How I [F]19 became a ‘frat rat’ – Part 1: getting fingered by a frat guy

Hello story-horny people of gonewildstories! You might remember me as the person who matched with her former student on Tinder and slept with him. I’m back today to begin telling you a story from my college years. There’s a lot of ups and downs emotionally here for me, and it was difficult writing this up. It was difficult writing the last few stories too. Fuck, why do sex and feelings have to be involved with one another? Pain in the ass if you ask me, and not the good kind.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy part one of this multi-part story!

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In my experience, not a lot of people know about ‘frat rats.’ Urban Dictionary—a totally nonbiased and trustworthy source of information—describes a frat rat as: “A girl that spends exorbitant amounts of
time at a frat house, usually with the intent to slut it up with one or more of the fraternity brothers.”

Alternate definition: “A girl that fucks a different frat guy every week.”

Either way, I think you get the gist of what a frat rat is. It can vary based on who’s calling you one, and it’s not necessarily a term you want associated with yourself. Not necessarily a term of endearment. However, it was a term used to describe me in my freshman and sophomore years of college. And I, lonely and friendless as I was, relished being called one.

The story, and my slow descension to a beloved ‘frat rat’ starts in the second semester of my freshman year of college. My first semester, since I was going to school close to home, I stayed with my parents to save on costs. However, as I was developing my academic knowledge I was also developing a predilection for drinking, something I was far too young and, in my parent’s eyes, far too innocent to do. Instead of trying to hide my drunkenness right under their noses, I made the decision my second semester to stay on campus in the dormitories, where I would not have to moderate myself.

Once on campus, I lived in a coed dorm with a roommate we’ll call Veronica. Veronica, and I were close friends from the get-go. We were both homebodies who weren’t super interested in partying, but who were very interested in drinking. Our little fridge, which we kept hidden underneath her stilt bed, was typically filled with cheap beer and, occasionally, when we could scrounge the money to pay one of our older compatriots, tequila, vodka, and rum.

Veronica’s older brother Michael—two years our senior—also went to the same college. With our fondness for drinking, Veronica and I would have special nights in the dorm where just the two of us, or three if Michael came over, would set up a movie on a crappy little projector, decorate the floor with cushions and pillows, and drink until we were all so hammered we couldn’t walk straight. Often times we would fall asleep after the movie, lying there on the cushioned floor, the two or three of us passed out next to one another.

This was how I spent my first couple of months living at college: perpetually drunk and staying in. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t have an impact on my grades, my finances, and my ability to make friends. There was also one teensy little problem.

I had a huge, devilish crush on Veronica’s older brother, Michael.

He was handsome and suave, not to mention older than me, which made him all the more enticing. He had a square jaw that sported a dark black beard, sharp brown eyes, and luscious brown skin that I loved to touch whenever I got the chance.

We probably couldn’t have looked any more different, me with my pale, sun-starved skin that held a perpetual blush in my cheeks, my green eyes, and my consistently dyed red hair.

I don’t know if, at the time, he had any intention of trying to sleep with me or not. I’m not sure he knew either. I suppose if he had wanted to, he could have invited me over to his place at any time. Michael, you see, was in a fraternity and lived at the frat house.

Delta Beta Phi, name changed for anonymity’s sake, was NOT an academic fraternity for the intellectuals on campus. I didn’t know much about fraternities, but what I gleaned from Michael was this: there was a lot of drinking involved, a lot of video gaming, and a lot of parties at the frat house. None of this, aside from the drinking, really sounded interesting to me, so I relegated the thought of fraternities to the back of my mind.

That is until one night when Michael came over, smuggling us some vodka in his backpack. Veronica loved to drink hers with cranberry juice and sip, but Michael and I would mix our New Amsterdam with orange juice and down it as fast as possible. It resulted in us getting far drunker and far gigglier than Veronica early in the evening. Once I had gotten good and drunk, Michael started to speak.

