The Frat Romance Novel, Part V: A Day of Rage and Passion

This is a recurring TFM series. Catch up with all installments of Frat Romance Novel by visiting the archive.

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When the sun broke over the hills, bringing another serene Texas morning, Charlotte rose with it. She looked out her window at the new day with great anticipation. Her loins tingled with excitement as she thought of what the day may bring. This day was not like the others. For weeks Charlotte had looked forward to this day. It was all she thought of. Each night in her dreams, visions of merriment and of love danced before her eyes. Again these visions passed before her. These exciting thoughts about the coming day began to arouse her. Lying in her bed as she always did, her supple body only covered by the thin sheets under which she slept, Charlotte crept her hand betwixt her legs. Charlotte faded out of the reality around her, only feeling anticipation for the day ahead and the exhilaration provided by her nimble and knowledgeable fingers.

“Rage,” she gasped. “Raaaage,” the word slipped out more audibly.

In her mind Charlotte was already at the special place she would soon be visiting. She imagined dancing with handsome strangers as her fingers danced in and around her minge.

“RAAAAAGE!” She moaned.

Climax came abruptly but flowed over Charlotte’s body slowly, in steady waves, like ripples on a pond. As her consciousness floated back to the real world, Charlotte realized that in her fit of self-serving passion, she had moved from her bed and mounted her dresser. In doing so she knocked off all her belongings, save for a single piece of paper. It was a ticket that read “Total Frat Move Day Rage, May 12, 2012.”

“On this day, I will rage,” she assured herself. “Day Rage, I come for you.”

Charlotte got out of bed, showered and dressed herself, in the process masturbating five more times. Items ranging from the showerhead to an oddly phallic shampoo bottle fell victim to her uncontainable excitement. After taking what most would consider far too long to get ready, she met her friends and they made their way to the Day Rage. They exchanged expectations for the day. When they asked Charlotte what she most looked forward to, she blushed.

“Charlotte expects love to reveal itself to her today!” Laughed her friend Amelia.

“We all expect love today,” Charlotte replied. “Would you rather me wait to have it revealed or seek it with desperate haste, like a mother who’s lost her child at the market? Like some friends I have.”

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” Amelia shrieked.

Amelia ran at Charlotte, nostrils flaring, nails out. She was stopped by their friends.

“Amelia calm yourself!” Sarah, another friend, pleaded. “This is a day for jest. Your rage is not the rage we pursue.”

Amelia seethed in the arms of her friends. Charlotte watched her for a moment before offering an apology. The friends reconciled over a thermos filled with mimosas. By the time they reached the Day Rage, the harem was buzzing on both champagne and excitement. At the gate they waited patiently, trying to sneak peaks at the festival of drunkenness inside. Charlotte observed the people in front of her in line. She noticed a few men of note before her eyes reached the front of the line. There Charlotte gazed upon a man, so pure and masculine that, was she able, she would have unconsciously mounted another dresser then and there. Charlotte was taken aback; her breath left her. She wanted desperately to know his name. Her wish was answered almost immediately, as if God himself was answering her deepest prayers.

“The name’s Darren. Darren fucking Lee. Don’t forget it,” the man said to the security guard as he handed him an ID.

“I don’t give a shit,” the guard retorted before handing back the ID.

The name Darren skipped through Charlotte’s head. There was nothing more she desired. Darren walked into the Day Rage with his friends while Charlotte was forced to wait. Even the minute delay felt like an eternity. Once inside Charlotte searched desperately for the statuesque man named Darren that she had seen in line. Much to her disappointment, he had been lost in the haze of the rage.

“Love revealed itself to me once; it shall do so again,” Charlotte reassured herself.

Amelia overheard her.

“In what form?”

“A man of relentless spirit, with a tall and solid build. I dare not tempt luck more than once already, but should we meet again, I hope to discover that all things of him are tall, solid, and relentless.”

Through what Charlotte contemplated could be divine intervention, she once again heard the booming voice of the man called Darren. He was addressing his friends, a drink in each hand, a fuck nowhere to be found or given.

“I have two goals for today. Black the fuck out, and fuck some chick in one of these porta-potties,” Darren declared.

“They’re full of shit,” one of Darren’s friends pointed out.

“So?” Darren replied. “Fucking in a porta-potty that isn’t filthy is like going to Mexico and not leaving your resort. It doesn’t really count.”

On a normal day Charlotte would never consider entertaining a gentleman lover in a small plastic hut filled with human waste, but today was Day Rage. Nothing, not even twelve gallons of liquefied feces, was going to keep Charlotte from finding love. Charlotte was glad to spot Darren again, but she felt it best to not approach him immediately. Charlotte, Amelia, and the rest of her friends instead went to the bar and began to drink heavily. As the hours passed Charlotte kept her eye on Darren but did not approach. Instead she and her friends continued to imbibe, raging the day away. After a few hours Charlotte finally resolved to speak to Darren.

She left the group to find her soon-to-be coital partner. Much to Charlotte’s dismay, she had lost Darren in the crowd. She worried that he had already chosen another lucky girl to join him in an unsanitary romp. Finally, after several more minutes, Charlotte found Darren. He was talking to another girl. Charlotte was upset but steeled her resolve and moved towards Darren. As she drew closer she realized that the harlot Darren was entertaining was none other than Amelia.

WHORE!!!!!! Charlotte screamed internally. On the outside she remained reserved however, and approached calmly.

