Spring Semester

Towards the end of each time we fucked, Brie had a habit of clutching my neck. Her face, too. She was a physical person; she did stuff with her head. Suddenly I might feel her nose bearing down on my adam’s apple, so maybe she was just didn’t know what to do. She was a tough chick; an aggressive, independent chick with freckles and perfect curly black hair and a down-to-earth hotness. But I could always tell when she was losing it and didn't know what to do.

There was this one time in my dorm room, during a bout of midday horniness that needed some relief. This time was sexy as shit because she sat on top of me and I bounced her up and down and felt my thumb digging in to her belly button and watched her moan up at the low hanging light that she could have bonked her head against if she leaned much closer. As if she were practicing modern dance choreography (and she had been a dancer, which she’d given up for studying painting and banging me), she curled her head down so she was looking straight down at my lower belly. She turned up the volume of her moans as if the hairier part of my stomach made it so much sexier. And she dipped downward and buried her face in my neck, while at the same time, amazingly, reaching back with one hand and grasping my cock to make sure it stayed inside her. This time I was being responsible and wearing a condom.

It felt very awkward, but for the next minute or so, I got an inch-away view of her thin, stringy black hair with even one gray hair near the top of her head where it parted. She’d worn her hair in a ponytail when we first met, but that had gone the way of all bad ideas. Her breath felt hot on my neck and her vocals vibrated off my pillow like a surround sound fuck-buddy museum piece. I felt her hand that wasn’t on my cock slither around in to my hair. I peered up over her head to see what the action was like south of the great hill. Her ass bobbed in the air and my dick felt like it could fling out of her at any second. So I scooted down and, in a feat of gymnastics, curled my legs up so they forked between her legs and spread them out on either side and got my old pal more firmly situated in her pussy.

I thrusted with more authority and her hand jerked away from my cock. It writhed across her ass and rested at the edge of her crack. I could see my nuts flailing above her ass like two fat kids trying to jump over a wall, but then I started cumming and shut my eyes and put both of my hands around her cheeks. I raised her face so she looked in to mine and at the moment our eyes met she stopped her staccato moans. Her face was flushed and her lips were parted and her eyes were squinted, like they had been shut for the duration of their acquaintance with my neck. The fat of her cheeks was balled up between my thumbs and forefingers. I finished and let my legs fall flat. I didn’t kiss her. I just held her face and we stared at each other, breathing. She bent down and kissed me for a long time.

She sat down on the bed, dabbing at her groin with a tissue and got back in to her slip. I rolled off the condom and wrapped it in a couple tissues and threw it away. When we were both fully dressed, we looked at each other again, smiling and she raised her arms in a partial shrug. We really didn’t know what to say. What can you say?

“I guess I’ll see you soon?” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Call me or something.”
“Why don’t you give me a call?”
A pause.
“If I feel like it.”
“Bye Dennis.” She walked out the door with her handbag swinging from her shoulder loosely enough that it could have spilled all over the floor.

I wanted to be something like an art gangster that past semester (Spring). I hung out with a few other dudes who knew spray painting and we went around campus at night with spray cans, spraying designs on the sides of buildings and in classrooms holding classes we hated. Then a campus cop saw us walking around and one guy, I think Jim (dumbshit), was holding his spray can in plain view. The cop said, “Hey! What are you kids up to?” And I remember saying, “Fuck, let’s run.” And we did and the fat cop hardly bothered to chase us. He yelled some shit and I heard him running, but then he stopped and I heard the crackle of his radio. He said something about these five kids, holding a can of something, etcetera. Nobody came after us, and we all dispersed at the top of Crest Hill and ran back to our dorms. From that point on, we A) tooled on Jim a lot and B) stuck to spraying places downtown, like at the abandoned train tracks under the Orono bridge, and the vacant lot at Sidberry Street. What a name, Sidberry. I picture a sleazy guy named Sid with tattoos and sunglasses smoking a cigarette and dropping trow, but the sleaziest people down there were us, and we smoked joints.

I got laid the most of any of us. The other guys were either virgins or had gotten it maybe a couple times. Stevie was once bragging about getting head the previous week, and I whipped out the picture of Janis and he stopped bragging. Nate once asked me if Brie had any hot friends. I was surprised, because I didn’t even remember telling them about Brie.

