The Frat Romance Novel, Part IX: Love From the Chest
The air was crisp and thin with a winter’s bite throughout campus. Violet hated the cold, for she was a free spirit, wont to let her skin feel the atmosphere and be one with her surroundings. When the winter months came she was forced to restrain her considerably endowed body within the wooly, itchy confines of a sweater. Oh how she hated sweaters, the restrainers of God’s large, natural gifts to her. Gifts she in turn was determined to share with the world.
Why God, she wondered, would you give me these glorious mountains of womanhood, meant to be gazed upon in all glory by men as the pioneers once gazed, from their wagons, upon your Rocky Mountains? Should it not rain instead of snow? And should I not be wearing a white t-shirt instead of this thick, woolen cloth?
Despite Violet’s quandary, she was never one to be shy, and was sure to let her caged birds sing through the tight, thin sweaters in which they were imprisoned, and that expression was, ironically, aided by the cold itself, the very warden that kept them locked away.
When Violet was not wandering the campus, shamelessly nipping for the world to admire, she spent her time championing causes large and small, though mostly small, and nearly always useless. Her newest cause, raising money for a conservationist group seeking to protect the almost, sort of, but not really endangered at all arctic narwhal, had brought her to the university’s recreational center.
Violet roamed the rec center with her sweater mercilessly off for once, due to the humidity of the gymnasiums, pools, and weight rooms. She let her breasts and opinions fly free, though most around her only welcomed the former.
“Opinions are like assholes, everyone’s got one. But NOBODY’S got titties like that!” shouted one man on the indoor track as he sprinted away from Violet and her handful of fliers.
She was unsuccessful in garnering any interest in the cause, aside from several gentleman suitors who were more interested in the heaving bosoms bursting from Violet’s tank top than the bleeding heart rhetoric bursting from her conscience. One fraternity gentleman with whom Violet held a long conversation, that she believed to be productive, lost all interest upon learning that “narwhal” was not a, as he put it, “a weird, elvish, GDI euphemism for vaginas.”
Forlorn and discouraged, Violet brought her campaigning to the basketball courts, desperately hoping that this last corner of the rec center would prove fruitful to the noble cause of the narwhal.
Standing on a balcony over the courts, observing the different games, Violet’s eyes were immediately drawn to a contest on the middle court, and in particular one tall, strapping player who was dominating the opposition.
Violet marveled as the player brashly dribbled through and around his competition, shooting and draining unnecessary three pointers, flipping off the defenders left behind him as he completed easy layups, and berating subordinate players for their mistakes.
“Goddammit Hustle Pledge!” the player screamed. “When a ball’s going out of bounds you FUCKING dive for it!”
“But, sir, I was at the top of the key,” Hustle Pledge pleaded. “The ball went across the baseline. There was no way I was going to get to it.”
“Well you’re not gonna know unless you dive, dipshit!”
“Yes sir,” Hustle Pledge replied meekly, rubbing his bruised elbows as he marked up on the opposing player he was tasked to defend.
As the game played out, Violet could not help but shirk her duty to the narwhal and instead watch this brilliant specimen of a man, a creature far more majestic than any horned whale thing could ever hope to be. She was enthralled by the player’s raw athleticism and his complete disregard for sportsmanship.
An official called the player for a flagrant foul. He responded by simply informing the referee that it was Christmastime, and that in the spirit of the holiday he “put a bow on everything.” When the referee refused his argument, the player told the official to “take the whistle out of his mouth and put the dick back in.”
With that the player was ejected from the game. Violet, watching from above, saw her chance to finally interact with this terrifying, devilishly handsome, and intriguing man. But she was already so consumed by her agonizing ecstasy for him that her white knuckled grip on the long, rounded railing in front of her, which tempered her carnal desires as a pacifier would an infant’s yearning to feed, made it nearly impossible for her to move. Usually bold with men, Violet found her timidity alarming, yet erotic.
Drawing in a long, deep breath that caused her mammoth breasts to rise and fall like a great wave, Violet collected herself and hurried down to the first floor. Had she been any more excited whilst racing down those stairs the man behind her would’ve had to traverse her breasts in a barrel, as if they were a waterfall.
As she approached the player, Violet’s heart pounded so intensely that it threatened to burst even through her chest, obscenely ample as it was. The player stood before her, glistening with sweat as if it were an aura of raw athletic dominance. Her mind raced trying to think of something to say. Before she could settle on a suitable introduction her eyes caught the player’s, whose eyes, in turn, caught her breasts.