“Why don’t you girls get out more,” he says, snapping me into the moment. I was daydreaming about kissing him. Probably. He had great, full lips for kissing, and I thought about them a lot back then.

“What?” I say, stretching to turn down the volume on whatever crap movie we have playing. Probably Pretty Woman or Pride and Prejudice, my go-to tipsy romantic movies. I’m too drunk to care if Veronica’s watching as I smack the keys on the computer. I want to hear Michael talk. I always want to hear Michael talk. His voice is deep like thunder.

“You’re fun, but you don’t ever do anything fun,” he says, looking at the movie and scoffing before taking another gulp of his screwdriver.

“Drinking’s fun,” I contest before adding, “and we’re fun. How dare you imply we’re not.”

“I literally said you were fun.”

“Ha, he’s fucking got you there,” says Veronica, only slightly tipsy.

“Shut up. Both of you can just shut up. I’m fun and there’s nothing you can say that’ll change that.” Oh god. Looking back, I was such a drunken mess it’s embarrassing, but Michael only smiles at me and chuckles into his cup.

“When was the last time you two went out to a party, or even thought about going out to a party? This is college, you gotta live it up a little, and sitting in your dorm watching fucking Pretty Woman doesn’t count,” he sneers.

I shake my head and stick out my tongue. “Parties are gross.”

“How so?”

“Because people are gross,” I argue. “They’re sweaty and terrible at talking and too touchy.”

Michael stares at me. “How many parties have you gone to in your life?”

“Dozens,” I say, leaning in closer to Michael.

“Liar,” he says, pushing forward so we’re in one another’s face. “You’re a shit liar, Chloe.”

“Fine,” I say, throwing my hands in the air, acquiescing but really just trying to get away from Michael’s face so I don’t accidentally kiss him. “I’ve been to maybe four or five.”

“And those were all high school parties. You’ve never been to a real college party.”

“And those are different?” I ask, downing the rest of my drink. “Less sucky?”

“No, they suck pretty much the same,” admits Michael, mirroring me and baring his teeth as he swallows. “But the only time you can experience a college party is when you’re at college. Think of it as a rite of passage.”

“And that’ll make the people less ass-grabby? I hate the ass grabbing,” I say, getting to my knees and going for more alcohol.

“I make no promises, especially with an ass as cute as yours.” I freeze, fully, soberly aware that my butt is sticking up in the air and in the general vicinity of Michael’s face, short shorts the only thing
between his eyes and my skin. I look at Veronica and give her a wicked grin before wiggling my hips.

“I can’t help the fact that I have a sweet little ass,” I say, and I hear Michael laughing behind me. Veronica scoffs and shakes her head at me.

“If you two are going to fuck, just get it done already, preferable where I can’t see or hear it.” I’d told her about my crush on Michael once when we were drunk and she seemed okay with it, so I assume she isn’t being entirely facetious.

Michael starts howling with laughter before managing to stammer out, “In your dreams, sis. I don’t know why you’re dreaming about your brother fucking your roommate though. Seems weird to me.”

Ugh, men are clueless.

“Tell you what,” says Michael as I pour my drink and settle back in next to him. “Come to the party at the frat this weekend. I can get you in, no sweat. Consider it your payment for the booze I’ve been bringing you this semester. You’ll have fun! Plus, I’ll be there to stop any ‘ass-grabery’ that may or may not take place.”

I pout at Michael. “Aww, I didn’t say I don’t like ass-grabbing,” I tease.

Michael cocks his head in confusion. “I thought you did say that though?”

Yep, men are clueless.

“Fine, Mikey,” says Veronica, tired of this conversation and desperately wanting to get back to the movie. “We’ll go.”

“Yeah,” I mirror, not wanting to seem uncool to Michael. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? You’ll be there to protect us,” I say, practically fawning all over him.

*****

That night, after Michael has gone home and Veronica has fallen into a drunken sleep, I stumble down the hallway towards the showers, barely concealing a suction cup dildo in my mesh toiletries kit. Luckily for me, nobody is up and about, so I slip into the bathroom and head for a shower stall without any fuss.

