Page 2 of Frat Row
Everyone who attends Miami University knows about this notorious club, whether you are part of Greek life or not.
It is owned by the hottest fraternity on campus, Alpha Chi.
If you’re a man, even if you aren’t Greek life affiliated, you want to befriend the brothers in Alpha Chi because everyone knows they are constantly surrounded by the most beautiful women on campus.
If you are a woman, you want to date a brother who is in Alpha Chi just so you can have access to the club and the outrageous parties they throw at the fraternity house.
Rumor has it that they host a lingerie and boxers-only party, one of the biggest events on campus, which is a paper invitation-only affair.
It also doesn’t hurt that they have contacts for the best drugs if you’re into that sort of thing. Cocaine, weed, meth, pills, Adderall, you name it. They have the hook-up with all the best dealers around town.
Even when I was in high school, I was familiar with The Dungeon .
It was all anyone talked about because it was so forbidden for anyone underage, and the mystery surrounding it piqued people’s interest. This is the holy grail of places to be if you’re someone, especially a Miami University student.
The club is exclusive; you can’t just walk up and expect to get in, even if you were to flash the bouncer a couple of hundred-dollar bills.
You have to have some kind of connection.
My connection tonight is the security guard I just gave a blow job to.
I overheard him talking at the bookstore on campus about working there while attending school, and I promised that if he could get my friend Blair and me in, I would make it worthwhile for him.
Like I said, it really doesn’t take much when you use sex to your advantage.
The club is absolutely packed tonight, considering it is the last night of ‘freedom’ if you are rushing a sorority, which I am.
Fraternity and sorority rules are entirely different.
I am talking about totally opposite ends of the spectrum.
Fraternities essentially have no rules during the rush period, whereas sororities adhere to a strict set of them.
When you are trying to join a fraternity or sorority, it is called rush week.
You go to all of the different sorority and fraternity houses on campus and talk about yourself for hours on end.
You are essentially trying to sell yourself and explain why you would be a good fit for their organization.
It’s pretty superficial, but I’ll do anything to get in, even give one of my kidneys.
So the rules are, if you are rushing a sorority, you aren’t allowed to drink alcohol, do drugs, or even be on any kind of social media; they call this being ‘dry.’ I call it pure torture. Talk about being bored to tears.
My mom was a sister at Zeta Kappa Phi, so I’m not really nervous about this entire rush experience.
She has talked about it consistently since I started high school, preparing me to rush and expecting me to rush her sorority.
She has told me multiple times that it makes your college experience infinitely better, and it’s easier to make friends and excel in classes because the chances of one of your sisters either being in the same class as you or having already taken the class are high, and they can help you.
As if I would rush anywhere else at Miami University.
Zeta Kappa Phi is the best sorority on this campus.
Not to sound too cocky, but I’m not unattractive either, and that helps their image, especially when it comes to wanting other women to join.
My mom was even the treasurer of her sorority, so she has a lot of influence when it comes to who gets bids.
As she is still heavily involved as an advisor to past, present, and future treasurers, they can vent about how hard it is, and she can explain how it works.
It is rare not to receive a bid if you have connections, but it does happen, and you have to be a complete social outcast or have an extensive juvenile record for them not to accept you.
They do background checks and even go as far as checking if there is any written documentation of insubordination from the high school you attended.
Like I said, they don’t just let anyone in.
Blair, who has been my best friend since the first day of sixth grade, is rushing alongside me.
I still remember meeting her as if it were yesterday.
On my first day of middle school, I was scared as shit to be late to one of my classes, so I decided to carry all of my books so I wouldn’t have to stop at my locker since my next class was in a completely different building.
I was rushing down the hallway to my next class with my handful of books, and some asshole kid purposely bumped into me hard enough that my books scattered everywhere, and I fell to the floor.
Panicking, I began crawling and picking them up while other students stepped all over them.
Blair saw this happen from her locker, rushed over to me, pushed the guy while calling him a prick, and hurriedly helped me pick up my books.
I knew from that moment I had to be her friend, so I thanked her and immediately asked her what her name was and what her next class was.
It just so happened to be where I was headed—science, which turned out to be our least favorite subject at the time.
She had this charisma about her that you just gravitate toward; it really didn’t matter who you were; you were sucked into her aura.
She had this effect on the girls in our school, teachers, cheer coaches, and even parents.
Blair has always been fearless, while I’ve been the opposite, more observant of situations and cautious by nature.
Since that day, we’ve been attached by the hip while going through life’s milestones together, including puberty, getting braces, glasses, first dates, first kisses, losing our virginities, and we were even on the high school cheer team together.
Currently, we are roommates in an apartment off campus for just the first semester of college.
Since we aren’t officially Zeta Kappa Phi sisters yet, we can’t live in the sorority house, which is ultimately our plan.
As soon as the fall semester is over, we plan on moving into the sorority house and sharing one of the dorm-like rooms with an adjoining bathroom.
It’s not ideal, but at least our sorority house is somewhat updated; some of them have communal bathrooms. Honestly, I wouldn’t even consider living there if that were the case with our house.
Sharing has never been one of my strong suits.
Could you imagine sharing a bathroom between four girls?
That would be a complete nightmare. I don't vibe with petty drama over things, such as misplacing someone’s makeup brush.
Additionally, a huge rule that you have to follow when living in the house is no sleepovers with guys.
