The Size Sorority Witches: Alexis

Michael Fallon woke in a strange bed with a pounding headache. He looked around the room and tried to remember how he got there. It was a dorm room, possibly, and low-angle early morning sunlight streamed through the window. The last thing he remembered was being at the Green Lion last night. That wasn’t quite the last thing, but the images that did come to him came in flashes too bright for him to look at. Each little snapshot made his stomach flip-flop. Scenes of excessive drinking, spilling drinks, smoking when he wasn’t a smoker, of saying ignorant things, of embarrassing himself . . . There was a girl, a pretty, blonde-haired girl, and she seemed to like his style, arrogant as he may have seemed at first. Sometimes when he drank he came off angry; sometimes when he was angry he could be quite funny.

He sat up in the foreign bed, moving to put his feet on the floor. He hesitated, realizing now that he was completely naked. His penis shriveled, and balls scrunched to a tight bunch, he rested a hand to cover them and looked around. He was alone. His feet went to the floor, and he lay his forearms over his knees and hung his head. A throbbing ache worked its way up the muscles of his back, lashing through his neck, making his temples throb.

When he got the will, he lifted his head and regarded the room again. A girl’s room. That was a good sign. Maybe. He looked around, saw the things that girls decorated their rooms with. Though he didn’t think this was a dorm room. It seemed like a room in a house—not one he recognized from campus, more like a 200-year-old building that you’d find in the village. Maybe a frat house, maybe a sorority (hopefully), maybe a private apartment. Like he went home with that middle-aged bartender from The Speakeasy on the main street who was always winking at the college boys.

Next to him on the bedside table the screen of an iPad lit up. He shimmied himself along the edge of the mattress, saw the text that had come in. It read:

Emma: it looks like a button mushroom omg

Before the screen faded, he read above that:

Emma: his pubes are longer than his dick

That made him frown.

He stood, shakily, hips creaking from lack of movement and sleeping uncomfortably. One by one he found his items of clothing, all except one sock. Put on his underwear, his pants, his shirt and sweater. The screen of the iPad lit up again and he walked to it, reading:

Grace: you see why the condom wouldn't stay on

Now he entered the hall, closing the door quietly behind him, stepped along the Oriental rug runner that lined the parquet floor. There was the sound of a hairdryer somewhere, a girl laughing loudly behind a closed door, two girls talking from the floor below.

He approached a set of stairs ahead of him. He was thinking now this really was a sorority. Sororities on campus were unmonitored by the university, not really welcome—Greek life being something that was meant to be off-campus. It left them somewhat ungoverned, and even the sororities got a little too wild sometimes. As he approached the top of the stairs a door opened behind him, and he turned to see a young Asian girl come out of the room, see him, smirk, then turn away. She wore a long T-shirt and sweatpants, bare feet in fuzzy slippers. He went down the stairs, and emerged in the foyer, looking to make a beeline out the front door.

A sultry voice to his right, said, “There he is,” slow and confident, demanding his attention.

He turned to see a beautiful blonde girl sitting at a dining room table by herself. The girl from last night. Grace? She sat in a dining room chair with arms, another chair pulled so she could rest her bare feet on it. She wore a long cotton nightshirt. In her hands was an iPhone, and she held it while her two thumbs tapped away messages to her friends. Slowly he entered the dining room, and she finished what she was saying with her thumbs, sent that off, lay the phone face down in her lap, saying, “Morning, Mike.”

“Oh,” he said, “You know me. That’s good.”

She said, “You don’t know me?”

“Do I?” he said.

“How insulting,” she said, her phone buzzing in her lap. She turned it to read the screen and smiled, then the phone went back down and she said, “I usually leave a good impression.”

“Did we . . .?”

“Fuck?”

“Yeah.”

She said, “No. We tried. You couldn’t keep a condom on; it kept slipping off. You seem like a nice guy, but I have to be safe.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, scratching the back of his head and looking sheepishly around the messy room. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem, tiger.”

“Did I . . . do anything else?”