I flip on the water, let it run over my naked back, and relaxation overtakes me. Still, I’m horny, and I plant the suction cup end of the dildo on the wall about hip height before getting down on my knees to suck on it. I give the silicon thing a sloppy, drunken blowjob before standing up. Spit’s dripping from my mouth as I turn around. Bending over, I push up against it, guiding the dildo into my pussy.

“Ah fuck, that’s what I need,” I moan, knowing nobody can hear me. “I’ve been a slutty girl, Michael, and I want your cock.” I start rocking back and forth, letting the dildo fuck me as I pretend that it’s Veronica’s older brother. I slap my ass hard enough to leave red marks a couple of times until I’m close to finishing. Alcohol, I learned early on, does wonders for my ‘time to orgasm.’ I quiver and cry out in the shower, holding a hand up to my mouth and sucking on a finger, biting down on the flesh as wave after wave of pleasure surges through me. I imagine Michael pulling out and covering my back in his cum, whispering to me what a sweet, good girl I am.

And then, as suddenly as I was on my feet, whoring it up in the public shower, I’m on the ground, my arms wrapped around me as the water blasts my side.

I’m crying, for a lot of reasons. Though alcohol does wonders for my libido, it also manages to fuck with my sense of self-worth, and as I lie there, I’m berating myself for sitting in my dorm room every night with Veronica. For having almost no friends. And then I’m telling myself I’m a pathetic loser for worshiping a dildo and pretending it’s Michael instead of going out and getting what I want. My mind kicks me while I’m down, and the tears flow until the water gets cold.

I get up and turn the handle for the showerhead so it actually produces some hot water and I finish cleaning myself and the dildo, popping it back in my bag, trying not to look at it.

“You’re an idiot,” I mutter to myself. “An idiot with no friends.”

Turning the shower off, I climb back into my clothes and wander through the hallway with my eyes half closed, returning to my room and falling into bed.

*****

While some people might have turned that moment in the shower into a kind of revelation, I didn’t. Two nights later, I’m drunk again, and Mikey is excitedly ranting about college frat parties. Veronica tries to get him to shut up, but she winds up falling asleep instead, passed out on the pillows with a closed bottle of vodka in her hand. Michael turns all his attention to me, and I have to swallow a lot more alcohol to make myself comfortable.

I’m all smiles as he’s talking about his frat brothers. He names a bunch, and I nod like I’ve registered a single one of their names. I do learn, however, that Delta Beta Phi has forty-one members, twenty-two of which live in the frat house. It’s a literal mancave, and soon I’ll be jumping into the belly of the beast. Unnerving, to say the least.

Michael grabs my hand and starts playing with it as I’m guzzling down another cup, and I almost choke on what I’m swallowing. Sputtering, coughing, I push the cup away from me and look to my hand, which he’s drawing circles on with his index finger, suddenly gone quiet.

“Everything okay?” I say, giving him the faintest of smiles, trying to hide my churning stomach.

He looks up into my eyes, lying there on his side, and he doesn’t smile. He’s searching for something in my face, his eyes darting around, until eventually he shakes his head, like he couldn’t find it. “Everything’s fine,” he mutters, staring at my hand now. And then he breathes in like he wants to say something, but he shakes his head again and nothing comes out.

“Wow,” I say, trying to force the blush in my cheeks down and out of my system, “that was super convincing, dude.” I pause for a moment before breathing in myself, worried that I’m going to say more than I should. “You know, I broke down in the shower a couple of days ago,” I finally say. Michael looks up at me with concern sharpening his face, a frown on his beautiful lips.

“What?” he says. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it was over… something stupid. Point is, if there was anything you needed to get off your chest, maybe you could talk to me about it? I mean, I’m a fucking mess, so maybe I can relate? Or at least we can be miserable together?” Every word I say is unsure, like I have no clue what I’m doing. And in truth, I don’t. I have no idea what my end goal here is. Telling the guy I like that I’m an emotional mess is probably the stupidest thing I could do, but here I am, being an idiot regardless.