“Save the narwhal?” Violet asked with great self-loathing at how stupid she sounded.
“What the fuck is that?” the player asked.
“It is a beast from the great north,” Violet replied. “It is almost endangered, near threatened, in fact.”
Violet handed the player a flier, which he wiped his perspiring face with, having not realized that it was in fact a paper, for his eyes were still locked squarely on Violet’s breasts. The player quickly realized his mistake and threw the paper to the ground.
Violet was not offended though. Rather, she was thrilled.
Yes. Look upon my breasts. Are you drawn into them my handsome new gentleman friend? They are yours for the fondling.
“Take another, ‘tis no trouble,” Violet assured him. “I am Violet.”
“Darren,” the player replied while he gave the flier a brief glance, before returning to Violet’s breasts. “The fuck is this thing? Looks like an aborted unicorn fetus.”
Violet giggled at Darren’s crass observation.
“You JEST sir! This creature is very much real, and most certainly not aborted, though perhaps one could make the argument that global warming is the coat hanger to this child of Mother Gaia.”
“OH GOD,” Darren groaned.
Sensing Darren’s annoyance, Violet made a desperate attempt to regain his favor.
“I did not mean for you to grow disinterested sir. I’d much rather grow something more substantial,” Violet said with a coy grin.
“Whoa, my cock!?” Darren exclaimed.
Before Violet could confirm to Darren that she was indeed speaking of his cock, the two were interrupted by a small, muscular man whose hair and skin sparkled with grease, a sheen only matched by the luster of the studded dragon adorning his absurdly small t-shirt.
“Ay babe, you pass out all ‘dose fliers? I been gettin’ mad siggies on this petish,” the man boasted proudly, holding up a clipboard.
Violet’s insides clenched up, in all her excitement over Darren she had forgotten that she had come to the rec center with another, the leader of the narwhal fundraiser, Jess.
“Sup brah, I’m Jess,” the man said, cocking his head to one side, pouting his lips, and extending his hand toward Darren, but raised in the air, stuck somewhere in between a high five and a handshake, as if he was preparing to aggressively slap-grip Darren’s hand.
Darren declined to respond.
“Ay, brah, you wanna save ‘dese narwhals and sign this bad boy?” Jess asked, extending his clipboard.
“No, I don’t give a shit,” Darren replied flatly, before turning back to Violet. “So you were saying about my cock?”
Darren’s boldness offended Jess, who fancied himself a gentleman, for he was kind to ladies, often treating them to dinners of Red Lobster or Ramano’s Macaroni Grill, when the Groupons would allow it.
“Oh, so what, brah? You don’t give a shit about the environment? Huh? We raised MAD cash for ‘dese bad boys. Two K, punk! The fuck, I apologize to speak so unappropriate in front of a lady, but the fuck you do for da Earth?”
“My fraternity just raised like $30,000 for cancer orphans or something. So there’s that,” Darren said apathetically.
Jess was impressed.
“Aight, aight. Respect,” he conceded, once again raising his hand.
“Yeah, that’s not mutual, the respect.”
“Oh so you don’t gots respect for me? As a person?” Jess asked, again offended.
“Fuck no. You’re a guido AND an activist. That’s fucked up. That’d be like an Indiana Jones movie where the villain was a Nazi AND a snake. Fuck that, and fuck you.”
Jess flew into a steroid-fueled rage. He lunged at Darren, swinging wildly while nonsensically screaming “brah” and “disrespect this.” Darren easily dodged the enraged guido’s flailing fists and pushed him into a water cooler. The cooler tipped over and spilled its contents onto Jess, soaking his dragon shirt but running cleanly off his oiled skin, leaving no trace of moisture.
Violet, who had previously thought Jess to be one of the most powerful men she had seen on campus, because of his cartoonish muscular build and his passion for random causes, was now so aroused at the sight of Darren utterly dominating Jess that she resolved to purchase a Gatorade on her way home, lest she suffer from dehydration.
She was stunned by the ease with which Darren dispatched Jess, and found the pleasure he took in the dominance infectious, for Darren was now laughing over Jess’ soaked body as Jess furiously whined about his bejeweled dragon shirt being dry-clean only.
“‘Dese studs are stuck on with all natural horse glue brah!” Jess shouted. “Never euthanized! True to da Earth!”