They are allowed in the common area but not upstairs near the bedrooms. I heard that a sister tried to sneak her boyfriend in at night when everyone was asleep, and she was immediately kicked out.
So when it comes to trying to get laid, I'm going to have to get pretty creative or hope he has a place we can go to.
But living in the house has its advantages.
You find out about all of the events first and get to be involved in the planning of them, know all about the drama surrounding the executive board and other sisters before everyone else, access to the best tutors, first to place your orders with the private chef that lives in the house as well and receive the invitations to the best parties that are thrown at all of the fraternity houses before everyone else.
We just have to abide by the rules and make it through the rush week new member period, which is also the entirety of the fall semester. However, I’ve heard that some legacies are initiated faster than others and don’t have to wait until the end of the semester.
The only thing that bothers me is this whole dry period, especially before classes start. Don’t they know this is the week you want to get the most hammered when there are no responsibilities at the moment?
I would also like to start fucking my way through Frat Row and get with a brother from every fraternity house. I heard you get a badge for achieving that, and I plan on getting mine.
They torture us like this because they think there will be less of a chance that the girls who are rushing will be able to talk to other rushes or even people who aren’t rushing.
No secrets are supposed to be exposed, and if they learn that you told someone, you are immediately kicked out of the rush process, no questions asked, and you won’t be able to rush the following year.
Since some of us are legacies, we know more than the average person rushing, so honestly, the whole thing is bullshit.
Things like initiation and other rituals aren’t known to Blair and me.
My mom never shared even the slightest detail.
They are intended to be shared only with initiated sisters.
It’s a complete week of hell, especially for someone like me.
I would call myself more of an introvert than an extrovert.
Blair brings out the extroverted side of me and always has.
Another rule is that we aren’t allowed to go out to bars or clubs even if we don’t drink.
We can’t even grab lunch or dinner at a restaurant in case we run into other girls who are rushing and could be tempted to talk about the process.
So, it looks like it’s a week of DoorDash and Uber Eats for me and Blair; I’m not going to complain about that since neither one of us can cook. I’m honestly surprised Blair can boil water or turn on a stove.
I’m already annoyed at the thought of this upcoming week and the number of times I’m going to have to repeatedly open my mouth and use my voice to the point of losing it, which most people do.
There’s event after event, but at least I’ll have Blair at the end of the day to laugh through the pain and exhaustion.
I couldn’t imagine rushing alone and not having anyone to vent to about the entire process.
Plus, every day has a different theme, so you have to dress accordingly; otherwise, you’ll look like an oddball.
I’m almost positive they write your name down because there’s a rumor that they have some kind of point system.
After straightening myself up in the alleyway, I smile, happy with the way I look.
With my head held high, I take in a deep breath of fresh air and make my way toward the door that leads back into the club.
Thankfully, it is dark, and no one notices me.
Looking around, I search for my best friend.
Of course, knowing her and her promiscuous, sultry ways, I’m willing to bet she’s dry-humping a random guy—or multiple—on the dance floor.
We pre-gamed in our apartment before we got here, downing a few shots of Fireball, so I know she must be at least a little tipsy, if not leaning more toward being on the drunk side.
That could only mean one thing—loud and flirty Blair comes out to play, and it is a sight to behold since she is only 5’3” and has a don’t-fuck-with-me attitude.
I roll my eyes thinking about it and how many times I’ve had to coerce her into leaving a party, bar, or club.
I always make sure to form a quick mental list of all her great qualities and why I love her, so I don’t lose my cool.
I try to be as patient as possible, knowing it’s just the alcohol taking over the way she acts.
It’s so dark in here that you can barely see your hands and feet right in front of you.
The walls are painted black, and there are neon strobe lights on the ceiling.
The DJ is in the corner, playing music so loud that you can barely have a conversation or think clearly.
So many shady things happen in this club that it would make your head spin.
You could essentially fuck or have an orgy in the middle of the club, and no one would see you, and if they did, they wouldn’t bat an eye.
I heard it’s allowed, and if anything, the employees love a good show, just like everyone else here.
I push my way toward the dance floor, bumping into a lot of people and apologizing more times than I can count.
I’m attempting to get to the dance floor in the back right corner of the club that I saw when we first arrived.
Yay for muscle memory!
The club floor is made of dark gray concrete, while the dance floor features outdated laminate with scuff marks, which you can kind of see if a strobe light hits it. My eyesight is already dreadful, so while feeling for the change in flooring, I stumble in my five-inch heels but recover quickly.
I spot Blair instantly. She’s gorgeous, with platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, tanned skin, and a body that men—and women—fantasize about.
Tonight, she is in her strappy light blue dress that barely covers her ass with matching heels that lace up to her mid-thigh.
I’ve always been jealous of her shorter height.
I’m 5’7", so most of the time, I tower over a majority of men when I wear my super high heels.
In true Blair fashion, she’s not dry-humping one guy but sandwiched between two guys and dancing to Jack Harlow’s new song.
Both the guys dancing with her and those surrounding her are absolutely mesmerized, just praying for a turn and salivating over her.
She never notices all of the attention and genuinely couldn’t care less.
She’s always ready for a good time, and it doesn’t have to be for a long time.
Quickly, I snag her tiny elbow, pull her over to the bar, and whisper excitedly where only she can hear, “Listen, I figured out a way into The Dungeon’s basement, but we have to go right now.”