Michael laughs and closes his hand around mine. “I’m a little miserable, but… well, there might be a way you could help me, actually.”

“Anything,” I blurt out way too quickly, leaning forward and looking at him intensely. In this moment I feel there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for Michael. I wonder then if he can read the desire on my face. The poignant fact that I want nothing more than to envelop him in my arms and kiss him, to have him be mine and nobody else’s.

He looks away, sheepishly, which was a look I didn’t know he could have, before he glances back up at me and eyes my lips. He says, “Come here,” and I have to struggle not to launch myself at him. My mind is racing and my hormones are running wild as I lean towards Michael, who lets go of my hand to take me by the back of my neck, pulling me in and kissing me. His beard pricks me, but it’s the sensation of his lips touching mine which sends shivers down my spine and causes me to shake. His kiss isn’t short either, and he lingers for what should feel like an eternity, but for me passes too quickly.

He pulls back and looks at my face once more, and my blush has turned from light pink to a dark, ‘somebody check to make sure that girl is alright’ red.

“Michael,” I whisper, looking over to Veronica and thinking about what I’m prepared to do tonight. How far I’m willing to go. “You—you kissed me.”

“Obviously,” he says, a slight smile passing onto his face. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while now, dork.” And he leans down, nuzzling his nose against mine. I relish the feeling of our faces touching, his warm skin touching me. I press forward, wanting more, and my lips part as I make contact with his, the hand that’s not pushing me forward gripping his arm. He gives a gruff laugh through our kissing that reverberates through my chest and sends my heart into a panic. My breathing shallows and my stomach rumbles, rolling over and over in my gut.

Michael starts getting aggressive in our making out as his tongue plays with mine, and I struggle to keep up. His hand leaves my neck and runs down the length of my body, brushing bare skin where my shirt’s ridden up. His hand lingers on my hip, a light squeeze given, before laying across my ass,
caressing the fabric.

“Veronica’s right over there,” I mutter between breaths. “Your sister is right over there, asleep.”

“Please, keep mentioning my younger sister. That’s totally not a mood killer right now,” he teases, biting my bottom lip and knocking his forehead into mine.

“Hey,” I say, “I don’t know what weird kinks you might have. Don’t blame a girl for being cautious.”

“Okay. I don’t blame a girl for being cautious.”

We sit there, not kissing but close enough that we could. I’m so aware that I could continue kissing him, and both of us are breathing heavily. My eyes open and give their best sultry look to Michael. His voice is deep and husky as he whispers to me, a rumble on the horizon. “Turn onto your back,” he commands, releasing my ass and pushing my left hip over.

I readjust so that I’m comfortably resting, sitting up slightly against the pillows and cushions behind me. Both of my hands are free now, and I reach out to him, gripping his shirt and face, bringing him in for another kiss. Part of me wonders if he’s going to say, “consequences be damned,” and take me right then and there. Just rip off my pants as his sister lies asleep next to us and go to town on me. I wonder if I’d mind that outcome.

But he doesn’t rip off my shorts and go to town on me. Michael starts rubbing my stomach as he plants kisses along the side of my face before his hand slips behind the fabric of my shorts, underneath my panties, and I gasp as he brushes past my clitoris.

“Michael,” I whisper into his ear, wrapping my arms around his body and pulling him in tighter as his wandering fingers start making subtle, quick movements around my vulva. He touches me tenderly, carefully, and I didn’t know his fingers were capable of such slight movements for how big his hands are. I put his earlobe between my teeth as he mumbles something I can’t hear, pushing past my labia and sticking a single finger slowly into my pussy.

He moves his finger back and forth inside of me as I gently bite down, trying not to moan with his teasing. My left hand falls towards the crotch of pants, struggling to contain his cock, and I unzip him deliberately to keep the noise down.

“You don’t have to,” he says to me between kissing me on the neck and sucking my skin. “Tonight, we can just focus on you.”