“Amelia, dear friend, who is this handsome man you consort with?” Charlotte asked.

“His name is Darren,” Amelia replied with a wry smile.

“My nerm is AWESOME AS FUCK! I don’ know if ya know but Ima big deal.” Darren said. He had clearly become quite intoxicated.

“It is obvious to all in attendance that you sir are indeed awesome.” Charlotte replied.

“Yeah I fuckin’ know. Hold up. I gotta go shotgun some beers like right fuckin’ now. But I don’ wanna ferget yer names, but I’m gonna. Soooo. Hold up.”

Darren reached into his pocket and pulled out a Sharpie marker.

“Would you like to write them down?” Charlotte asked.

“Yeah, on yer faces.”

“What!?” Amelia asked.

“Yeah so I don’ ferget. You’re first,” Darren said, pointing to Amelia. “What’s yer name?”

“Amelia. But I don’t want you to write my name on me.”

“Okay, well, I’ll write in code. Yer Amelia, and, uh, Amelia Earnhardt got in a plane crash, and your face looks like a fuckin’ plane crash, so I’ll write plane crash.”

Amelia stood there as Darren wrote the words “plain” and “crash” on her forehead. Darren then turned to Charlotte.

“Waz yer name?” He asked.

“Charlotte,” she replied, extending a hand that was not met.

“Okay well yer pretty hot. Ima write bobcat, because the Charlotte Bobcats suck dick an’ yer hot so I hope you suck dicks too.”

“Suffice it to say that you have what, in these terms, could be referred to as a ‘lottery prick.’”

Darren laughed heartily, gave Charlotte a firm point, and left to shotgun beers. Amelia stormed off, fuming. Charlotte had pleased herself for the seventh time that day, although the last was quite different, but no less satisfying, than the first six times. Charlotte rejoined her friends and continued drinking. A short while later a considerably drunker Darren found her and demanded that they dance. Charlotte grabbed him by the hand and took Darren to the front of the stage. 80’s rock blared and the two danced a primal dance, like two ancients celebrating a god of fertility.

When the music stopped momentarily Darren and Charlotte looked into each others’ eyes. Then the pianist began to pound his instrument and the familiar sounds of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” echoed across the crowd. Charlotte grabbed Darren, kissed him deeply, and pulled his ear to her mouth.

“Take me now,” she demanded.

“Where?” He asked, confused.

“To Heaven.”

Charlotte once again led Darren, who quickly figured out their destination, quickened his pace, and then, in frustration with Charlotte’s own speed, picked her up and carried her towards the porta-potties. Once there Darren pushed his way through the line. The person in front protested.

“What the fuck!”

“Deal with it pussy!”

“Do you know who I am? I write for TFM, I’m fucking Ba…”

“Eat a dick,” Darren declared before pulling Charlotte inside the porta-potty.

Once inside their passion, and fortunately not the smell of a baking fecal stew, overcame Darren and Charlotte. They kissed each other deeply while their hands frantically searched each other’s bodies.

“I must have you,” Charlotte panted.

“Imabout to show you what the D in Darren stands for.”

“Goddamn you, that was the most absurd and idiotic thing I’ve ever heard, but no matter–I want you inside of me!” Charlotte screamed.

Darren slid himself into Charlotte and thrust with a force matched only by the notes of the band on stage. The two made vigorous love, so much so that the porta-potty shook with their every move.

“DON’T STOP!” Charlotte exclaimed in the throes of orgasm.

“BELIEVIN’!!!!!!” Darren melodically shouted, thinking that Charlotte was singing along to the song.

“You are a thick one in more ways than one,” Charlotte whispered.

Darren continued to plow into Charlotte, the force of which kept the porta-potty shaking. Another partygoer waiting in line saw the movement and mistook it for someone trying to tip the outhouse. In his haste to join in, the man rushed towards it.

“TIP IT!!!” He shouted.

Several others in line, who assumed someone they knew was inside, quickly joined him. Charlotte soon realized that the movement of the porta-potty was no longer from Darren’s force alone.

“Darren. Darren!”

“Yeah! Thaz muh name bobcat!”

“No! Darren! They’re…”

Before Charlotte could finish, Darren retracted himself from her and burst from the porta-potty before it could tip.

“Who the FUCK is trying to cock block me right now!”

The group that had been shoving the outhouse quickly retreated. Darren threatened them, his member still exposed and glistening in the sunlight, until they ran off in fear. He then gave a power point to the rest of the people in line, returned to the porta-potty, and finished the job. When Charlotte and Darren exited the porta-potty for good they found a nearby bench and planted themselves upon it.

“You sir, are all that was expected… and more,” Charlotte declared.

“Cool. Well… I’m gonna go anywhere but literally right here,” Darren replied.

“Wouldn’t you like my number?” Charlotte asked. “Would you not like an extended version of our outhouse rendezvous?”

“You know how I said the ‘D’ in Darren was for ‘dick’?”

“Yes, that was stupid.”

“Yeah, well, the ‘N’ is for ‘Not ever gonna call. Not even maybe.’”

With that Darren left while Charlotte rolled her eyes. She sat there for a moment and relived the fresh but nonetheless impressive memories she had made with Darren. Then she rose from her seat and resolved to rage for the remainder of the day. Darren, meanwhile, had four more porta-potty rendezvouses and was declared the winner of Day Rage, a title that was not created until those in charge learned of his accomplishments.

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