The Rush Ch. 01: The Hazing Begins

The boys all laughed. "Hey, Tone," joked Lance, "I was glad I wasn't the only guy who picked out their underwear on laundry day. I can't believe I was in these things for this. I would have made sure to have my Calvins clean if I knew."

"Nah, man," countered Tony. "I'm a firm believer in the tighty whitey. I always feel so supported. Not sure how you deal with those shorts, Rodge."

"I like to let the boys roam freely. Cage-free eggs, if you will."

"Boys," laughed Kevan, "my ass and taint are fully out. So y'all can quit your complaining."

After a while more of banter, the guys disbanded to head to bed. They all agreed they had every intention of sleeping in -- both to sleep off the copious amounts of alcohol they'd drunk, and to make it through as much of the day as possible before sprinting back to Greek Row for Day 2. Rodger tiptoed past his roommate, slid under the covers, and rested his head on the pillow...

What felt like moments later, fanfare erupted outside Rodger's window. Literal fanfare, from trumpets, cracking through his pounding skull like an ice pick. Soon, the trumpets were joined by tubas and trombones, then cymbals and drums, and finally the winds to round it out -- the school's marching band had circled the building, playing the fight song at full blast.

Rodger looked at the clock -- it was 9 a.m., mere hours after he'd gone to bed.

And then, Kyle McCloud's familiar nasally voice resonated through a megaphone, "SPH pledges. Attention all SPH pledges in Advisory Hall. Report downstairs immediately. Anyone who takes longer than 5 minutes to get here is cut."

Rodger's heart started racing; he leapt out of bed and sprinted out the door. The 20 or so other pledges who lived in his building were also scurrying through the hallways; all of the other students had gathered in their doorways to watch the spectacle. Rodger felt dozens eyes on his half-naked body.

When he made it out front, he was greeted by ten or so brothers, the entire marching band, and the 40 other pledges from different dorms. Rodger scanned the crowd as he fell into line with the full group. A few of the guys from Advisory hall were still sporting morning wood, or at least half-chubs. Kevan slid in line next to Rodger and was in the semi-erect bucket. His jockstrap strained just enough that Rodger could see the base of his thick shaft and part of his scrotum. He felt a sudden jolt -- guilt, he figured, for peeping at his friend.

The guys with boners were not in the worst position, however. A few of the pledges had changed before bed, putting on clean underwear or pajama bottoms. Others looked like they had thrown on clothes before running out, either forgetting the rule in their haze or thinking it had been a joke.

"You, you, you, you, and you," called Kyle, no longer using his megaphone. "CUT. That's five! Five from Advisory Hall alone. Three from Pitman, two from Lawrence. You've lost ten pledges from your ranks this morning. That's the most I've seen in four years. Do you guys actually want to join this frat?"

"YES BROTHER," chanted the pledges.

"Are you willing to do whatever it takes? Even if it means some fat schmuck telling you to walk around in your panties?"

"YES BROTHER."

"And are you willing to accept your punishment for your pledge class' disloyalty?"

"YES BROTHER" -- this one with less resolve.

"I have recruited the band here to teach you how to march. One cohesive unit, moving in unison. That's brotherhood. You're going to do three laps around campus with the band as they play through their repertoire. You fall out of lockstep more than once, consider yourself cut."

A few members of the band came out amongst the pledges, explaining to them how they were going to line up. The guys gathered behind the band in the street, forming rows of five. Rodger was able to get in a row with all of his hallmates. Their fifth man was Zach, a skinny Taiwanese guy from Santa Cruz in weed-leaf covered boxer briefs.

The drum major began counting out the beat, explaining the leg movements and step patterns. It was basic marching in a straight line, but for the hungover pledges, may well have been a complicated ballroom dance.

Eventually, the motley crew set off to march through campus. The green-shirted brothers shuffled behind them, hooting and hollering and chugging cans of beer. It was early, but people were out and about, reading on the quad or drinking coffee at the student union. They seemed mostly annoyed and tried to ignore the marchers.

Around halfway through the first lap, as they passed the athletics complex, Zach stumbled on a landscaping stone and fell out of line. He jogged and caught back up, but they heard a brother yell from behind: "That's one strike, Wu!"

Periodically, Rodger caught himself stealing glances at Kevan's crotch. He told himself he should warn his friend if he exposed himself on accident again. But Kevan hadn't gotten aroused again since the morning. He was disappointed -- relieved, rather, that Kevan wasn't going to flash any more than he already had.