“I want to,” I say, working to free his dick from the uncomfortable confines of his underwear. I’ve never had a good idea of Michael’s cock size, despite the fact I’ve stared at his crotch for what’s added up to be far too many hours. But as I finally get ahold of him and pull his penis free, I feel in my hand that he’s not small. His erect cock must be a solid eight inches as I expose it to the air around us and feel it twitch beneath my hand. There’s precum leaking out of his tip, and I put a finger to the bead that’s formed, wiping it off and bringing it to my mouth.

“Fuck, Chloe,” he says, leaning his head back as I start to stroke him from the base of his cock to the tip and back down. I hate that it’s all I can do, but with Michael’s hand in my pants, I can’t spare anything other than my own hand at the moment. It’ll have to do. I’ve given my fair share of crummy handjobs, but they led to me learning how to give fairly good handjobs. I don’t want to proclaim to be an expert at it, but my boyfriends before college who weren’t comfortable going the whole way were certainly happy after I was through with them. I bring my hand to my mouth and lick my fingers and palm before going back to rub him off.

Michael slips another finger into my pussy, and I can tell he’s gradually building up to a crescendo. This can’t be his first rodeo either as his palm slips against my clitoris as he works away down at my crotch. I pull my head back like Michael and glance down at my pants, the fabric undulating as he pulsates his fingers and manipulates my flesh. I start to moan but bring my free hand up to my mouth to stifle it. Biting a finger to give my mouth something to do other than waking up Veronica. Pain shoots through my hand, but it only adds to the sensations that are whirling through my body.

We lie there, me stroking his cock, pointed at an angle between my crotch and the ceiling as he’s on his side, and him fingering me, harder and faster now than before. I thrust my hips up and into his hand as his fingers retract and reenter me. Without saying a word, I practically beg him to fingerfuck me harder. I look over as I relinquish the hold I have on my finger and bring my free hand down to my crotch, laying it over the fabric and his hand, feeling the movement, and I see that Michael’s sweating, pulling in and sucking on his bottom lip, getting closer and closer to the edge.

Part of me wonders if we’re really going to finish like this. Me making a mess of his hand and my pants, his cum shooting through the dorm room, but as I listen to the wet sounds emanating from my nether region as he picks up the pace, I realize I don’t care about the messiness of what’s happening. I don’t even care if Veronica wakes up and catches her brother touching me. All I care about are Michael’s fingers and Michael’s cock.

I turn my head and let it fall towards Michael’s chin, my breathing ragged and uneven. He plants kisses on my head and near-silently moans my name. “Chloe. Chloe. I’m so close,” he whispers, and I readjust myself so that I’m up far enough to kiss him on the lips, sucking on his tongue. If he’s really that close, he doesn’t lose control of his hand, his two fingers pounding in and out of me. It’s the best, most aggressive fingering I’ve experienced, and he bites my lower lip as too much noise escapes my mouth, telling me to be quiet. Veronica shifts on the pillows on her side of the room but doesn’t wake up. The thought of her waking up, however, sends even more tremors through my already shaking body. It’s completely inappropriate and dirty to think about Veronica catching us—even dirtier to get excited by it—but I can’t help it. Something about the taboo has always driven me wild, even if my moral compass keeps my crazy desires in check. Mostly.

I’m peaking now, and I have to move my free hand to cover my mouth as I gasp and shudder. Michael, who has stopped kissing me to focus on trying not to cum, notices me hitting the end of my rope and grins at me. I watch him from under my hand, trying to steady my heart and breathing, as he leans over and whispers into my ear.

“I want you to cum for me, pretty girl,” he says, in a voice designed to scorch me and leave me helpless. I’m hot all over as his words reach my ear, and I can’t stop myself from letting out a nervous, schoolgirl giggle. I feel his cock throb in my hands as I do, and a look of pain passes across his face before he composes himself and leans back down. “Come on,” he whispers, his own breathing rough. “Cum all over my fingers, Chloe. Be a dirty little girl and cum for daddy.”