“Else?”

“You know, did I . . .?”

“Go down on me?”

“Did I?”

“That’s where you fell asleep,” she said, laughing.

“Oh, man,” he sighed and put both his hands over his face and rubbed his eyes. “God, I’m so embarrassing.”

She said, “That’s how I fell asleep, too.”

“We both had too much to drink.”

“We did.”

“Well, I suppose I should get going,” he said. “Unless you want to—”

“I don’t think either of us is any shape for that, Mike. I think our time is done.”

“Two ships passing in the night,” he said.

“Exactly.”

“Well then, to what could have been,” he said with charm and tipping an imaginary hat to her. She smiled again wider, and this time it encouraged a breathy little laugh.

Always leave them smiling. Always leave them wanting more. He made his way back to the hall, opened the heavy old wooden doors that led up from a garden divided by a narrow path that took him to the main street sidewalk. On the right-hand side was a small white sign with two wooden posts in the grass. Mounted on the white wood was a brass plaque that read Omega Kappa Epsilon.

*

On Monday when he returned to classes, there was a series of odd and yet similar events. In Government and Policy 1, at Davis Hall in the morning 9 AM, first thing, during class, two girls sitting below him in the lecture hall, about eight rows ahead of him, kept turning to regard him. He did not know them. One would look, nudge the other, the other would look. Then they seem to consult something between them, possibly a phone. They returned their gaze again. Whatever it was, it seemed amusing to them. After Government and Policy, a similar thing happened. This time it was in the Serenity Gardens, where he stopped to have a coffee before socioeconomics.

It was a sunny day and he chose to enjoy the coffee outside, and he sat on a concrete planter. Across the walk, four girls had gathered on a wooden bench. One seemed to take note of him, tap the other, and again they regarded a device. Something was confirmed, and they engaged in mirthful banter concealed behind their hands.

At lunch he caught a girl smirking and looking at him sideways. In the afternoon, walking from Civics to U.S. History, two girls coming from the opposite direction registered him, one shoulder-nudging the other. They averted their eyes as they passed, then burst out in giggles. Then, coming home, he swore he was being followed by a big group of maybe five or six girls, and he was sure that what they were laughing about was him, even occasionally making out a loud cat call. That wouldn’t have bothered him if it weren’t for the earlier similar events. Something was up. A sick and pervasive dread worked through him, as the events of Sunday morning took shape in his head, waking in that girl's room at the OKE mansion in the village. A nightmarish visage of that girl telling all her friends about his small penis size shimmered before him.

Now he was in his dorm room, third floor of Wicklow Hall, on the western side, the sky beyond the windows turning a bright cherry-pink color, orange and intense at the horizon as the sun went down. He couldn’t concentrate on his homework, overwhelmed by the thought people were making fun of him because of what he had between his legs. That was the worst case scenario, and most likely not true. But his endowment had been a curse all through high school. It had been something that he worried about. Eschewed sports so that he wouldn’t end up in locker rooms, and even for quite a while put off intimate relationships with girls, afraid of what they might think. Or say. Eventually he did though, only engaging usually in sex when he trusted someone. But since coming to college, this last year he had slept with three girls, almost with four, and frankly he had been enjoying the freedom. Felt like he had shrugged off a lot of what had been holding him down when he was younger. Now here it was, unconfirmed of course, but that old familiar fear was slinking back into his life. Even if it was just only in his head, he could feel its weight begin to settle on his shoulders once more. His roommate Alex was off with his girlfriend, and he was alone. A knock came to his dorm room door, and he swiveled in his chair.

"Yeah?"

From the hall: "Mike, it’s me. Mei."

Mei Li, just about his best friend in the world. Elementary and all through high school, and now they were in college together. Mei was Chinese, born in China, both her parents from Beijing. She was slight and shy, and in many ways much like him, but the feminine version.

"Come on in, Mei," he said, planting his heels on his dorm room floor and swiveling in his chair to the left and to the right.