They were close to finishing the first lap, and only Zach had fallen out of line. As they crested University Hill to go through the main gates and begin their second round, Rodger noticed that a small crowd had gathered where there had been nobody before.

"The cheerleading team?" Zach asked.

Kevan stuck his head up over the crowd and nodded. "Cheerleading team."

All along the path on the main quad were women from various sports teams, sororities, and other organizations friendly with SPH. The sisters of ENM were there, of course, decked in their pink and black rush shirts. The three other major sororities on campus were all cheering at the boys as well. While marching past KD, one of their sisters called out Rodger's name -- he made eye contact and gulped, recognizing her.

He stood still for a moment in his embarrassment, causing the guy marching behind him to trip up as well. "Higgins, Carlisle, one each!"

"Fuck off, Rodger," hissed Matty Carlisle.

"Sorry," he called back apologetically.

The KD sister was a sophomore Rodger had almost hooked up with at party on the second night of college. She was the sexiest girl Rodger had ever seen in real life -- way hotter than the twins from high school -- with long, chocolate-brown hair and perfect, firm tits. But he hadn't been able to get it up. They blamed whiskey dick -- he'd drank more that night than ever before in his life -- but never even took their underwear off.

She'd been cool about it, but he'd been kicking himself ever since.

"Who was that?" Tony asked suggestively.

"The sexy KD girl Rodger hooked up with first week," Kevan answered.

Lance smirked. "Must have been a wild five minutes. We share a wall, remember?"

"I didn't say it," was all Rodger shot back.

After the main quad, the rest of campus remained relatively empty. But it was getting closer to noon now, and people were starting to wake up and head out for greasy breakfast food in the commons. It also meant that the sun was higher in the sky, beating down on the mostly naked pledges. Rodger could feel himself getting sunburned -- and could watch Tony get sunburned in near real-time, pale as he was.

By the third lap, the girls had recruited more students -- and some passing staff and faculty -- to their crowd. The swim team was giving out free coffee to attract viewers. Of course, everyone in this crowd had their phone out -- no doubt this would be all over YouTube and TikTok.

The procession had almost made it to the other end of the quad when an errant corgi, leashed by a member of the softball team, lunged partway into the path. Its owner pulled the dog back before it really did anything, but it was enough to startle Zach, on the far-left side of the row. He flinched and fell out of rhythm.

"Wu!" called out one of the brothers through the megaphone. "Everyone, HALT!"

The band stopped playing and the marchers came to a standstill. Two brothers, followed quickly by Kyle, stormed over to our row. "We were generous. We gave you one slip up. But two means you're cut."

Zach slumped, clearly devastated. Noticing this, Kyle chimes in. "I think we can offer a penalty option. You can take the penalty and continue rushing, or you can go home."

"Thank you, brother," Zach said softly.

Kyle and the other two brothers stepped aside to confer for a few moments. Zach turned to look at Rodger, a sort of sad, resigned look in his eye. He looked how Rodger felt deep down -- desperate for this.

The trio walked back over. Kyle cleared his throat and called out, "We have conferred and decided on a penalty. If Zach Wu surrenders his underwear to us, he can stay in the march. Or, he can keep his boxers and go home. The choice is his."

Rodger felt his heart begin to race. Surely they couldn't make Zach march through campus butt naked? At the same time, this was a rite of passage. You had to go through the humiliation to get to the reward. The shame and exhibition were just collateral.

Zach turned to Rodger. "What do you think? Would you do it?"

"I..." Rodger said, "I think it's worth it, man. What's another naked frat boy? No one cares."

He heard Kevan let out a small, disapproving scoff. Rodger grimaced, wondering if he had counseled Zach poorly. But in any case, it seemed to strengthen Zach's resolve, and in a fell swoop he ripped off his boxer briefs.

"Just rip off the band-aid," said Zach, as if to himself.

Zach's dick wasn't big -- maybe an inch and half soft, not very thick, and shriveled further from the autumn air. He was uncut and unshaven, pin-straight pubes exploding from the base of his shaft. One of the brothers chuckled -- "That's an omega dick if I've ever seen one." Rodger didn't understand what that meant.

By now, a larger crowd of girls had gathered around to watch, including most of the contingent from ENM. Their pledges and sisters were laughing the loudest, pointing their phones at Zach and holding up their pinky fingers. A few of the guys started chucking too, including Lance and Matty Carlisle.

"That's enough," called Kyle. "Let's keep marching."