Violet found herself wanting to join in the mockery, and perhaps even the beating. For a moment she considered pepper spraying the guido, or perhaps kicking him in his severely shrunken scrotum.
Violet’s visions of imploding the sad pinto beans encased in Jess’ nearly empty potato sack with a swift kick were suddenly interrupted.
“C’mon babe. Let’s peace outta here,” Jess demanded.
Jess shot Darren a look, which Darren met with both a deadly serious, dominant gaze, as well as laughter. Violet could no longer tell if Darren’s demeanor was impressive or evil, nor did she care. For Darren could have been the devil himself and Violet would still gladly set ablaze all the world’s rainforests with the immense, fiery passion she knew the two were capable of making.
For I’d let all the sloths and trees burn from the heat of our passion, Violet vowed to herself, as Darren plowed me the way deforesters plow the jungle to make those secret plantations deep in the rainforest worked by trained monkey slaves that Jess always tells me exist.
Jess was a terrible activist.
“C’MON BABE!” Jess roared, snapping Violet back to reality. “What? You don’t care ‘bout dese narwhals no more? We got da open mic night fundraiser at da coffee house dat we gots to be at. Let’s go!”
Duty bound to the majestic narwhal, Violet turned to leave with Jess. Her heart sank as she shuffled sadly away from the man she wanted so desperately to violate her like the Chinese violate global emission standards.
“Hey flower girl,” Darren called to Violet. “If you feel like skipping the def poetry circle jerk come on by the house. We’re having a party.”
Violet’s joy once again soared. Jess’ eyes widened as he stared at her, waiting for a response. Violet struggled to contain her smile, but did so sufficiently enough to fool Jess, and the two left.
The entire walk home, Violet dreamed of Darren making powerful love to her. Darren had given her a new glimpse into a world she previously dismissed. She now wanted so terribly to be a part of it. She yearned for Darren to THRUST her into this new life, and hoped that his powerful finish would frack every last ounce of activist out of her.
That evening, Violet dressed herself with no concern for the winter’s wind. Her chest was nearly bare, and she was ready to fulfill her ultimate fantasy, that being a situation where she received a drunken jackhammering from Darren, the astoundingly impressive fraternity man who had offended his way into Violet’s heart.
When Violet approached the front of the fraternity house, the party was already well under way. She gave a quiet, apprehensive knock to the front door. Inside she heard yelling.
“HUSTLE PLEDGE! When someone knocks on the fuckin’ door you sprint to it you fuck!” roared an active.
The door opened.
“Sorry sir,” Hustle Pledge apologized. “Also, I don’t know if you guys forgot or something but I’m not actually ‘Hustle Pledge,’ I’m ‘HustLER Pledge.’ My job is to put the porno in all the bathrooms for reading material.”
“You’re a fucking pledge! We’ll change the goddamn inflectional suffixes on your name when we fuckin’ feel like it! Now go get me some porno, HUSTLER Pledge, and fucking hustle.”
With that Hustle Pledge scurried away to find smut for the active. Violet entered the party and began her search for the man she hoped would soon penetrate her like a narwhal penetrates its foe with its fearsome horn. Darren too, she hoped, had a fearsome protrusion like the narwhal, one that was as grand to look upon, though capable of a far more pleasurable punishment.
It did not take long for Violet to find Darren, who was in the middle of a crowd, funneling whiskey and motioning with his middle finger for the pledge to raise the funnel higher. Darren’s effortless draining of the funnel full of six-dollar whiskey aroused Violet to the point of eruption. Most weekends she was only privy to watching bearded weaklings in tight cardigans compete in PBR chugging competitions that always seemed to end with the champion being determined by who had finished the most. Even Jess’ guzzling of Jaeger Bombs was pathetic compared to Darren’s drinking prowess.
“TAKE ME NOW YOU MAGNIFICENT BASTARD!” Violet shrieked.
Darren was now severely intoxicated, so much so that his senses were duller than the anti-drinking seminar Greek Life had put on earlier that week, ensuring him that were he to consume the amount he just had that he would be dead.
Alive and well, Darren rose from his knees to see Violet, whose enormous breasts heaved up and down as she breathed heavily with excitement. In truth, Darren did not recognize Violet at first, for he was drunk, and had met her a full four hours prior. Once Darren’s eyes set their gaze upon Violet’s breasts, however, he actually still did not remember her, but that no longer mattered.
“You wanna, uh, take some shots?” Darren asked.