Mei came in, MacBook clutched to her chest, wearing khaki pants and loafers and a college sweatshirt with the big NHU logo in the center. "Hey," she said, kind of high and whispering, maybe a little sheepish.

"What’s up?"

"Just coming to see how you were doing, Mike."

"I’m doing okay. What about you?"

"Busy," Mei said and took a seat on the edge of his bed, laying the laptop across her thighs, hands rested on top. "Busy," she said again. "Very busy. You know me." She gave that cute little Mei smile and shrugged her shoulders.

They talked for a little while about the classes they had together, notes they had taken, things that each other may have missed, sharing a laugh or two at something that Professor Miller had said. Mei talked about her younger sister, back in Meadowgrove, in her first year at their Alma Mater, Meadowgrove High, and updated him on how some of their favorite teachers were doing. The whole while she spoke, he felt like there was something Mei wanted to broach. Hesitation between subject changes, like a chance for a new topic but a reluctance to bring up the one that she came to his dorm room for. It began to worm his way into his mind that it was about the girls that were laughing at him today. When he couldn’t take it any longer, and the conversation had lulled, he made the first move, broaching this unspoken subject.

"Hey, Mei?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you… Did you come here to say something specific?"

"I don’t… I don’t know," she said, and her gaze drifted down and to the right, looking at nothing on his clean dorm room floor.

"You can tell me," he said. "Mei, you can tell me. It’s been weird today."

Mei said, "Did someone say something?"

"No," he said. "What would they say? Say what?"

She said, "I think somebody did something really bad to you."

His heartbeat quickened, and his fingers went numb. "What did they do?" Tension had squeezed his voice.

Mei said, "You could probably get them expelled. I think they did something very bad."

"What did they do, Mei?"

"Someone . . . took a picture of you. But, like, it could be anybody. They say it's you. Or . . . I mean, they say it's your, uh, penis."

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His breath clutched in his lungs and his body seized. He knew what it was. He knew what happened. His hands squeezed the armrests of his chair, and he tried to pull himself closer to the edge, wanting to sit up, not wanting to die like this laying back in a chair. He worked his way forward, his ears ringing now. "What picture?"

Mei said, “Mike, someone has been passing around a picture.”

This wasn’t new, he’d seen pictures before, too. In high school, pictures of girls when they were drunk, nothing too lewd, but enough to destroy someone’s life, enough to hurt someone’s feelings forever.

“No.”

“Yeah,” she said. “She—or whoever—didn’t show your face, but some other people are saying it’s you. There’re no other names, everyone’s just saying that the person in the picture is Michael Fallon,” she said.

“Did you… Did you see it?”

She chewed her lower lip, tried to look in his eyes, then looked away. She nodded.

"Do you… Wait, do you have it?"

"I do. Mike, I think there is . . . more.”

"More what?" he said, almost shouting now.

"No . . . I was mad, Mike, I was really mad that someone would do that to you. So, I… I did some digging, I found more… uh, more—”

"More pictures?" he exclaimed.

"No. Can I… Can I show you?"

He sat upright, avoiding her gaze now—hands tingling, wriggling his fingers and making fists. He looked at the ceiling. He breathed in and out, tried to calm himself, but nothing was working. He inched closer. "Let me, okay… Show me."

Mei regarded him kindly, drew closer to him and opened her laptop. She tapped a few keys and angled it so they both could look. She said, "Are you ready?"

"Mei, yeah, I’m ready—please…"

She held her hand up to block the screen, saying, "I have the picture…"

"Show me," he said.

Mei closed her blocking hand to a fist, then moved it away. On the screen, was a photo, and written in meme font it read below: WE HAVE A WINNER. The photo was of him as he lay on that girl’s bed. It was cropped close, showing from his nipples to his knees. No face. The central focus of this cruel art-piece was his penis. Very small, very shriveled; looking like a little bird’s egg in a hairy nest. He stared at it, eyes bulging, mouth agape. He didn’t know what to say.

Mei said, "So, that’s the picture."

