the I Phelta Thi Sorority – Part 1

“We need you for an initiation,” said the young sorority girl. She was pretty, with an ivory face and long dark curly hair trailing loose down her back, held in place by an earth-tone bandanna. She was thin, with round wire-rim glasses, and dressed semi waif-like, in a chocolate brown dress and a green vest.

“Why me?”

“It has to be someone old,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“Over 30.”

“Well, yes,” I said.

“And you are a guy aren’t you? A man, I mean.”

I glanced down at my lap. “Last I checked.”

The girl with her had long blond hair, and was of a more robust body type, bronzed skin, wide shoulders and full breasts.

“Is he OK?” the waif with curly hair asked the buxom blonde.

“Um, sure, I guess.” was the reply.

“Thanks for the overwhelming enthusiasm,” I commented.

“She had the choice between two options,” said the waiflike girl. “Either perform garbage cleanup by the highway as an act of social service, or. . .” she paused.

“Some other act of social service?” I prompted.

“Bring an older guy to orgasm,” she almost whispered.

That woke me up. Fortunately I had finished my coffee.

“My God, I can’t believe you said it out loud here!” said the blonde, with a huge smile. “As we’re sitting here on a bench in the middle of the shopping mall!

People were walking around on all sides, but none too close by. One teenage girl with too much makeup was watching us, but I don’t think she heard the comment.

“She really wants to be in our sorority,” said the waiflike one. “Don’t judge us. It’s the rules.”

“Which sorority?” I asked.

“I Phelta Thi.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Those aren’t greek letters,” I pointed out.

“It’s a kind of a new sorority. The other names were all taken.”

“Well, I suppose I could be persuaded to help you out,” I said. “What do you need from me?”

“Meet us at our sorority house,” said Waiflike, handing me a slip of paper with a handwritten address. “When you come in the front, ask for the sex room.”

“The sex room? Do I just barge right in?” I said. “I don’t want to meet another guy in there.”

“I guess you should knock. A lot of times the girls like to eat each other out in there, so ordinarily guys aren’t allowed, except for initiations. But this time all of the new girls except one opted for picking up garbage. Climate change and all that.”

“And this is the one?” I asked. “What is your name, if I may be so bold?”

“Bold,” muttered the buxom bronzed blonde, laughing. “Just so long as you’re not Italic. I’m Desiree.”

“And I’m Sarah,” said the waif. “How about you? What’s your name?”

“You can call me ‘V,’ I said mysteriously.

“V. Like ‘Vagina?’ quipped Desiree.

I laughed. “Verily, vivacious, vivid, and voluptuous!” I replied.

“So,” said Sarah, “Can we see you in, maybe a half an hour? There’s plenty of parking out front.”

I was there in twenty minutes, but of course there was no parking out front, or anywhere near. Plus, of course, the one-way streets in that part of town are impossible – you see a parking spot, but by the time you go around the block to get there someone in a red Tesla has slipped into it, because of course they’re better than the rest of us.

Finally I did find a spot in front of a dubious looking tenement multiplex beneath giant cypress trees, but the spot was legal, and if someone stole my ancient rusted out Toyota, it would probably be a blessing all around. Besides, it seemed like it kinda belonged there.

By the time I made it back to the “I Phelta Thi” dormitory, I had rehearsed several times the speech scolding the young ladies about not promising parking when there isn’t any, a beautifully worded collection of verbiage which unfortunately was never employed.

Neither waiflike Sarah nor bronze, blonde, and buxom Desiree were anywhere in sight, but around five or six other girls were hanging out on and around the front porch, chattering with a certain gleeful giddiness. Each one of them was gorgeous, and they knew it.

I hesitated to break from the traffic on the sidewalk to single myself out by revealing my intent to visit their dorm, but I shrugged and turned up the walk. The girls on the porch began to chatter noticeably faster.

It was a beautiful spring day, and lush green lawns stretched like velvet carpets all around. The flower beds were well attended and in full bloom.

The dormitory was in a historic (or pseudo-historic) New England style, the base dark green but with the trim painted in wild psychedelic colors, by the girls themselves I imagine. It was three floors tall with an attic under the sloped rooftops.

“Hi—” I began as I approached.

“Looking for something, big boy?” quipped a thin blonde.

“Some kind of. . . ‘room,’ in this building, perhaps?” chimed in girl with a sensuous waterfall of curly red hair.

“Oh god, Liz. Too shy to say the word ‘sex?’” replied a dark Indian girl wearing an embroidered flowery blouse with little round mirrors sewn into it, and a long dress with elephants.

“What if he’s not—” replied the redhead.