And I do. Holy shit do I cum.

My legs shake uncontrollably as I’m hit with not a wave but a tsunami of pleasure. I’m lucky there are pillows down to muffle the sounds of my legs violently moving. I bite my tongue to keep myself from shouting out and grip one of the pillows with my free hand. I have to stop stroking Michael for fear that I might vice grip his cock and cause him some sort of damage, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he grins and I clutch the fabric beneath my hands. My head shoots back and my back arches as Michael doesn’t relent. He waits, patiently, his fingers never losing their rhythm, as my body rocks from the
orgasm. I see out of the corner of my eyes that he’s just watching me, hungry, and the want in his eyes forces a second wave to overtake me and rattle me to my core. God, I think. To be looked at like that is heaven.

Slowly, I come down from my peak, and Michael slows his fingers in time with me, like clockwork, as if he and I are perfectly in sync with one another. I breathe through my nose as his fingers pull out of my pussy and circle around my clit playfully. I’m still raw from the orgasm and so his toying with me causes little squeaks which seem to elicit plenty of pleasure on his end. He smiles as he plays with me, his dick throbbing. And it’s only after I’ve stared at his cock for what feels like an eternity, wishing it was inside of me, that I remember what I was in the middle of doing before I finished.

Unsteady, I push myself up into a sitting position on the pillows. Michael must feel as though I’ve had enough torture at this point and pulls his hand out of my pants, his palm and fingers dripping with me. He licks one finger and grins before whispering, “Tastes sweet. No surprise.” I giggle and pull his hand halfway towards my mouth before he gets the idea and, of his own volition, pushes his fingers between my lips.

“God, you are a dirty little girl, aren’t you?” he whispers as I grab his cock once more and stroke him, closing my eyes and tasting myself on his wonderous, amazing fingers.

Though he’s calmed down a bit, it doesn’t take long for me to work Michael back up to where I had him when we were pleasuring one another. He bites his own lip again and squeezes his eyes shut as I suck on his thumb—his other fingers, having been licked clean, caressing my cheek.

His precum has gotten sticky on my hand as I work his cock’s head and shaft, and I take my other hand and wrap it around his head, holding him. “Cum for me, dirty boy,” I say, mirroring his words from earlier, unable to stifle a grin as the words leave my mouth. “Cum for mama.” Michael grunts
and I can tell he’s trying to stop himself from cumming again, but my words and my touch are enough to force him past his own walls. He says my name once, “Chloe,” before I feel the hard throb of his cock as he starts to orgasm. A long strand of cum shoots over me and onto the pillows beside my legs, but I turn his cock as I stroke him vigorously and aim him at my chest. Tossing a shirt into the wash will be easier than cleaning cum off a mess of pillows, I tell myself.

He fires off several more volleys of cum, hitting me on the breasts, and I wish they were exposed so he could have something to look at and admire. Then I notice his eyes open as he’s finishing, looking directly into my face, and I feel the redness in my cheeks deepen as his hips buck and another strand of cum lands on my shirt.

When he’s calmed down, what’s left of his cum dribbles out onto my hand, and I catch it in my palm before bringing it to my mouth and licking it off. His breathing is hard and there’s a slight moan to it as his cock goes limp. I fall back onto the pillows, tasting his cum off my fingers. It doesn’t taste particularly good, but I’ve found that cum almost never does. It’s about the experience of eating it, not the taste. And this is Michael’s cum. I smile as I look over to him, tucking his cock back into his pants. He fumbles, hands shaky, with the zipper, before looking at me again and laughing, leaning over and down to kiss me.

I wrap my arms around his head and pull him in silently, and I think there’s no way life could get any better.

