"I expect you to kick his ass."

"Piece of cake," I replied. Drunk as I was, at least I had a plan. I wasn't sure if Eric could even think, or even knew what was going on.

"Pledges to the center of the tarp!" Marc announced. Eric and I walked out there and stood on either side of him. "Okay, the rules of pledge wrestling is you keep wrestling until one or both of you puke. Whoever pukes last is the winner."

"We don't try for a pin?" Eric slurred. I looked at him. His eyes were half shut, and he was having trouble keeping his balance. He was swaying from side to side, and every once in a while would sway so far to one side he'd stumble a bit until he got his balance again. I was pretty wasted my self, but I was a lot better off than he was. Thank you, Blair, for taking me to your room.

"Pins?" Marc laughed. "Stupid, stupid pledge! We don't care if someone gets pinned! WHAT DO WE CARE ABOUT, BROTHERS?"

"PUKE! PUKE! PUKE!" they started chanting again.

Over the noise, Marc said to both of us, "Now, no punching, biting, scratching, anything like that. When I blow this whistle, you start wrestling. Got it?"

"Uh-huh," I replied.

"Eric?"

"Sure." He was weaving even worse than he had been. I didn't even think he knew where he was.

Marc stepped up on the hearth and blew the whistle.

I turned. Eric hadn't moved. I looked over at Blair and shrugged. I walked over to Eric and gave him a good, hard shove. He toppled over, and hit the floor with a bonewrenching thud. The brothers were still chanting. I walked over to where Eric was lying on the tarp. He grinned up at me, and I sat down hard on his stomach. His eyes got wide, and I felt his stomach starting to retch, so I bounced on it one more time, and I saw it coming. I got up quickly and moved back over to the sidelines, and Eric rolled over onto his stomach and puked.

"We have a winner!" Marc shouted, and Blair raised my hand in triumph.

The brothers cheered me, and crowded around me. "A victory beer!" Jerry Pollard said, shoving a full cup into my hand. As I raised it to my lips, everyone started chanting, "Chug! Chug! Chug!"

So, I did.

And when the cup was empty, I put it on top of my head upside down.

And then everything in my stomach came up in a rush.

That's the last thing I remember about Big Brother Night, other than waking up in Blair's arms the next morning ..

Chapter 7

ittle Sister Rush was the week after Big Brother night. JSince pledge rush was an officially sanctioned university event, the university had decreed sometime during the Reagan years that no liquor could be served to pledges. I couldn't imagine what it must have been like when Rush Week wasn't dry. Blair told me that one of the alumni said "we used to put pledge pins on the unconscious ones-and they couldn't remember if they'd actually said yes or not."

Needless to say, the size of Beta Kappa pledge classes declined after Rush Week went dry.

So, Little Sister Rush, which was unofficial, was planned to more than make up for the sobriety of Rush Week. "The whole point," Blair explained to me that Wednesday night, before the first party started officially, "is to see which girls can party really hard as well as will put out for the brotherhood."

"Urn, that's kind of disgusting." I replied, passing the dragon back to him. "And degrading."

Blair shrugged. "I agree with you-but then, the girls allow themselves to be degraded-and nobody forces them to get drunk. I told you how the straight boys are-they don't care who gets them off as long as they get off. You wouldn't believe some of the pigs I've seen guys with- blech."

"I don't know, it sounds to me like a perfect setup for a date rape accusation." I put the bong down.

"Yeah, I've wondered about that." He shrugged. "You'd think with all the drunk girls putting out at parties all the time on Fraternity Row, that would happen a lot more. Go figure."

That first night's party wasn't much fun, it turned out. Maybe because it was on a Wednesday night, with two more school days to get through. The Brotherhood didn't put a lot of effort into it. It was held in the Great Room, and the party's theme was a rather lame one, I thought: Behind the Mask. Everyone got a cheap mask to put over their eyes when they walked in-pledges took turns working the desk handing out the masks-and we were supposed to wear them all night. Blair of course had a fabulous mask from New Orleans Mardi Gras; an amazing contraption made to look like real gold and covered in glitter with peacock feathers sticking out of it. There was a keg of beer set up in the Great Room, and again, we pledges took turns filling up people's cups with beer. Someone had put on a couple of dance mix CD's on shuffle on the stereo, and everyone just kind of lounged around and chatted. It was boring as hell, and hardly anyone showed up for it except for sorority girls looking for a free drunk, apparently. "I hate those girls," Marc Kearney said to Jason Ziebell and me while we were on keg duty. "They come to Little Sister Rush every year and never join up. They just like to drink our booze, the whores."

Thursday night was different, though. That was International Drink Night, and the entire party was held in the second floor hallway. Every room on the second floor hosted a separate drink-and there were fifteen rooms up there. So, basically, there was a party going on in every room. Stereos were blasting competing music-everything from hip hop to rap to hard rock to techno. My personal favorite was the upside-down margaritas-you sat down in a chair, put your head back, and someone poured tequila in your mouth from one side while someone poured margarita mix in from the other side. Once your mouth was full of liquid, you closed your mouth and they shook your head to "mix" the drink before you swallowed. I had three of those, as well as a couple of Come-In-A-Hot-Tubs, and a few depth charges (a shot glass full of whiskey dropped into a mug of beer, which you then had to chug down), and was pretty much feeling no pain the majority of the evening. The upstairs was packed full of loud, drunk people within twenty minutes of the party starting. I drank way too much-as usual-and wound up spending the night passed out in Blair's bed.

But I don't think I puked.

It wasn't as easy for Blair and I to be together as I would have liked. There were always people around once school started and everyone came back to live in the house. It seemed like all we were doing was stealing time togetherhaving to wait until whoever stopped by his room with a couple of joints and a twelve-pack of beer were fucked up enough to finally go away and leave us alone. Sometimes I just got tired of waiting and would go on home, to lie in my bed and remember the times we were together while I jacked off. It was incredibly frustrating-especially because I didn't have anyone I could talk to about my feelings for Blair. I was in love with him. I wanted nothing more than to spend my every minute with him. But I didn't know how Blair felt about me ... I knew he cared, but did he love me as a friend with benefits or was he in love with me? I wasn't sure of anything anymore. So many times after I'd fucked him and we lay in each other's arms, I wanted to say I love you, but I could never forget the time I'd said it and how he'd reacted. I wanted him to say the words to me so badly, but somehow I knew it was never going to happen. And in the silent loneliness of my bedroom, sometimes I cried.