Brie and I would smoke weed and talk about painting and music. Things that we actually had in common. I think she mostly stayed with me because of the sex, which was the same reason I stayed with her (who woulda thunk it?). But sometimes she behaved like an actual girlfriend. Like one evening when we sat on the bench outside the library, after checking out a couple books on Rembrandt that she needed to help her study. She sat on one of my legs and nestled her head against mine. Her other leg hung loosely down the side of the bench and I noticed a tear in her jeans. I put my hand on it and rubbed that spot. I looked out over the campus and saw a number of other girls walking around. Most of them I could probably fuck if I really wanted to. But I didn’t care at that moment. I was glad to be with this artsy, intellectual, slim, dark-haired young woman in my lap.

I walked in to Brie's painting studio one afternoon. It was really her classroom, but she always stayed late. She was more driven than the other students. She stood there in a splattered smock in the center of the room, moving her brush back and forth. She wore her khaki shorts. When she bent forward to get a closer look at what she’d just painted, her shorts moved upward on her thighs. Even then, after I'd already had her for months, her thighs looked too good to be true. Brie didn't hear me. I wrapped my arms around her from behind and she gasped and the paintbrush jerked off the canvas.
"Oh God, Dennis," she said, laughing. "You scared me."
I kissed her on the cheek. I looked at the painting. It was a lot of swirled shapes in vibrant colors; chiefly red, blue and green. Primary colors.
“What’s your painting about?” I asked.
A spiral of expressionistic shapes culminating in a buxom cartoon character woman delivering a blow to a muscular, bare chested cartoon character man. A Roy Lichtenstein POW! above her fist and his face. A blurry background of indeterminate shapes that looked like stars.
She looked at me as if it was obvious.
"Feminism," she said.

Later, we fucked in her room. It was very dark and the shades were down. I was on top of her, doing my technique where I moved slowly and caressed her body up and down with each rhythm and, while she lay there thinking how romantic this was, gradually speeding up until it turned in to raw, visceral, panting, thwapping, bed-squeaking sex. We were getting towards that latter part. She was in a breathy mood this evening; her lips curled up showing her teeth, which were parted and made her expression turn from almost angry to disbelieving, to giving in. She arrived at this last expression as my balls starting slapping against her and she craned her neck back and shut her eyes. She made a noise that was a fast paced version of the noise a woman makes when she’s beginning to laugh at the inappropriate joke you made. I grunted long, hardy grunts.

I heard the bed scrape against the floor. It was actually moving forward. I was fucking Brie, and her bed. I wonder if the bed liked it. It scraped again, louder, and further forward.
She balled a chunk of my hair up in her hand and said, between broken breaths, “Dennis. Dennis. I’m coming.”
She did a full body jerk to her right and the bed groaned against the floor again. It bumped against the wall. Her hand yanked the edge of the mattress and I pressed one hand down on her mattress and propped my body above hers like I was doing a one armed push-up. This allowed my groin to sort of flex so my cock could move about ten times faster. It was an idea I’d gotten at the gym while doing actual push-ups.
She started yelping. I cupped one of her legs in my hand and pushed it forward to give myself more room. I trembled from holding myself up. I felt like if I got an aneurysm from fucking a girl this hard it would be totally worth it.
She said, “Oh my God.”
She took several rapid breaths.
“Fuck,” she said.
The bed scraped against the wall once more.
She ripped the bed sheet off the mattress and flung her arm around my back.
My hand swept down her leg in a mutual muscle spasm; her leg jerking forward and my arm surrendering.

I collapsed on top of her. My head touched down on her pillow, my eyes pummeled in to her sprawled hair which cracked my vision like a movie screen breaking down before soft blackness. My orgasm felt like it took two minutes.
Her exhales were long and loud and sounded like she said ‘Ga’ over and over. She squeezed me twice with her arms and legs and I didn’t want this to end.

When I got back to my room, I found a note on the door:

MEET US AT THE BACK OF STORM AT 5:30.
WE KNOW YOU DON’T HAVE CLASS THEN.
WE KNOW YOU WON’T REGRET IT.

There I was, at the back of Storm Hall. I didn’t see anybody. I don’t usually smoke, but I was smoking a cigarette then, because I was nervous. I don’t usually get nervous. Only in my dreams. I try (and succeed) to not give a shit about the slightest thing on the outside, and as a catch 22 I have nightmares. This felt like a dream.
Two dudes came up to me from the path behind the dumpster. They were carrying textbooks and wearing preppy sweaters, but I felt like I’d seen them both before. One of the guys—the dark haired one—nodded at me, and kept ignoring me. For another few seconds.
“Dennis,” said the light haired dude.
“What’s up,” I said and dropped my cigarette and stepped on it.
“Trey,” he said. I shook his hand.
“Brent,” said the dark haired guy. I shook his hand.
There was a pause.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” said Brent. “We’ve heard stories about you.”
“The whole campus has heard stories about you,” said Trey.
“Now let’s get real. Some people think you’re disgusting, a weirdo, a horrible person,” Brent said. “But we think you’re just one of us.”
“We want to induct you in to Alpha Alpha Sig Fi,” Trey said.
“The what?” I said it loudly.
“We’re a secret frat,” said Brent.