He said, "That’s not me."

Mei said, "It doesn’t matter. People have been saying it’s you."

"I know," he said. "It’s… It’s just not me."

Mei rested a hand on his knee, and while he felt warmth in her friendship, he wanted to recoil. He didn’t though, just remained frozen, trying to remember how to breathe.

After a moment, Mei said, "Mike, I figured where it came from. It doesn’t take much to guess. So I got in their server. They have a private chat."

"Who?"

"You know who."

"Yeah. Omega Kappa Epsilon."

"So, I got into their server, and I found your picture. Sorry, I mean the picture. None of the pictures have your face. Or whoever’s face. But I’ve seen their chat logs. And it led me to a portal that they built."

"A portal?"

"Like an interface; some way to manage a database."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, like they’re building… It’s like they’re building a database of all the guys they sleep with. Now, no one has seen this… Except, I guess, all the girls in the sorority. But this isn’t what’s being passed around. Can I show you?"

He rubbed his face. "Show me."

Mei tapped more keys and drew up what looked like a Facebook interface. At the very top, in bold letters, was his name, Michael Fallon. Below that and on the left was his student ID photo. To the right of his photo, they listed his general identifying characteristics. Some of it gleaned from his records, and some of it gleaned from personal observance. Approximate height, approximate weight, eye color, hair color. Then body type. His said thin, wiry. Not fat. Not in shape. Not muscular. Below that it said penis size; in small capital letters it said TINY. Below that was a section for notes and then written in text speak were phrases like so fucking tiny, couldn’t wear a condom, slipping off. Tried to go down on me, fell asleep with his face between my legs. Disappointing. Not bad looking, was funny when he was drunk, seemed like a nice guy, too bad his cock was a thumb.

"Okay," he murmured, tightness raging through him again, knowing that Mei had read this. Read all of it.

Under that personal information were in-line comments with tiered responses. Things like Wait, how small? Then a tiny profile pic saying Like I mean little finger size. Following that were LOLs and laughing emojis. Someone else said, Can we get that verified? A response below that said I was too drunk. And under that were unintelligible comments, one ending with the word Points and followed by around twenty exclamation points and many gold medal emojis. When he read to the bottom of the screen, Mei closed her laptop and lay her hands over top of it again. Now the room seemed dimmer, the light that had washed both their faces extinguished. He sat straighter and stared across the room. One horrible and pervasive thought lingered in him like a spike embedded in his brain after a construction accident.

His voice a fragile croak, he said to no one in particular, "Vicky's at Omega Kappa Epsilon."

Mei said nothing, sitting motionless.

Vicky Stevens was an Omega Kappa Epsilon girl. His former one true love. Dated her in high school for an entire year. Didn’t lose his virginity to her, though she lost hers to him. It was an incredible love that he'd felt for her. Puppy love turning into infatuation, eventually becoming something deep and unending. Unending of course only for him. Vicky had ended it. Their relationship broken off before senior year. And he'd spent that last year in high school pining and mourning, avoiding seeing her in case she was with a new boyfriend. They’d always talked about coming to NHU together, and when it came time for him to apply and accept a college, he chose NHU specifically because it did something to his heart. Vicky had moved on; had tried to engage him a few times but given up when he failed to respond. Responding to her was too painful, so he suffered, and let her feel like he hated her. He didn’t hate her; he still loved her.

Mei said, "She is," then paused for a moment, and, resting a hand on his knee again, she said, "What do you want me to do about this?"

"What can you do?"

"I can break their system," Mei said. "Though, honestly, they would probably get it back up and running again. I think you should consider getting a lawyer. And even if you don’t, you should go to administration."

"I’m not going to do that, Mei."

"I think you should."

He said, "So they can know, too?" Subterfuge was pointless now, he could deny that photo was him, but Mei knew the truth. She was about the smartest person back at Meadowgrove. Mei knew it was his tiny penis in the photo.