*****

The week fades into the past and Michael doesn’t come over for another movie night, but as the time flies by me I linger, in my sober moments, on the fact that Michael fingered me. In those moments where my thinking isn’t impaired, I feel like floating, or dancing, or shouting to the world that the guy I’m crushing on fingered me. That I jerked him off. That he kissed me like he loved me and looked at me like he needed me. Back then, I wanted to be needed. Needed to be needed. It was a compulsion I couldn’t shake, and it drove me to do stupid, desperate things for attention.

I try not to tell Veronica about that night, but I think she understands at least something happened between us. Perhaps she smelled sex when she woke up from the pillows. Perhaps she noticed the smile on Michael’s face or the glow in my cheeks as we lay there, resting, me having changed my shirt. I don’t know. But either way, she doesn’t say anything. She’s a hell of a roommate.

In my sober moments I also become acutely aware that I agreed to go to a college frat party, and I wonder to myself what the hell is wrong with me.

I want to see Michael again, but I still find myself talking to Veronica about backing out. I’m not a super social person to begin with, and parties get my hackles up in a way I’m not comfortable with. Something about all the people crammed into too small of a place with loud music blaring makes me feel miserable. But Veronica pulls the ‘if I’m going, you’re going’ card, and I feel stuck. You can’t do your roommate wrong by calling in sick when she needs you, especially after you’ve given a handjob to her brother, and so I resign myself to the fact that I’m going to a frat party.

Perhaps it won’t be all bad though, I think. Michael lives at this place, and if there was ever a chance for me to climb my way into his pants for a real fuck, this would be the venue. I put on some makeup: crimson lipstick in sync with my hair and black eyeliner resting above my eyes. And then I hop into some short shorts—my pants of choice in any situation—and a loose t-shirt that shows a shoulder and a bra strap depending on how it’s sitting.

Veronica puts on some amazing golden eyeshadow and some tight jeans with a crop top, and I can’t help but tell her how beautiful she looks.

“Well, we’re going into the man cave. Might as well look good. Who knows what we might come away with?” she teases, knowing exactly what I want to come away with. Or who I want cumming with me again.

We get to the frat house about thirty minutes after eight, and the music is already blaring into the street. Veronica texts her brother who meets us at the door so there’s no question that we get in, though I doubt two good-looking freshman girls would have had trouble anyways. Though I’m ecstatic to see Michael, I’m sort of pissed off as we walk into the house, unhappy with the atmosphere that I know is to come. But as I step through the door I get significantly more pissed off as it’s somehow worse than I imagined. To my immediate left, people are dancing, all mashed together and grinding on one another, and to my immediate right people are standing around, moving to the music, and trying to scream their conversations over one another. It’s like hell for me, and I do my best to shut out the overstimulation as I follow Veronica and her brother deeper into the house.

There’s some kind of alcoholic concoction laid out and I don’t ask questions before I struggle to get a cup and start drinking. Michael sees me and comes over, leaning down towards my ear and whispering, “Hey pretty girl. Don’t get too fucked up.”

I stick my tongue out at him before gulping down the first of many drinks as I settle in near the back of the room. For a few moments, I consider just leaving, but I don’t want to do that to Veronica. You don’t leave a roommate behind, even if she seems to quickly forget about you and wanders off
somewhere. To my disappointment, Michael has also just up and disappeared. Great, my plan is going wonderfully. I sip my drink quietly and let the alcohol take me to a happier place.

To my surprise, I eventually start moving to the music and smiling, off in my own little world, when a guy comes over to me and gets uncomfortably close so I can’t move without touching him, and my mellow is broken.

“What’s up?” he shouts at me over the music.

He’s wearing a Delta Beta Phi baseball cap and so I assume he’s fraternity as I shrug my shoulders and mutter a terse, “Just trying to chill.”

“I can respect that,” he says, grinning at me. His face is all stubble and he’s got a big build, but he’s not unattractive. “Kind of a difficult place to chill at, though. Probably should have picked someplace
quieter. I haven’t seen you around before.”

“That’s because this is my first frat party,” I say.

“Oh shit! No kidding? Well, congrats and let me welcome you. Did you come here with someone or are you just toughing it out alone?”

