I only wound up at Helping House because of all the staring. Every class, every meal, every walk across campus, every time I passed another resident in my dorm: the moment I started showing I could feel every eye I passed gluing itself to my midsection. A pregnant college student was a rare sight, I knew, but I had no idea I'd garner this level of attention. I felt humiliated, constantly being examined under a disapproving microscope. My trusty, baggy sweatshirt helped me hide from constant judgment through a good deal of my second trimester, but by 6 months along I couldn't successfully hide my condition from any but the most passive observers.
I considered dropping out; then I Googled the name of the university along with "pregnant students" and learned about Helping House. It wasn't officially within the Greek system (nor located as close to campus as the traditional houses, thank god), but was for all intents and purposes a sorority. And its active members were exclusively knocked-up women looking for a little help through their difficult situations: help that could be academic, financial, safety-related, you name it. Including me, there were seven current members when I started pledging. Pledging turned out to be...quite a unique experience, let's say.
My name's Chelsea, by the way. I've always been a tomboy (sports, men's clothing, etc.), and would probably call myself pansexual orientation-wise. As a late bloomer, I had no sexual experience to speak of prior to college. I was too shy to do much flirting even once I left home, despite being a horny coed fantasizing about having sex with a solid 75% of my fellow students. The first time a guy paid attention to me at a party, I was his for the taking in minutes. It's embarrassing to admit, but I didn't have the best sexual education in my conservative-leaning public school district, and was easily convinced to let this creep fuck me without a condom. He promised to pull out, of course; and he neglected to do so, of course. I learned I was pregnant during finals week of my first semester.
Lindsay and Emily, Helping House's current co-presidents (7 and 7.5 months along, respectively), were enthusiastically welcoming right from our initial get-to-know-you Skype session. They said they had an open bedroom I could move into as soon as I pleased and they were happy to start the pledging process immediately; I transferred my personal effects from the dorm to the sorority two days later. My room was modest but all mine, which was a tremendous relief after spending months with a roommate made so clearly uncomfortable by my changing body.
The house was a nice old Victorian, six bedrooms (Lindsay and Emily shared a room) and three baths (still not enough for seven preggos, I'd learn over and over). The atmosphere around Helping House tended to be quiet and friendly, really nice setting aside an idiosyncrasy or two. One little issue was the seemingly constant soundtrack provided by the gagging and puking of Holly (2.5 months) in the downstairs bathroom. You got used to it eventually, but it was never the most pleasant aspect of the ambience. Far more enjoyable was the presence of Sarah (6.5 months), always in the house's common areas and always buck naked. She was seriously hot, a good quality in an exhibitionist one ends up living with.
Further mood-setting was provided by the PDA of Lindsay and Emily, who were apparently romantically involved and far from shy about showing it. Bellies were bared and caressed very regularly, though participation in that behavior extended well beyond the couple. The final two sisters, Tara (8.5 months) and Liz (5 months), rarely made appearances outside their rooms. Tara was at the borderline immobile stage of her third trimester, and Liz was extremely shy even in this more pregnant-friendly environment.
"Pledging" actively began the night after I moved in; I put it in quotes because it was a lot closer to what most people would refer to as "hazing." Once the sun went down, Lindsay and Emily told me to remove my clothes and head outside; they'd come let me back in when they decided it was time. It was mid-Spring so it wasn't brutally cold, just pretty chilly. My already-sensitive nipples were sore and painfully erect in minutes; I was relieved when they went numb a few more minutes in. Other than that, my pregnancy's usual overheated state kept me in a sort of equilibrium temperature-wise.
The issue bigger than the cold was the public nudity within our thickly-settled, family-heavy neighborhood. We didn't really have any backyard to speak of, so that easy solution was out. On either side of me, our closest neighbors' lights were on and cars were in driveways. Same for the closest three houses across the street. Hiding my nude, flamboyantly pregnant self was my highest priority and a substantial challenge. We did have a row of three privacy hedges next to the house, but they were only 3 feet tall for some reason.
Nonetheless, they were my best option. I sat cross-legged behind them, sensitive pussy tickled by the damp grass. I held one arm against my boobs to warm my nipples, the other rubbing my bump in a maternal instinct-based attempt to keep my baby warm. I was there for just over two hours before the girls finally took pity on me, meeting me outside with a robe I declined with a dismissive wave of my hand. They were impressed by how casually I strolled back into the house with them, apparently unfazed by my time outside or nudity in front of them. Turns out I'm pretty tough and maybe just a bit of an exhibitionist (at least with my cute pregnant physique).