Over the next couple weeks, I started going back and forth between my dorm and this rented house off campus which served as the base of Alpha Alpha Sig Fi. The house was almost impossible to find and I needed to mention a password before I was even given the address.
At first, I thought I was being inducted in to something that was basically the ultimate inside-joke: a parody of actual frats. But I came to understand that there was a specific mission of the frat. It was for college age bachelors. Players. Womanizers. Whatever you wanted to call yourself. Every dude in this house—and there were only fifteen—was in constant competition with the other to fuck more girls than the other, and so far, Brent held the record; thirty-two girls in one college year. This was why he was the leader of the frat.
I was the youngest dude there. Everybody treated me with half-admiration and half-backhandedness. They let me drink their beers and come to certain events but they called me The Basic-Virgin sometimes.
We had to compile our conquests in some way shape or form. Some dudes made porn movies with their girls. Others took pictures. Some did audio recordings. Most—including me—wrote them up in stories. We had our own secret website where we posted everything and all the stories were judged each week. So far, Trey held the record for the best stories; his work spanned all mediums. This made him second in command.
Of course, there were rules, all of which I had no problem with. We used pseudonyms for all the female figures—real names would get us forced out (apparently, the frat had almost been exposed a couple years back, when one of the girls found out about the video a guy had posted, sued him, and won). Underage sex was an absolute disgrace, and Brent even said he would go to the police if he heard about it. No otherwise freaky, kinky, or illegal stuff (I don’t need to go in to specifics). Summer conquests didn’t count. If anybody slept with an escort or a prostitute—expulsion. And I was repeatedly told not to talk to anybody about this frat. Don’t even mention other member’s names.
“There are rumors that go around about us, but nobody believes them,” Trey assured me.

Before I was officially inducted, I would have to bang this one girl in the sister house—Jesus, we have a sister house? That’s what I said as soon as I heard. Yes, we did. They were even smaller; only nine of them. But we were having a Schmooze-- that was what they called a party—on Friday night, and I had better be there.

Brie and I woke up from our afternoon nap. The sun was setting through her windows. I looked at her bare legs and her pink slip. I massaged them with my hand.
“Mmmm,” she said, stirring. “Do you have to go?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I gotta go.”
I got dressed and we stood in her doorway.
“What are we?” Brie asked.
I shrugged and walked away.

I was chatting up Melissa. She was a blonde with a few piercings, wearing a white blouse and jean skirt. She was in the sister house. We sipped beer as we stood to the side of the beer pong table.
“I’ve had enough of Holocaust jokes,” I said. “Anne Frankly I’m just sick of them.”
She cackled and bounced her head against my shoulder. She was very drunk.
“I wonder if I’ll be lying on that table later on,” she said looking at the beer pong table. This was about the sixth overt sex reference she’d made that night.
“I dunno,” I said. “Want to try it out?”

I had been joking when I asked it, but, as seems so often the case with me, it actually happened. First, we played spin the bottle—kissed the first time the bottle pointed at me, I felt her up the second, I fingered her and she felt my cock the third. Yup, this was in front of everybody.
We went in to a private bedroom and began undressing each other. I stood there and slid my hand over her butt and inside her from the back. She held on to my neck with her arms and moaned with each rub of my fingers, staring straight at me. She had large eyelids, and the effect of her eyes gradually squinting, revealing the lines with mascara on her eyelids and her red, parted mouth, moaning directly at my mouth had a cinematic effect. She shut her eyes and leaned her head against the ridge of my neck.
I heard a crowd chanting in unison outside.
“I think they want us to come out,” she said, looking back up and smiling.
I laughed.
“Okay,” I said. “Here goes something.”

She lay on the sticky, beer streaked pong table and I kneeled on it, pumping in and out. At first it was a matter of the half-full solo cups rattling and tipping over and the splashing sounds of beer mixing with our breathing. Then Melissa began moaning louder and all of Alpha Alpha Sig Fi chanted louder. Melissa occasionally shouted things for effect.
“Deeper!” she said. “Come on, deeper!” She pushed on my ass as she said it and I pushed myself further in, her legs stretching backwards and over my shoulders. I was wearing a condom, but it didn’t even feel like it.
I went faster and harder, my forehead bumping in to her foot occasionally, prompting laughter from everybody. I opened my eyes and looked down at her face, and she arched her head thrown back; she squinted—didn’t quite shut her eyes—emitted sounds of half laughter and half-heavy breathing as her mouth opened wider and wider about every five thrusts, and her upper body jerked back and forth with every thrust and her hair jumped around everywhere like it was electromagnetic.
Everybody chanted.

