'd love to watch the council's reaction to allegations by some pledge to a Johnny-come-lately frat about DIKa. He'd be laughed off campus.
"But seriously," he continued, "this little son-of-a-bitch could be a problem. I'll take it up with the chapter officers.
"And you know what I think? I think Paxton's probably a closet queer himself."
While James and Jerry were having their talk, Paxton was discussing his encounter with James with his new friend, Sonny Rutledge.
"What d'ya know about DIKa," he asked.
"Not a whole lot," Rutledge answered. "I wasn't even invited to visit last year. It's the oldest, most prestigious frat on campus. It's never affiliated with a national. I hear it's got a shit pot of money in its treasury. Most of the student leaders are always DIKas. And their members've all got a reputation for being good guys. Basically they don't fuck with us and we don't fuck with them."
"I think they're a bunch of queers," Paxton responded.
"Shit, man, you gotta be outta your mind."
"Nah," Paxton said, "when I went to visit this son-of-a-bitch groped me, I swear. And I bitched about it to this kid that was also there. He didn't act concerned. But after he pledged DIKa, I made some comment about it being a `fairy frat,' and then I got the shit beat out of me on the football field."
"Probably served you right," Rutledge laughed.
"No." Paxton was positive. "I think they're all queers. That's why you gotta be invited to visit. Hell! The fucking name even says `dick.' And if you go and don't mind being groped or something, then you get invited back. "And that smart-assed little queer boy is going out with that gal in my English class for cover, and nothing else. I knew a fucking faggot back in high school that had all the gals drooling over him, and we all knew he'd suck any dick that got shoved in his face."
Later Squires did meet with Cornell Wallace, DIKa President, and Britt Galloway, the football star. They agreed that James had handled Paxton reasonably, but that there was a limit to the amount of abuse he should have to take. That if Paxton continued to give him a hard time, James should really tell him off. Otherwise, the team would continue to give Paxton the cold shoulder, but otherwise lay low and see what he would do next. Galloway did say he'd investigate the possibility that Paxton was gay. There was an easy way to do that.
That night his mentor gave James the opportunity to share his bed, and James happily accepted the invitation. They sucked each other off and slept with their bodies pressed against each other in a close embrace. James realized that Jerry was far from being gay, but that he realized that sex had more than one parameter.
On Saturday the football season opened at home against William and Mary. The DIKa pledge class attended as a group. Sanderson won 13-10, probably the only game they would win all season. The following week the team would be led to the slaughter in Little Rock, playing Arkansas. Big name teams like to schedule schools like Sanderson in the season's opening weeks to give their players confidence and to play and win with no risk of defeat. The practice also helps pay for the athletic programs of the lesser competitor.
Against William and Mary, Britt and Morgan Burwell were outstanding. DIKa's Dick Winslow also did well, scoring one of Sanderson's touchdowns. Paxton did not play.
That evening there was a mixer sponsored jointly by the Inter-fraternity and Panhellenic Councils. Most of the Greek freshmen attended. James noted that although he didn't play, and the rehash of the game wasn't to be until tomorrow afternoon, Paxton didn't attend. Some of the other freshmen footballers were there.
Jessica was there, and he was appropriately solicitous. When James met a number of other girls, they mentioned his reading the previous Sunday. George, who had become something of a James promoter, also said that James was to become the tennis star of Sanderson. One of the girls, a Pi Phi, happened to touch his inner thigh. He couldn't help but think of Paxton.
The mixer was open to all, but mostly freshmen attended. Some sophs. Rutledge was there, covering the event for the school paper. He noticed James and the girls playing court. His reporter genes led him to approach.
"Hi," he said. "You're the guy that read the first lesson at chapel last Sunday, right?"
"Guilty, as charged," James smiled.
"Sonny Rutledge. I'm covering the party for the Sanderson Parrot. Whaddya think?"
"Neat. I've met a lot of new people."
They chatted in "interview mode" for several minutes. Then Rutledge said, "Oh, I think you know one of our pledges. I'm Acacia. You know Max Paxton?"
James immediately went on alert. "Oh, sure," he said, "he was probably the first guy I met here at Sanderson. He's on the football team right?"
"Yeah. Big high school star. What d'ya think of him?"
"Neat guy," James said. "But...you're a reporter...off the record?" Both men laughed.
"Sure," Rutledge said.
"Well, he's really pissed me off a couple of times. Said something one time in front of a gal I'm sorta hot for.
"Hell, man, I dunno. He seems to be pissed, 'cause he thinks somebody groped him when he visited DIKa. Hell, how many people have to be in a room before they gotta rub up against one another? A gal touched me a while ago. Did that mean I ought to take her down right there?"
They both laughed.
Changing the subject, James said, "Look at all these good looking girls. Now I know why I came to Sanderson...and that's on the record."
Heading back to the DIKa House, George said, "You know, James, I've been thinking. I'd like us to get together again. That was really awesome. I can't get it out of my head."
"Any time, man. Your room or mine?"
"Yours. Right now?"
"Why not? But you might want to give Gary Hansen a shot too. He's hot to play around."
"He gay too?"
"Sure as shit."
Two weeks ago George Blaylock wouldn't have dreamed of having sex with another guy. But now he was about to do it for a second time, and on his own initiative.
Copyright 2012 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.