*

On Wednesday night, after two more days of odd encounters with smirking college girls, Michael got a text from Alex, saying to come along for dinner with him and Phil and Jay. He’d gone to high school with Jay, and they were longtime best buds, and he knew Phil pretty well, enough to have hung out with him a few times with some of the guys playing video games all night. He needed the distraction.

The four of them met at the quad outside Maplewood Hall, dressed casually, all groomed nicely in the hope they might meet some girls tonight. Though, frankly, this crew wasn’t very good at that. Michael was about the best looking of them, and he was also the most confident. That wasn’t really saying that much. They walked together across campus, heading to the New Haven village along the main street. Dinner tonight had been agreed upon to be Mexican cuisine. So they went to Cousin Pepe’s, and found the place almost packed. They got a good table together, one that was out of the way, but not near the bathrooms.

He had a good time, getting acquainted with some of the guys he hardly got to see because he was so busy. They talked about the things they liked: movies, video games, girls, and RPGs.

From where he sat, he was angled to see the bar. New Haven was a college town, and Cousin Pepe’s was a college crowd. The bar area was separated from the restaurant by a waist-high brick wall. He could see that area populated by college guys and girls of drinking age, all laughing, getting loud, sharing pitchers of beer and nachos. The bar faced about ten tall bar tables and they were more popular than the bar itself. Pepe’s checked IDs, so the students in there were seniors. And he was unfamiliar with them. But while he talked with the guys, he noted one face in his periphery that seemed to always be watching him. Then the dread settled in, and while he tried to keep a calm demeanor with his friends his thoughts wandered to the secret horror of the last few days. Wondered if his friends knew, though it wouldn’t seem they didn't because everything was as it should be with Alex and Jay and Phil. But now he was being taken out of the fun this evening by worry that he was about to be embarrassed. He could imagine this girl that was watching him sitting by the bar with some other girls, coming over and laughing and pointing at him, identifying him as the man in the picture with the tiny dick. His stomach began to writhe and he squirmed in his seat.

The girl continued to watch him, face drifting from the conversation she held with her compatriots, eyes settling on his, then looking away. It was furtive and not predatory. After a while he began to hope that she was flirting. She was super pretty, and dressed, he believed, like a sorority girl, which worried him. She had shining brown hair, and an innocent, expressive face. Her eyes were dark, and from this distance he couldn’t help but imagine they were a deep chestnut brown. She had a pretty smile, and when someone at the table said something amusing, he liked to see her flash it, see the corners draw her cheeks wide, see the flashing white of her set of perfect teeth.

She hadn’t engaged any of her table mates to turn and glance over their shoulders, didn’t urge them to point and laugh, all of them saying, "Oh, my God, isn't that the guy?" So, in time, the tightness in his chest abated.

After three shared pitchers of Coke, he went to the bathroom to freshen up. Wanted the girl at the bar seating to see how tall he was. So he walked, let her get a look at him and his nice new threads he’d bought to go back to college this year. Went to the bathroom. When he came out he was shocked to find her waiting in the hall.

It was a narrow hall that led from the restaurant to the kitchen and two doors to the bathrooms along the way. When he exited, he came face-to-face with her as she leaned on the wall opposite the bathroom door. They were startlingly close. His head darted back and he made as if to say something, but didn’t know what to say. The girl smiled again, flashed him those teeth.

He said, "I knew your eyes were brown."

She said, "My eyes?"

He said, "Yeah. I was wondering. It was hard to tell from where I'm sitting. But I was pretty sure."

The girl smiled broader and cocked her head, surmising him. She said, "You were right." She batted her eyelashes.

He'd got away with that corny exchange, and he let her see his smile now, too, unsure of where to take this conversation on her eye color. He ventured, "Could have been green, but I see they're chestnut."

Now she smirked, cocked an eyebrow, some sort of joke passing across her mind. She said, "Boy, you really ran that one into the ground."

"I’m not very good at this," he admitted.

She eased herself from the wall and stepped towards him. "Well, they're brown, but what do you think of them?"

