Stories | Bingo’s Lair

The Frat Boys

One of the things I hated about school was that I couldn’t dress up. I had to wear a certain kind of dress, wear a certain kind of shoes and I think if they could have gotten away with it, gloves and a hat, one of those stupid round white affairs. Anyway, I like to dress up, dress down or entirely do without. That’s one reason I like to spend time with Jim and his housemates. They liked a girl who had style. That I also liked sex didn’t diminish me in their minds.

Naked is one thing. It does seem to get things started, but what gets the boys really going is creative costuming and a bit of theater. For instance, wearing a man’s white shirt, one that is too big. It just gets everyone worked up knowing I have nothing on underneath, even if they are not seeing a lot.

I live in a small midwestern college town but there is a great second hand shop around here. So I keep my room at Jim’s filled with a generous array of accessories — a lace shawl, a nice old summer dress with a large floral print that looks great unbuttoned, scarves, shoes, gloves, you get the idea. Today I was decked out in a smashing combo — a burgundy smoking jacket and a pair of sixty-year-old black silk stockings, you know the ones with the interesting woven patterns certain ladies used to wear. They came from Andy’s; I can’t imagine anyone wearing them together, anyway not quite the way I do.

Jim’s house isn’t big — the largest room (we called it up front), some rooms used as bedrooms, a bathroom and kitchen. I was sitting up front with Jim, Bill and Mark lounging with my wine (in a fruit glass, wineglasses were frowned upon here). I was sitting as prim as I was able on one of the old couches, my knees slightly apart and my legs crossed, one propped on the other, as I thought Playboy Hugh would do it. We were talking about art and life and I was starting to think a little about the summer to come before my senior year of high school. My life was filled with great expectations now; just a few months ago, before meeting Jim, it had a quality of desperation about it. One’s view of one’s self isn’t too high when one finds one under the bleachers during a football game having sex with a horde of guys. I mean I absolutely loathe football and I never quite worked up to a horde. Unfortunately three or four at best, usually just one and none were exceptional, it was cold, and just at the worst moment someone above in the screaming mass in the stands would spill their drink. Imagine, getting that excited over football.

So anyway, I met Jim at the college library, we liked the same music and books, he enjoyed having me over. We were having a great time in bed. Things got even better when Mark and Bill were invited to join in. I have my own room here and a chance to play dress up.

Jim and his housemates had other college friends over now and again or a party and I got to meet more guys, some neat some not, and even nice girls like Jenny who were fun to be around. Pretty soon I was working up to a horde. Bit by bit I was getting there.

Which brings me to Mark. Mark was telling me about his friend Simon who had been over last weekend. “Was that the one with the dark, curly hair?” I asked.

“No, he’s blond, a frat boy — white pants, sports jacket, tie. He’s not bad, he was just brought up strange.”

I understood, being brought up strange myself. I mean whoever would name their daughter Chastity?

“Simon was taken by you,” Mark said.

“Taken? Funny, I don’t remember going anywhere. I believe I was flat on my back in my room with rheumatiz.”

Jim laughed and said, “Rheumatiz, pestilence, pox, disease, soreness, and, if I remember correctly, every other guy at the party, including Simon.”

I jumped up and stared at him in shock, my hands on my hips, the jacket falling open at the neck just a little bit. “You don’t mean that those boys were taking advantage of me while I was under the weather.”

“I forgot, and weather, too.”

Bill chuckled. “Weather was at least twice.”

“Gosh.” I slumped back down on the couch, letting the jacket ride up. “Double gosh.”

“I’d say Simon thought you were at least a triple wowie.”

“Well, that’s OK then.” I calmed down a bit and took another sip of wine. “How do you like these silk stockings I found at Andy’s Wednesday.” I thrust out my legs and wiggled my toes. “And Simon was saying?”

“Simon says,” Mark said and everyone started to laugh. “Simon was saying that his fraternity was having a party this weekend and wanted to know if you’d come over.”

“Me?” I said. “Does he know I don’t guzzle beer and I don’t like sports?”

“He was thinking, knowing all the time that he and his friends were under a heavy cloud of disfavor, that . . .”

I knew that Mark was beating about the bush. I mean fraternity guys, the lowest of the low. “That I like to screw.”