Violet flew up to Darren’s room, with her man in tow, though he stopped multiple times to talk to brothers and other women. Once inside Violet closed the door.
“You should know,” Violet started, “I did not come here for liquor.”
“I did,” Darren replied, taking a pull from a nearby bottle.
“And is that all?” Violet asked wryly.
“No, we were gonna bang too. You said ‘Take me now’ downstairs. Like forty seconds ago,” Darren reminded Violet.
“Yes, right, of course,” Violet quickly replied. “Well…to it then.”
Violet pulled off her shirt, revealing breasts so glorious that even Darren was momentarily taken aback.
“Jesus titty-fucking Christ,” Darren mumbled to himself. “I haven’t seen a rack like that since I was twelve and wet-dreaming.”
Darren moved to Violet to take excessive handfuls of her beautiful chest. His fingertips were mere millimeters away from Violet’s divinely proportional areolas when suddenly the door to the room burst open.
“BRAH!” a voice from behind screamed.
Darren turned to see Jess, his eyes filled with fury, his muscles absurdly flexed, and his scrotum no doubt all but tucked up inside of him.
“How the fuck did you get in here?” Darren asked.
His question was answered almost immediately. Hustle Pledge stumbled through the hallway behind Jess, screaming and clawing his eyes.
“Brother Darren!!! I’m sorry! I tried to stop him! Oh God! He sprayed me in the eyes with his hairspray! My eyelashes!!! THEY’RE GLUED SHUT!! GOD HELP ME!”
“Ultra strength brah. I wear a welder’s mask when I put that shit on.”
Hustle Pledge began to vomit in the hallway.
“What are you doin’ with my girl, brah?” Jess continued. “You don’t take another brah’s girl, brah! My girl’s my baby, brah!”
“I am not yours to claim!” Violet shouted. “I’ve made my choice. I have abandoned you for a greater man!”
“Aight, Aight,” Jess said, nodding angrily. “What about the narwhal? You just gonna do our arctic boy like that too?”
“Shut the fuck up you guido hippie!” Darren shouted. “I just wanna play with these titties! Look at these titties! FUCK!”
Darren charged Jess, but unlike at the rec center, Jess was ready for Darren this time. The guido ripped off his shirt and braced himself for Darren’s impact. Darren tried to take Jess down but slid off of Jess’ freshly greased body and flew into the wall. He groaned in pain.
“You see those sweet ass titties?” Jess said, pointing to Violet behind him. “That’s the last thing you ever gonna see!”
Jess pulled out his can of hairspray and began to shake it. Darren collected himself and tried to rise. While he was actually perfectly okay with having Violet’s breasts be the last thing he ever looked upon, in fact they ranked even above looking into the eyes of God and seeing his school’s quarterback hoist the BCS National Championship trophy, Darren was still unwilling to be defeated by this ultimate GDI.
“You forgot one thing you greasy tree fucker,” Darren growled.
“Yeah? What’s dat?” Jess laughed.
“There’s a pledge for everything. HUMAN SHIELD PLEDGE!”
Just as Jess sprayed his can of hairspray at Darren’s face Human Shield Pledge leapt in front of Darren, blocking the blast before crumpling to the ground as his eyelashes became glued together, tightly closing his eyelids.
Before Jess could react Darren was once again in motion.
“LIGHTER PLEDGE!” Darren shouted.
From around the nearby corner another pledge sprinted into action. He lit a zippo and tossed it to Darren, who, channeling his high school shortstop days, made a perfect catch and turn, and threw the Zippo into Jess’ chest. The greasy guido ignited instantly.
Jess screamed in pain and ran down a flight of stairs to the first floor. Through the flames he saw a bowl of punch. He reached for it and poured it on himself to douse the flames. Unfortunately the punch bowl was about 80% Everclear and the flames rose higher.
“Fire extinguisher pledge!” Darren shouted.
Within seconds Fire Extinguisher Pledge had hosed down Jess with chemicals, putting out the flames. After ambulance pledge called an ambulance the EMTs hauled Jess away, asking no questions after receiving a large donation to the EMT/Fire Department Christmas Ball fund from the social chair.
Darren returned to the task at hand, that being fondling the crap out of Violet. He spent the next hour making sweet, weird love to her chest…and the bottom of her chin when he became too vigorous, and as he stared deeply into her breasts, with his wiener firmly between them, Darren knew that this was definitely worth lighting a GDI on fire for.
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