Hands grabbed me by the waist. I was yanked out of Melissa. The condom flew off my cock with the combined force of the tightness of her vagina and the hands that wanted to mangle me. I toppled backwards off the table, ass hitting the floor, and I turned around to see Brie.
She glared at me for a small moment. Small, but large enough to realize everything that both of us had been doing behind one another’s backs for the past few weeks and how we both suddenly knew.
She forgot about me. She marched up to Melissa and swiped at her. Melissa ducked away and scooted back on the table.
“Enough fun for you, bitch?” Brie yelled and slapped Melissa on the face.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Brie shouted back. “Oh my God, what the hell is this?”
“Do you know who he is? Do you have a single brain cell that know more than how to cheer for sports teams that will let you comprehend that this guy you’re fucking belongs to me?”
They proceeded to shout at each other and call each other bitches. I stood, limp-dicked, pants down, and watched. What else could I do? It was right around the part when Brent and the girl who led the sorority strode over to both girls that Brie struck Melissa on the jaw. Melissa jumped back, completely bewildered. She charged at Brie and began slapping her upside the head.
Someone in Alpha Alpha Sig Fi yelled; “Catfight!”
Everybody began chanting it. Brent and his sister-leader held back for a few moments, letting the spectators have their spectacle, before deciding to intervene again before these two females killed each other. Brent grabbed Melissa and Brie was grabbed by her sorority leader. They continued to shout at one another. Brie was clearly a much better fighter. Melissa looked roughed up, and it took one more set of hands to hold Brie back.
I went back to the bedroom where Melissa and I had been. I put on my boxers and pants. I picked my wallet up and put it in my pocket. I left the room and as I did, I met eyes with Brie, now being sat down on the couch, being lectured/soothed by a few of her soon-to-be-not-sisters. Her look was so hateful I couldn’t bear it.
I went out the front door and nobody tried stopping me. I passed John, who made elaborate naked drawings of each girl he banged. He was smoking a cigarette and looked like he’d been here for a while and just didn’t care.
“You aren’t coming back, are you, Dennis?” he said.
I looked at him.
“No,” I said. I ran off down the black, black road.

The campus police had me in a room in Stetson Hall. Jim, Stevie and Nate had left; they’d apologized for spraying the parking lot and agreed to pay a fine out of tuition. I’d also agreed, but the cops kept me around.
“Dennis,” said the cop with the large eyebrows. “There’s a very good reason why you’re here.”
He removed a picture of the Alpha Alpha Sig Fi house, taken during the day. He laid it in front of me.
“Do you recognize that house?”
“No, sir.”
“You had best tell us the truth. It is in your interest. Lying to the police is a serious crime.”
“I’ve never seen it before in my life,” I said.
“There have been complaints about disruptions coming from this house recently. The nearest neighbors are a quarter mile away, so these are pretty loud disruptions.”
“The neighbors speculate that there’s some kind of brothel being run out of this place,” said the blonde cop. “Lots of sex stuff seems to happen.”
We were silent.
“I’m sorry officers, I don’t think I can help you with this,” I said.
They asked a few more questions. Before I left, one of the cops handed me pamphlets about sex addiction and who I could talk to on campus. I crumpled it outside and threw it in a trashcan.

The last time I saw Brie, I was walking down a hall in an empty building, having gotten out of a late, re-scheduled class. I was hungover from drinking all day and the day before that. I hadn’t gotten any in over a month. I didn’t want any.
She was alone and carrying two textbooks. She was in a rush. When she saw me, she stopped in her tracks and stared, wide eyed, like I was about to shoot her. I stopped and stared. She shook her head and went off, walking faster.
I stood in a bathroom stall, jerking off and thinking of her wide eyes. Those eyes that stared at me were the same eyes she had one particular time when she actually squirted. She sat on top of me. I brought her up and down on my cock. It was very slow, almost slow motion. I felt the condom I wore slide up and down with the motions of her pussy. She breathed deeply as though she were meditating and graduated to raspy pants after a few minutes of doing this. Her thighs squeezed against me Her knees ground against the lower part of my ribcage. She said, “Fuck.” She panted more and louder. I came and I felt a warm, wet sensation against my pubes and my lower belly.
I shot of in to the toilet paper in the bathroom. I flushed it down. I walked out of the stall and stood by a sink looking in the mirror for no reason I could quite fathom.
Fuck.