Sorority Shenanigans

I tried my best to join a sorority--figuring it would be a great way to meet girls--but never got in. Seems they had a problem with my being male. Clearly a case of gender discrimination.

But my girlfriend Leigh joined a hoity-toity sorority at the elite Sophie Newcomb College at Tulane. These were all high society girls from rich families. There wasn't an ugly one in the bunch, and some were pieces of ass.

She and I wrote letters frequently, and she shared everything about what was going on at college. I still have those letters, and they would make superb material for a book or series of magazine articles.

Anyway, she told me in detail about the things she and her sorority pledges did, and some of them were pretty outrageous, especially considering the sorority's Brahmin image.

Among the more wild things they were encouraged to do (didn't HAVE to, so it was not technically hazing) was have sex with this one guy the sisters chose, then come back and tell all the sisters and pledges in excruciating detail what happened. The goal was to get as many pledges as possible to bed him. The guy turned out to be Allen, one of my best friends from high school! But I did not know that until a few years later, as I'll explain later in the story.

The funniest part about it was that he, of course, was not privy to this grand plan. He is a great guy and still a good friend, but never was a sexually aggressive type looking to make notches in his bedpost. He'd dated the same girl all through high school, and she was his only sexual partner until college. He's also the type who can carry a secret to his grave, and that very well may have played a part in the sisters' selecting him, plus he's a decent looking guy, intellectual though not egg-headed, and has an excellent sense of humor and an easy, laid-back manner.

He had gone to several parties at the sorority house, so he knew quite a few of the girls there, and had his eye on a couple of them, though he'd not yet asked any of them out.

One night he was alone in his dorm studying when one of the sorority pledges he had his eye on came to visit him. She was kind of the ringleader of the pledges, and later became sorority president.

She brought a joint, which they smoked, put on a record, then proceeded to do a striptease. He was flabbergasted! This cute, conservative sorority gal with her perfect hair and teeth dressed in a white blouse, pleated skirt, and little Mary Jane shoes was getting naked without his so much as hinting.

She sucked and fucked him real good, though quite hurriedly, and left with a sardonic smile with him naked on the bed. He said he was pinching himself to make sure it was not a dream. He had a test early the next morning, so he just threw on the clothes he'd had on the night before and boogied, but he could not find his under shorts. Hmmm.

A few nights later, another pledge stopped by with exactly the same routine--joint, record, strip, suck/fuck, leave. When he did his laundry that weekend, he noticed two pair of under shorts missing.

A week or so later when pledge number three fucked him in an upstairs room at that sorority house during a party, he could not find his shorts when he was redressing, so he asked her to help him find them. She pretended to look for them, but he found them just peaking out between the mattress and box springs.

She tried to snatch them from his hands and pleaded he let her have them, claiming they would be a souvenir from "by far the best lover I've ever had." Allen was no dummy, and he was on to what was going on, so he made a deal with her.

"Fine, you can have them, but I want your panties, as well as so-in-so's and so-in-so's (the other two pledges who had fucked him). Further, they must be worn and not fresh from a drawer. I will stay right here with my shorts and your panties until you return with the other two pair."

She tossed him her panties and left, returning with two more pair in less than fifteen minutes. He dutifully sniffed them to ensure their worn status and handed over his white Jockey's.

Before he left the party, he made sure to hug the first two pledges that had fucked him, carefully slipping his hand up the back of their skirts to find them pantyless, so he was satisfied that the panties in his pocket had just come from their little bottoms.

Over the next month or so, four more pledges sought him out for sex. Only with those, he initiated the shorts-for-panties trade himself, which never presented a problem except that he had to ask his mom to send him more shorts, claiming they'd been stolen out of the dryer in the campus laundry room--not the most credible story of all time, as pre-owned men's briefs are not exactly a hot commodity.

My girlfriend said that during their weekly sorority meetings, the pledge(s) who had fucked him that week had to get up in front of the entire sorority and tell what had happened, while wearing nothing but a bra and HIS SHORTS!!! If they did not provide sufficient details, then the big sisters would prompt them with questions like, "Where did he cum?" "In your mouth?" "Did you swallow?" "Why or why not?" "Tell us how he ate your pussy." "What positions did you fuck in?" "Did you cum?" "Why or why not?" And so on. Talk about embarrassing!!! Interestingly, the pledges never revealed the part about their having to give up their own panties for the shorts. Allen furnished me that information.

Then the pledge removed the shorts (sorry, they all had panties on underneath), signed her name with a laundry pen in the waistband, and handed them over to a sister. The sister then crammed each pair of shorts inside its own slit tennis ball, which in turn was hung by a wire from a racquet, spray-painted with the pledge year on its strings, and the whole assembly was hung from the ceiling of the sorority's trophy room.

There were years and years worth of racquets there, each hanging with shorts-stuffed tennis balls representing the number of pledges who had fucked some lucky guy that particular year. According to my girlfriend, the balls looked perfectly normal, and you could not tell they had been slit just enough to get balled-up shorts inside. She said the seven pledges out of a pledge class of about 15 or so that year was about average. Some years were less, some more, and one year all but one pledge had carried out this extraordinary "task."

The most interesting part of this for me was the fact that my girlfriend told me everything EXCEPT who the guy was—you know, it being part of the sworn-to-secrecy, sisters-for-life thing. Leigh knew Allen, and, of course, that we were good buddies, and it was only some years later when he and I got to talking about our college freshmen experiences that he told me the story of the chicks from the same sorority jumping his bones.

His story and my girlfriend's matched precisely, except for the part about the panties, which he told me about. HE WAS THE GUY!!! He just about fell out of his chair when I told him it was all part of an organized sorority effort, and it was a long-standing annual tradition. He said he thought it was just a thing one girl had passed on to another, and that they were collecting his shorts for themselves. He said he remembered seeing the tennis racquets and balls at the sorority house but never gave it a second thought, and he got a real charge out of it when I told him what they really represented.

Allen said he never suspected it was some organized thing by the sorority because there were a number of girls in no way connected with that, or in some cases, any sorority, who sought him out for casual sex. In fact, most of the girls were NOT in that sorority. Apparently, word got around the women at the Tulane campus that Allen was a real nice guy who could eat pussy and fuck real good and never told a soul.

Funniest part of the whole thing? Allen traded shorts for panties with every single one of them!!! When he learned from me that it was ONLY the pledges at my girlfriend's sorority who wanted his shorts, he laughed for five minutes straight. He said some of the girls kind of gave him a funny look when he very matter-of-factly made the shorts-for-panties exchange, but none objected. Hilarious!!!!

Allen saved all the panties, too. We burned them in a bonfire the night before he got married, and I counted 32 pair.

Interestingly, one looked just like the kind my girlfriend used to wear.