The Hazing

He let me out in front of the Alpha Tau house at Longwood University in Farmville, dazed, confused, glad to be alive, and angry—all of those. When I'd closed the truck door, I turned to ask him through the window who he was and how I could get hold of him again, but he pulled away from me, gone, looking straight ahead through the windshield.

I don't know why I tried getting his number. I must have been in shock—or unguarded and being honest. I sometimes wonder what he would have said, and done, if he'd heard what I asked.

The guys were still heavy into their pledge hazing party. All of the lights in the house were on and I could see them cavorting inside through the windows like banshees. Probably all drunk as skunks. They probably thought I'd been too, but I wasn't.

They'd stripped me down to shorts, tied my hands behind my back, put a burlap sack over my head, and drove me in the trunk of Chaz's Impala.

"Where you leaving me?" I'd asked when they hauled me out of the trunk after what seemed like a half hour of driving over rough roads.

"That's for you to find out," Dennis said, giving me an ugly grin and getting back in the car, where three of the other brothers were laughing and catcalling.

And then I was alone. It was the end of the road, stopping by a big lake of some sort. I was just in my briefs, bare-footed. After deciding they weren't coming back for me, I began to walk away from the water, on the grassy verge of the gravel road to protect my feet.

I stepped off to the side as headlights approached. A Ford pickup, not new by any means, coasted passed me, slowing down but continuing toward the lake. Then it did a U-turn and came back to me.

A window was cranked down and a guy—thirties maybe, a redneck, decent-looking but obviously a country guy, bare-chested, muscular—talked to me with a cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth.

"Exercising in the altogether, are we?" he asked, an easy, leery smile painted on his face, an eighth-grade vocabulary, tops, coming out of his mouth.

I told him about Longwood and fraternities and hazing, which covered what I was doing out here just in my shorts. "And where is out here?" I asked.

"We're by the Sandy River Reservoir, on Old Metcalf Road. A hard fifteen miles from Farmville. I were goin' fishin' in the reservoir, but I could just as well go huntin' if you need a ride home."

Then he told me what a ride would cost me. I declined. It wasn't that I hadn't done it before or that he was too greasy looking. I was scared. I didn't know what all he'd want to do.

"Suit yourself. Have a nice walk," he said, driving off, slow, away from the lake. He stopped and waited for me to walk up to him. I did, passing him. He laughed, started up again, passed me, and stopped ahead of me, waiting.

When I got into the truck, he drove a bit and then turned off into a dirt track and parked. He came around to and opened the passenger door and I turned toward him, putting my feet on the cool ground. He was unzipped and out, already erect. He was bigger than Dennis, bigger than Chaz even. I gagged as I held his hips and he held my head and made me deep throat him.

He said something about the bed of the truck, but I never got out of the passenger seat. He turned me, facing down in the seat, my throat on the center console, my feet still on the ground beside the truck. I moaned, my briefs stuffed in my mouth, as he knelt behind me, grasped my hips and pressed his face in between my butt cheeks he was squeezing and separating. I cried out, lifting my head and grasping back at the frame of the door as he entered me, big, throbbing, thick, cruel, insisting. My passage walls undulated over the cock, pulling him in, deep, spreading open for him, loving it. He breeded me good.

Standing outside the fraternity house, ready to go in, I'd act twice as cowed as I really was. Only thing was that he hadn't given me a way to contact him.