I looked at myself in the mirror and my reflection smirked back at me from behind the glass.
Looking good, you handsome devil, you, I thought to myself, as I patted scented aftershave onto my cheeks. I was preparing myself. Even if I was just standing there in front of the bathroom mirror in nothing on but my tight, grey Calvin Klein briefs.
I had to look good for tonight, had to get completely psyched for the event ahead, needing to know and believe that I am the fucking stud.
To that end I tried out every crooked grin I had into that mirror; trying not to come off as too much of a smart-ass, nor too aggressive either. And certainly not sneering.
What the fuck was the perfect smile to get me laid tonight?
All around me the posse assembled in the bathroom I shared with eight of my fraternity brothers. Everyone was preparing for the night ahead. The brothers were wired and the house was totally bustling in anticipation of the big night, almost bursting at the seams. It was as if the place itself had a hard on in expectation of what was to come, both figuratively and literally.
I turned my attention back to the mirror one more time, my hand straying to my recently shaved cheek.
It was definitely smooth as a baby's ass. I rubbed my hand from my cheek down to my smooth chest, appreciating the way my muscles bunched and flexed in the mirror, showing off ever minute of all the hard work I'd put into my body since I was fourteen years old. I was hot. So what? I'm vain. I embrace it. I was two hundred twenty pounds of thick, ripped muscle. Not so much that my six foot, three inch frame looked bulky, but rather nicely filled out. Damn, I was looking so fine that I just couldn't help it. I flexed my right arm in the mirror, my guns formed nice, rounded peaks like hard baseballs. Just for the fun of it I had a go with a most muscular pose. Mmmm, nice striations and a defined six pack. Hell, if I were a woman, I'd do me. But that wasn't enough. I felt the pressure of my brothers around me. I had a nervous feeling in my gut.
From the shower I heard someone yell out, "Hey, dude, no flexing in the mirror!"
I turn to see Jamie coming out of the shower, toweling himself off.
I broke out of my pose, starting to feel really good about this evening in spite of the pressure. Someone has started a chorus of 'I'm too sexy' to the assembled jeers of the rest of the guys in the room.
A'right, I thought, if that's the way they want to play it.
"Yeah?" I taunted Jamie, leering back at him, "At least I got muscle, man."
"Muscle?" he responded contemptuously, "Yeah, dude, that's all you got!"
I grabbed my crotch through my briefs, emphasizing the size of my balls in the process, in order to remind him that wasn't true.
"At least," I said, laughing at him, "It's all in the right place, fuckwad."
Not being able to think of anything to come back with, but trying hard not to be outdone, Jamie began a prissy little dance routine to egg on the riotous shouts of our buddies. I just waved it off. I was way too cool for that shit and I need to get dressed anyway.
I was like an actor. I needed to prepare.
"Catch you girls later," I called out loudly, as I slipped out of the bathroom, "I gotta get ready for my fans."
I turned my back to them, but I could hear the guy's catcalls following after me all the way down the hall.
In the relative quiet of my own room I dressed for the evening to come, needing to be perfect. I slipped on a white silk shirt and added a grey Italian blazer to the mix as well. Soon I started to feel the excitement of the night ahead. I felt my manhood stirring below in my already too tight Calvin's.
"Down boy," I said quietly to myself, "You'll get your turn later."
And I said a silent prayer to myself that it was true. I tried to relax myself back into submission in order to save my stamina what was to come. This was not a night for failure. No hunting party had failed in twenty years. I was going to be damned if mine would.
My attention was distracted as Doug knocked on my door.
He didn't wait for a response, but barged in hurriedly, as I was just finishing raking a comb through my chestnut hair.
"Ready, man?" he asked impatiently.
"I'll be right there dude!" I respond, grinning.
But he was half way out the door and down the hall before I'd finished.
I took a deep breath and took one good, long last look in the mirror to satisfy my incredible vanity. I could hardly believe that this was the last time I'd get to partake in this little ritual. It was a great honor.
"Gentlemen start your engines," I said to my reflection.
But it didn't respond.
There are plenty of parties at my fraternity of course, I reminded myself as I headed out, but once every year we have what we call surreptitiously: boy's night. It doesn't do it justice by a long shot. It may be a bit arrogant to say so, but the brothers of my particular local chapter are carefully chosen both for their qualities as men as well as for their sexual prowess. For a number of reasons, no one has ever made it through the arduous pledging process still a virgin.
Not that many were to begin with.
We don't think badly of any other frat though, or anyone else for that matter, but we revel in our masculinity. It's a little difficult to explain to the uninitiated. But we have only one mission on this night, to worship at the alter of hedonism for one night, fucking ourselves until we are completely sated. Completely. Like a bacchanal. Each hunting party is on one mission only tonight, to find and conquer at least one woman for the pleasure of the whole house. But only willing women. No brother of my house would ever, ever, stoop to the coercion of drugs or alcohol. We were not, nor have we ever been, rapists.
The hunt was on. Let the game begin.
Of course it isn't quite as simple as I know I make it sound. You see, girls come and go; sex in college is plentiful. But there is just something about our little ritual that brings out a primal bonding frenzy in us. It's actually very good for the brotherhood. The first time I experienced such a night was when I was a fresh-faced and naïve little newbie brother. Yeah, I had gotten laid before, frequently, and sometimes in some very interesting and inventive situations, but I didn't understand true sexual power. I didn't understand how someone could still ravish a girl who was all the while a willing participant. Not until I saw the older brothers in action.
And now I was in another hunting party, and more than that leading a hunt.
The fact that some of the guys, including myself, had pretty steady fucks or girlfriends wasn't the point. This was not about easy sex or about mere sex at all in fact. It was about worshipping the pussy and the cock, about virility and strength. Knowing that as a man, you have the instrument that WILL rip apart a woman's holiest of holies.
Not to but anyone down, but after that, everything else is just gravy on the mashed potatoes.
What we were going to do tonight, well it went beyond mere carnal relations. It was about total domination and total pleasure. About the kinds of things that wars have been fought over: pussy and oil. But, lets face its, all the good ones have been fought over pussy.
Empires have been lost for less than this.
Those brothers selected for the duty of finding sacrifices always leave in threes. It's traditional. Safety in numbers I guess. I didn't intend to come back empty handed.
We had chosen a place down by the docks for our particular assignment. It was a little club that had a lot of buzz, but wasn't too popular, known by some of the brothers to be a good pick-up place. The faithful of my particular pilgrimage were made up of Jamie, Doug and me. The battlefield went by the name of The Jolly Roger. Aside from the obviously tacky title, the place did cater to a hip, young scene, consisting mostly of young twentysomethings from the local colleges. Most with too much money to burn and not a lot of sense.
It was called a pussy mission in colloquial terms. But everyone called it a hunt. Very apropos.
We left in a sleek black SUV, courtesy of an alumni brother. Other parties left at the same time while the rest remained at the temple patiently waiting for us to return victorious.
I entered the bar with Jamie on my left side and Doug on my right. It was like a scene from a movie. We had a pack mentality and we were thinking as one, scoping out the sites, judging the competition, and generally surveying our territory.
The music was a mix of INXS, Robert Palmer, and other hip rockers of days gone by, mostly from the eighties and seventies, with a few of the nineties thrown in for good measure. Excellent, I thought, we would run into a more sophisticated sort of woman here. These were women dressed for the work hours, rather than after school hours. They wore tight, short skirts and slinky little dresses, exposing their firm curved bodies.