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The girl seemed fun and easy-going, and that lightened him. He said, "Let me take a closer look," and stepped towards her so they were toe to toe, and looked directly in her eyes. Though there was an awful tension, it was also bursting with humor. He said, "They’re pretty beautiful. They're more than just brown, aren’t they? Chestnut, gold…"

She said, "You’re that guy, aren’t you?"

His stomach flinched. He said, "What guy?" Blood drained from his cheeks.

"You can tell me."

He repeated, "What guy?"

She said, "I know it’s you. You're the guy in the picture."

"What picture?" He stepped back.

"It’s okay. Just tell me."

There was nothing he wanted more than to leave this girl behind now. He shrugged with fake confidence, gave her a smirk, showed her his palms, saying, "I don’t even know what you’re talking about." He walked away.

Before he made it out of the hall, she had said, "It’s okay," one more time. But he wasn’t turning back, and he continued to his table. He rejoined his friends, and listened in on the conversation. Too tight inside to register what they were saying, just imitating a pleasant face while his mind raced a thousand miles an hour.

The girl emerged from the hallway, heading towards the bar, but watching him. He darted a glance toward her. She gave him a funny smile. He looked away.

Then she was at his shoulder, and she put her lips close to his ear, said, "I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry." Then she patted his back, and stood. It was like she was giving him a chance to say something, but he just was not the guy in the photo. He would never say he was. So he shrugged again, said, "Sorry," like he still didn’t know what she was talking about.

She looked sheepishly back to her table, then bowed again like she would whisper in his ear. He faced his friends, noting now that their conversation had ended. This girl was way too pretty to be at their table, and they wanted to know what the hell was going on here.

In his ear she whispered, "I liked the photo." Then she walked away.

Michael watched her as she returned to her table and joined her friends, never making a mention of her exchange with the guy with the little dick, not waggling her little finger and all of them looking over and laughing at him.

He was unsure. Didn’t know what to make of this. His friends were saying things to him, but he didn’t comprehend.

Someone tugged at his arm. Jack said, "Dude, what the hell was that?"

He turned to them, said, "I don’t know. Just some girl." And he shrugged like this was the kind of thing that happened to him all the time.

*

When dinner was over, everyone settled their bill. He and Alex and Jay and Phil filed out together, his exchange with the pretty girl now forgotten. All except for him. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. So while he tagged along at the back of the line, falling behind Phil, he veered right when everyone went straight, headed for the front door. He passed through the bar, seeing the pretty brown-eyed girl still there. She registered him coming, and it brought a smile to her face. He got to the table, and leaned to her as she had leaned to him. Her friends watched. He whispered, "Sorry if I was rude."

The brown-eyed girl put a hand on the lapel of his jacket and pulled him closer so she could whisper in his ear. She said, "I was the one being rude. I’m sorry."

He told her it was okay, and she turned to her curious friends, excused herself, saying to Michael, "Come with me."

Alex, Jay, and Phil stood at the door watching him. He showed them a smile, and waved them away. They left with bewildered faces. They knew the code—though this was a rule they'd never explored before. The girl led him to the hallway where they had met. She held his hand.

"Look, maybe I was being dumb," she said. "Or too forward or something. But I’m sorry. Nothing came out the way I wanted."

"It’s okay," he said.

She went to her toes, and he couldn’t believe it: she was coming in for a kiss. Their lips met, and he tasted beer and felt her breath on his skin. It was a nice exchange, tender, not forceful; just a sweet kiss. When she looked in his eyes, she said, "I was serious. Serious about liking the picture."

"Okay," he muttered, still not wanting to admit to being the subject of the photo.

She’d been holding his lapels when they kissed, now back down on the soles of her feet, her hands lowered, one coming to rest on his belt, the other dipping below. She cupped him between the legs. He flinched, but didn’t move away. He knew what he had didn’t fill out her palm. But she didn’t mention it. This was always the hardest part when he met a girl. Letting her know his most private thing. Worried about acceptance and disappointment. This girl already knew, and didn’t seem to care. She'd said she liked it. It was all very strange, somewhat intoxicating, but he wasn’t going to stop her. Her hand cupped and squeezed, feeling around to find what he had.