“Yes.”

“And that I was willing to screw just about anyone.”

“He was hoping so.”

Ye gods, maybe sweet Chastity the pirate queen would meet her horde at last. “I don’t know. The way they dress, I mean, my God.”

Mark said, “Simon knows about the heavy cloud of disfavor.”

“And.”

“He was hoping the brightness of your aspect would dispel all gloom from the event.”

“And?” I put down my glass.

Mark, Jim and Bill started to squirm a little. I knew them too well not to know there wasn’t another and in there.

Jim said, “Well to be honest, if you go to the party, they’ll bring over four cases of wine, something drinkable he said, not swill.”

“As if they’d know.” I was getting haughty and thrust my hands in my jacket and spread them a little. “How many are in this festive band of brothers, this glorious group of future CPA’s and bank presidents?” I gave the jacket a twist.

“Eight brothers, but they are expecting about twenty-five or thirty or so Saturday night.”

My eyes started to swim with tears. “The indignity of it.”

“About half will be girl friends,” Mark said.

“Oh.” Not quite the horde I’d thought. “And what will the dress code be?”

“Anything you want. They’re expecting something arty from this bunch. We listen to jazz and folk music, you know.”

“I imagine there will be something positively medieval like Glenn Miller tunes.”

“Sorry, no band.”

Double damn. Oh well. “OK, I guess I’ll go. I’ll think about something special to wear, an extra special get up for their do.” I slumped my shoulders. I just about had the jacket up above my crotch and my legs were open with the toes tapping. “OK. OK.”

“You’ll do it?” Mark was relieved. Jim and Bill were starting to sit back.

Four cases of wine. I’d show them how much I was worth. “How about you drop me off there Friday around five and pick me up Sunday at three — I’ll be on a Girl Scout campout. Yewwww, baked beans all weekend.” Maybe not a horde, but still there was potential here, I thought.

They blanched a little. This was going to hurt, but I knew a bit of austerity would be good for their souls.

I reached past Bill and grasped the empty wine bottle. “How about I show you boys how a girl finds a bit of solace in the bottle?”

* * *

They dropped me off on Friday — Simon was waiting outside the door of the fraternity house with a huge smile on his face. He was almost cute.

I left the guys with a wave, “Be back Sunday for me at three,” and walked up the steps in high heels and London Fog coat from my collection. Underneath I wore red stockings and garter belt along with a doctored pair of black panties and bra. I’d left the support materials but had trimmed away almost all of the lacy fabric. I’d painted my crotch area and breasts with brightly colored alchemical symbols. Jim, Bill and Mark had done my butt with more of the same. The paint was water-soluble and I was hoping for some interesting smears as the evening progressed. I had a small bag with things to perk up the party Saturday if it started to get slow, some cans of whipped cream and a camera with extra film and flash bulbs as well as an assortment of scarves, gloves and a fancy apron for breakfast.

Simon just about fell over when I gave him a wicked grin and opened my coat to give a quick flash. “Let’s go in. We won’t have to guzzle beer will we?”

Simon stammered no and flung open the door waving me inside, “Anything you want, we’ll get for you — anything.”

I had fun that weekend, though those fellows just didn’t eat right. They had no stamina. I mean they were into sports and everything, they should know better. It was only a mini horde at best but I’m not complaining. I got to know some guys that frankly otherwise I wouldn’t be caught dead with normally. Found them OK, generous, and almost sprightly except for their affliction of being brought up strange, which I’m coming to believe we all suffer. Jim, Mark and Bill picked me up a bit promptly (hoping for some reward no doubt) at fifteen to three Sunday, and those guys are never on time.

We made it back to Jim’s place. I think we almost ran all the way. “Gosh, I missed you guys,” I said.

“We surely missed you,” Jim said, wrapping his arm around my waist. I still had the London Fog on, but left the high heels, undergarments and gloves behind as momentoes for the frat boys to practice their strange rites over. Instead I was wearing a sensible pair of deck shoes.

We got to the house and I dropped my coat and bag off as Jim opened the door. We all rushed in but we didn’t make it all the way back to my room before our trauma of separation changed into something more joyful.

It wasn’t until later I saw the six cases of wine, six the dears, and a large bouquet of roses. Oh those dears.

 

 

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