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The Wrong Hole: A Greek Tragedy Of Sexual Deviancy

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The Wrong Hole: A Greek Tragedy Of Sexual Deviancy

We, as members of the Greek community, exist in an environment that not only facilitates, but encourages acts of sexual depravity and experimentation. As such, I can understand how frightening the wild Saharan plain of the collegiate sex scene can seem to a young man, starry-eyed and coming out of his glorious two-and-a-half year stint with a high school girlfriend, recently unleashed upon a supple, willing, confused, writhing ball of sexually unquenchable sorostitutes.

Fear not, young men. For if one were to attend my chapter on any given Monday, they would get the impression that I had taken it upon myself to brave this promiscuous wilderness like some sort of sexual Gregor Mendel trying to find the right combination of orifices and body parts to breed the best intercourse experience.

So, one night during a successful drinking bout against a variety of whiskey-anythings, I checked my phone to see where my fortune in after-hour coital activities lay. To my dismay, there were only ten minutes left until close.

“Damn you generic brand whiskey! You’ve distracted me from my true enterprise of slanging poon!” I cursed into the air.

Regardless, I was not to be dismayed. I scrolled through the stable of potential slampieces and saw a somewhat sure bet. So I set about crafting a masterpiece text – succinct enough to keep me from sounding desperate, yet detailed enough to make me seem genuinely interested and seductive:

“Hey whats up”

By the time I was leaving the bar, I had finagled the conversation into: “You should meet me back at the house,” and had the situation locked down harder than George Bluth in prison, only with much more touching in store.

On my way back to the house I contemplated a bit about the girl I had texted. We’d hooked up once already a week or two ago, and had been texting back and forth a bit to the tune of some flirtatious chirping, though I had usually been busy. Needless to say, we were going to do the horizontal monster-mash, but, though usually not an issue, I didn’t really know who this girl was.

I was in for a shit-storm.

Jump forward to her in my bed. We’re both essentially naked at this point, and I start operating her downstairs region, masterfully working her pearl like an old school computer mouse wheel. I’m feeling the momentum of my last few drinks at the bar crashing into my head, and eroding what little remained of my cognizance. To put it simply, I was shitfaced.

I called in my trusty two fingers, and slid them quite easily into the main arena of business, and started working my arm like a machine, because hey, I’m a giver. At this point I’m sure all you are saying, “Fratimal House! If I knew your real name I’d say, ‘Pussy! Only queers and steers finger women, I’m far too F to C!’” Well, after this experience I might be inclined to believe you.

As I worked this girl like the opposite of Bacon’s summer internship, I came to feel two small lumps inside where my fingers were. Now, this could only have been, in my mind, one of two things. Let me tell you, I don’t think anyone has ever prayed so hard for a woman to have some sort of ovarian cyst or miscellaneous vaginal injury than I did at that moment. But no…

I was fingering a butthole.

Now, my first reaction was akin to that of Hank Hill discovering Bobby prefers natural gas to propane. After the initial shock, I sobered up like I’d been slapped in the face with the first fish Jesus caught. A few key thoughts came into my mind:

1) How in the hell did I get two fingers “cleanly” into this thing without noticing that it was an asshole? And if so…

2) Why is this girl’s b-hole so easily accessible?

3) Is she too drunk to notice, or was this all deliberate?

The surging sobriety and confusion that had flooded my consciousness brought the mood to a standstill. Now, there are several defining choices in a man’s life: his acceptance into college, accepting his bid, whiskey-ginger or whiskey-water. I felt at that moment as though I had come to a defining choice in my life, one that would forever mark me as a man of dignity and honor, or as a dirty stain on human morality.

So I flipped her over and doggy-style anal’ed the hell out of that girl.

The next morning we parted ways with a standard exchange, and no mention of the previous night’s debauchery. Looking back, however, I realize that night I approached a crossroads that few others are liable to find. Faced with a situation that would panic and confuse a man of lesser fortitude, I stood strong, I kept calm, and I inserted my penis into a woman’s butt repeatedly.


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