She whispered, "Show it to me."

"Show you?"

"I want to see it."

Mike frowned, his mouth turning down in a grimace, and he whispered, "You're just going to make fun of me."

"I swear on my life I will not make fun of it."

While as frightening as the moment seemed, it was also something out of a dream. The ones he'd had when he was in puberty. So he offered no more resistance. He undid his fly, fished around with two fingers into the Y-front of his underwear, found what he had, wishing it was harder. Then after a brief moment of reluctance, he tugged his little thing out of the front of his pants.

The girl looked down, both hands resting on his belt now, shielding them should anyone come into the hall to visit the bathroom.

"So, there it is," he said.

Her head shifted from left to right as she regarded it, eyes lowered, a positive but mirthful smirk on her mouth. After examination, she said, "I like it," looking in his eyes.

"I like it, too," he said, voice light and faraway.

A figure blotted the end of the hallway, a patron coming to use the facilities. Without prompting, this girl, whose name he didn’t even know yet, pressed herself against his body and kissed him again, the act covering up the thing he had brought out for her, and making it look like this was just a boyfriend and girlfriend sharing a kiss. He worked his lips against hers, his heart pounding, feeling wild excitement for this girl who had not existed to him an hour ago, but was now a desperate thing he needed in his life. He gripped her arms and kissed her harder. She gave him her tongue and he took it. The unseen patron passed behind them and entered the washroom door on the right.

She broke their kiss. "Come back with me."

"Where?"

"Come back to my place."

He agreed with clutched breath, stiff fingers working his penis back into his pants and zipping himself up.

She said, "Yeah? Okay, you will?"

Mike nodded again, and put a hand on her back as she turned and they walked out of the hall together. They passed along the path his friends had taken on the outside of the wall separating the bar, and she waved to her friends good night. They went outside to the main street, into the fresh and cold night air. Streetlights had come on, lighting the sidewalk in flickering apricot. She took his hand as they turned left.

He said, "You don’t live on campus?"

"No," she said. "My place is just up ahead."

"What’s your name?"

"Alexis," she said.

"I’m Michael."

"I know," she said. "I knew it was you."

"That’s right."

"It’s okay," she told him. "You can trust me."

"Yeah, I think I can."

"You can," she said, trying to catch his eye.

He looked in her deep brown eyes and felt like she was serious. They walked a little while, getting past where the stores were and turning onto a side street that he recognized. He said, "Where is your house?"

Alexis felt his hesitation, and she tugged his arm to encourage him to keep up with her. "I swear it’s okay," she said.

But still he faltered. "It’s up ahead?"

"Yeah, it’s up ahead."

"You go to NHU?"

"Yeah," she said. "Of course I do."

"You in a sorority?"

"I am," she said.

"For fuck's sake," he said and stopped. "You're an OKE?"

She stopped with him, still holding his hand. She faced him, saying, "I told you you can trust me."

"You can’t trust a sorority girl."

That made her laugh, but she said, "You can trust me, Michael."

"You're going to take me there, and someone's gonna dump pig's blood on my head."

She flinched and turned her mouth down. "Pig's blood? What the hell is that about?"

"Mean girls," he said.

Alexis rolled her eyes. "What, mean girls put pig's blood on people?"

“Just the ones they think aren’t good enough and they want to humiliate them.”

“Michael, you’re good enough. I came to you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Not only was she familiar with the photo of him, Alexis had probably joined in on the pile-on, all the girls in that group chat making fun of how small his penis was.

“Stop being difficult,” Alexis said, and took his other hand so she held both of them now, walking backwards, leading him further down the street. He stepped hesitatingly, but he followed her. There was something about her that seemed genuine, even if she was from OKE.