The band started up again and the procession left the quad. The rest of the trip wasn't so bad; there were more passersby than before, but in general nothing scandalous. Rodger couldn't help but stare at Zach's dick, jiggling about as he marched. It was a good-looking dick -- from an objective standpoint -- smooth and clean and nicely shaped. Rodger felt his own cock start to quiver, and hunched over a bit to disguise a quickly-growing half-chub. He was once again grateful to be in boxer shorts. All the adrenaline and moving around today was getting him excited.

As the clock hit 2 p.m., the boys completed their third lap. The band peeled off, and instead of circling back to the quad, the pledges continued down the hill to Greek Row. At the SPH house, the rest of the brothers were waiting in the yard with a dozen kegs and twice as many bottles of liquor. The pledges poured into the yard, sun-kissed and exhausted, and were immediately dogpiled by the brothers and greeted with hearty cheers.

As the exuberance died down, and the drinking began, Kyle made his way back to the front of the crowd. The din subsided and he announced, "Gentleman, today has been all about loyalty. That's the third pillar of SPH. When your brother needs you -- on the battlefield, in the marketplace -- you help him."

Lance leaned in to Rodger and whispered in his ear, "This guy has really drunk the Kool-Aid, huh?"

Rodger just shrugged, focusing his attention back on Kyle: "Even if it means running around in your undies for a whole day -- you do as your brother asks." There was a round of applause. Lance cast a knowing look at Rodger, who frowned. He knew it was just all hyperbole to get everyone hyped up for pledging. Grains of salt all around.

"That being said," Kyle continued. "The final task to prove your loyalty is next. This morning, all us brothers drew random pledges' names from a hat. The brother who drew your name is going to assign you a Task. Those who do not complete their Tasks satisfactorily will be cut. The Task can be anything, as long as it doesn't put anyone in harm's way. You'll have from the end of the darty until midnight to complete your task. But, until then, drink and celebrate! You're almost there, boys. Oh, and get dressed."

More brothers came out from inside carrying the cloth laundry bags. The pledges mobbed the bags looking for their clothes and shoes. Rodger spotted Lance's Balenciagas and tossed them over to him; Tony passed Rodger his blue gingham shirt. In time, the lads were all dressed again, and mixing with the brothers, doing keg stands, and taking shots. The brothers were really plying the pledges with alcohol, more so than at the first mixer. As the afternoon went on, the brothers would approach the pledge whose name they drew and hand them a small, green envelope with their Task.

For his part, Rodger was feeling euphoric -- he'd made it so far, survived the public humiliation, and was that much closer to his dream. He was chasing down Kevan, trying to gather his boys for a round of shots, when a man in a green shirt intercepted him.

It was Oliver, his brother's friend. "Hey, Rodge. Believe it or not, I got your name this morning."

Rodger's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't really noticed Oliver before, too anxious the night before to pay much attention to anything in particular. But he was a compact guy, short and kind of buff -- tan skin, light brown hair, a boyish smile -- Rodger then noticed the little green card being presented to him.

"I actually texted your brother to ask for suggestions," Oliver told him, "and he gave me a pretty interesting idea."

Rodger gingerly took the envelope, looking at it blankly. "Uh -- cool. Thanks, I guess."

Oliver chuckled. "Just meet me back inside after the darty." He walked away, leaving a befuddled Rodger in search of his friends and a bottle of rum.

By the time he'd gathered everyone, each boy had gotten his card. "Okay, do we open them?" Lance asked.

"I've lowkey already opened mine," Tony confessed.

"What is it?"

"Well, tell me yours first."

Rodger let out a small huff. "Okay, the rest of us open on the count of three, then we all say it. One, two, three."

There was a brief pause as everyone opened their envelopes and took in the challenge being presented to them.

"Alright," said Tony, "Mine is to make a dessert from scratch and bring it to my brother before midnight."

"Seriously? That's it?" balked Kevan. "Mine is to 'accidentally' post a dick pic on my Story and leave it up for 10 minutes!"

Lance let out a low whistle. "Jesus. That sucks. Mine is to build a popsicle stick bridge that can support a 15-pound weight."

"Yours must be an engineering major," mused Tony.

"Rodge," asked Kevan, "what's yours?"

Rodger was looking at his card in disbelief, wondering if it was a joke or a mistake. "Mine just says, 'Give me a bath.'"

"Holy shit," said Lance. "These really run the gamut, huh?"

"Okay, but Rodger's is definitely the weirdest," Kevan frowned.