“Came here with my roommate,” I say, finding Veronica in the distance and pointing to her. He tries to look but probably can’t tell who she is amongst the other girls. “We’re Michael’s friends.”

“Okay, okay!” he says, nodding at me. “That’s awesome. Well, I’m Scott. It’s a pleasure to meet some of Mikey’s friends.” He sticks out a hand and I shake it, noticing how small my hands are in comparison to his. Wondering if all of him is proportioned this way.

“I’m Chloe. Speaking of, have you seen Michael around?” I say, realizing I’ve been completely thrown off my primary goal of bedding Michael by the uncomfortableness of the party.

“Last I saw, he was in the kitchen, but he might have moved by now. Can I get you anything? Refill your drink?”

“No thank you,” I say politely, smiling, knowing better than to give my drink to a strange man. “It’s been lovely talking to you Scott, but I’m going to go find Michael now.”

“Alright!” he says, and I can see he’s slightly disappointed, but he smiles at me regardless. “I’ll see you around. Chloe, right?”

I nod and grin at him before squeezing through the packed house and making a beeline towards what I think is the kitchen. I’ve never been in here before, and so I don’t know the floorplan at all. The room I enter is large and, shocker, packed with people. Me not being the tallest person ever, it’s hard to see around the crowd to find Michael. I push through several more people, excusing myself along the way, until I come to the kitchen island in the middle of the room.

I set my drink down for a second and take a few deep breaths to try and center myself before it hits my ears.

“Fucking Mikey!” someone yells to my left, and I crane my head to look over in the direction of the voice.

And what I see breaks my young, stupid heart.

Michael is standing at the edge of the room, almost in the doorway to the dining area, making out with a beautiful girl I’ve never seen before, groping her breast with one hand and her ass with the other. One of her legs is up and wrapped around him. Some frat guy is pointing at him and
laughing hard, drunk off his ass. I watch them for a minute, but the kissing, and touching, doesn’t stop.

“Fucking Mikey,” I say quietly as I grab my drink again and turn to head back into the living area. I want to find Veronica and tell her what’s happened, but as I enter the living room, I see she’s deep in
conversation with some people from her class. They’re people she knows, and I stop in my tracks. It’s then, as I’m watching her laugh that the feeling from the shower washes back over me and I realize something.

Here, at college, I’ve never been more alone in my life.

Spending all my time drinking in my room left me with approximately two friends on campus, Michael and Veronica, but aside from them there’s no one else. No one who I can talk to. No one who I can say is a friend or even an acquaintance. I’ve missed out on so much college life with this terrible habit I’ve formed, and I have nobody to blame but myself.

And then there’s Michael.

I thought… thought the night he touched me had meant something to him. That it had meant anything to him. But apparently not. Here I am, being foolish and delusional. My mind warps and plays tricks on me, catastrophizing events and making me question my self-worth.

What could he possibly see in me, a drunken mess of a 19-year-old, I think? A girl with no prospects for the future who’s perpetually a hair-trigger away from having a nervous breakdown. The thought passes through my head that he just wanted to toy with me for some sick, personal purpose, and as it does everything falls down around me. My mood, which hadn’t been terrible for most of the party, crashes, and I down the rest of my drink as quickly as possible. Tears form at the corners of my eyes and I blink them back, casually wiping my face with a finger. Great, let me be known as the girl who cries at frat parties. That’ll make me friends for sure.

But then I look around at everyone doing their own thing and I think: I’m not going to be making friends anyway.

What do I even have to offer?

​

Okay, shit, that was long and ended on a downer. Sorry. Also, maybe it wasn’t as sexed-up as some people might have liked, but I think it’s important to set up my relationship with Michael and my state of mind before delving into the spicier stuff in part 2, tentatively titled: Group Sex at the Frat Party. It’s there that my decent into frat rat really starts, and I hope you’ll all stop by in several days when I finish writing/editing it!

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ubkevs/how_i_f19_became_a_frat_rat_part_1_getting