"I'm sure it's just a troll. I'll get there and it'll be something dumb," was all Rodger could think to say. Truthfully, his mind hadn't stopped spinning since reading his Task. He was supposed to bathe Oliver, and it was his own brother's idea? Why did Aaron think this would be a good Task for him? Rodger felt butterflies begin to flutter.

The boys downed two shots of rum each and continued to partake. They played beer pong with some brothers, chatted with the other pledges, and drank plenty more rum. The darty went on for longer than anyone anticipated. Around 8 p.m., the brothers shut everything down -- the pledges now had four hours now to complete their tasks. Most of the boys scrambled out of the yard, off to complete various challenges. Rodger had heard some of the other Tasks: skinny dip in the fountain in the main quad; find an entrance to one of the school's old underground tunnels; hook up with someone and bring proof.

Lance and Tony went to head to the market to get supplies for their tasks; Kevan set about to find the most strategic time to post his nudes on main. Rodger waited until almost everyone had left, and crept into the frat house.

Rodger knew there were no bathrooms with bathtubs on the ground floor, so he headed upstairs. Sure enough, there was a single light shining through a door in the hallway. Rodger heard running water.

The bathroom hadn't been updated since the 70s -- avocado green fixtures and checkered tile to match. Oliver sat on the rim of the tub, wrapped in just a towel. Rodger stepped into the bathroom and shut the door.

"What is this about, man?" Rodger asked. "Are you and Aaron pranking me or something?"

Oliver gave a gentle smile. "No, Rodger -- your brother thought this would be good for you. I guess he's had a hunch you might have some... feelings about boys... and this is a chance for you to explore it safely. I'm gonna get in the tub, you're gonna get to know my body and decide if you want to fuck it or not."

Rodger had been preparing to protest, but was taken aback by Oliver's matter-of-fatness. "Are you gay?" was all he could think to say.

"I'm whatever," Oliver shrugged, rising from his perch. With a wiggle of his eyebrow, he unwrapped his towel from around his waist. His rich olive skin was the same golden tan all over his body, save for a thin bikini line. His manhood was impressive -- cut, just about four inches soft, but massive in girth -- his whole body untrimmed, including a wild bush surrounding his meaty cock. His compact stature made his dick look even bigger in comparison; he had the overall impression of a sexy caveman.

Oliver settled into the bath and Rodger knelt next to the tub. He grabbed a large sponge from the rim and squirted some body wash on it. Timidly, he moved to wash Oliver's firm chest, matted in fine tawny strands. He was conscious, as he moved the sponge in tight circles, that the center of pressure was being exerted over his nipples. Oliver couldn't help but let out a light sigh of pleasure.

Rodger went through the motions of washing Oliver's arms and armpits, legs and feet, before returning to what he really wanted to scrub. Starting slowly over his belly, Rodger closed his eyes and thought about Zach Wu's tiny exposed dick, the tiny glimpse of Kevan's ballsack as his boner peeled back his jock. Aaron had been right after all -- Rodger did like cocks. He wasn't ready to admit it to the world, but he was willing to admit it to Oliver.

He dragged the sudsy sponge down into Oliver's crotch, patting coyly at his dick and balls. When he pulled away for a moment, he noticed the cock had grown even larger. Now six inches and thicker still, his cock stuck slightly above the water.

Rodger was hypnotized. "Oliver," he asked, "is it okay if I stroke it?"

Oliver nodded. Gingerly, Rodger grabbed the big shaft and started sliding his hand up and down. The fingertips of his large hands barely touched around the girth of the cock. Fully erect, he was easily seven inches. It was unlike anything Rodger had ever seen. He felt the low pulses in Oliver's cock as it reacted in pleasure, growing to full mast and dribbling precum.

"Do you want to suck it?" Oliver asked.

Rodger nodded as Oliver stood up, water and suds dripping off him. His raging boner was pointed straight at Rodger's mouth, which hesitantly opened. Rodger licked the head of Oliver's cock, then moved on to his shaft, and his low-hanging balls. He smelled like rosewater from the bath, and tasted salty, like seaside air. Rodger took Oliver's dick into his mouth, slowly swallowing him deeper and deeper until he was gliding along Oliver's impressive length. As Rodger got into the rhythm, greedily taking in Oliver's dick, his whole body began to react in pleasure. He felt a tingling in his spine, and an urge deep in his guts. Rodger was close to asking Oliver to fuck him -- he was becoming insatiable.