Sure enough, dead ahead on the left-hand side, he saw the white sign with the brass plaque that said Omega Kappa Epsilon. Out front of Starlight Manor. The Bitch Nest. A three-story Victorian mansion in the New Haven village. The home of the OKE women. It was a Wednesday night and there weren’t any parties, but all the lights were on, and there were girls sitting on the porch, lounging in wicker chairs, and some could be seen lingering in the dining room hall where he'd had the conversation with that nasty blonde bitch who'd taken the picture of his penis so she could show all her friends.

Mike slowed again, and Alexis made an exasperated but comical sigh. "Get over here," she said and pulled him along the walk between the gardens and up to the patio steps.

The Size Sorority: 1.4 (Patreon)

His heart pounded against his ribs as he approached the lion’s den. Alexis led him by the hand up the three steps onto the porch, and they barely drew the attention of the girls congregated there. He didn’t look at them, but was aware of them in his periphery. Their conversation was inane, some social miscue experienced by a pledge or something, a bright and cheerful story despite its innate meanness. Their heads followed his path as he entered the house with Alexis, but no one said a thing, no wolf whistle, no crude nickname whispered or shouted.

He entered the hall that he’d fled on Sunday morning, passing through it holding hands with the pretty girl he met at a Mexican restaurant who apparently wanted to fuck him. Again, the conversation at the dining room table amongst a half dozen pretty sorority girls in shorts and pajama pants went uninterrupted, despite his perceived small-dick celebrity. No one stopped to say anything. Either the size of his penis had been forgotten, gotten old, or (and most likely) a girl sneaking a boy up to her room was nothing that drew anyone’s attention around here.

They mounted the steps together and at the top landing made their way along the familiar Oriental runner that stretched to the end of the long hall. She led him past the room of the girl whose bed he had woken in, past the room where the Asian girl had exited, and made their way almost to the end of the hall.

She said, “Right here,” putting her hand on a brass doorknob on a narrow wooden door on the right hand side. They entered her room.

It was small, and a mirrored image of the one he’d woken in on the weekend. No roommates for Alexis at the sorority, this was a room for one. The space was festooned with the accoutrements of a college girl. Inspirational statements, whiteboard with scribblings in marker, a series of calendars, boy band posters, a poster of Rihanna where someone had drawn a word balloon from her snarling lips that read: Get Out My Way. Her curtain was closed, but he tried to imagine what these windows looked out on. Probably a garden that ran behind the house.

“I like your room,” he said.

Alexis was shrugging out of her coat, and she said, “Boy, that’s good. Imagine you hated it and had to scramble out of here.”

“Not likely,” he joked.

“Not likely,” she agreed. She threw her jacket on the floor and went to him, wrapping her arms around his just below his shoulders, her lips seeking his. He kissed her, fully on her pretty pouting lips.

They made out like that for a while, faces twisting on one another, his hands going over her body on top of her clothes. Soon hers came together between them, undoing his belt buckle. This was for real.

Buckle slipped through the roller, she worked now on his button and his zipper. Under the fabric, he was fully hard. Not as embarrassing a size as he was in the Mexican restaurant, but still embarrassing. Alexis was eager though. Alexis was into this.

There was no surprise here, she knew everything about him that he usually hated to have addressed. So he roped his arms around her waist and hugged her to him; she grunted, complied, throwing her knees up in the air and hugging her thighs around his waist. He walked her to her unmade bed and lay her down on it, climbing on top of her. They kissed still, and he worked with one hand to unbutton the front of her shirt—gasping suddenly, as her warm hand wrapped itself around his erection.

"It’s so small," she whispered. It was the kind of thing someone said that would stab his heart, but tonight it made it pound. He thrusted through her hand, and she stroked it.

He whispered, "You like it?"

She broke the kiss and gasped, "I like it just fine."

He ventured: "You like my little dick?"

"Yeah, I like this tiny little dick you have."

Now he had her shirt open and he kissed between her breasts, over her bra, down her tummy, his hands working at undoing a big wooden button over her hip that kept her skirt fastened. When it was undone, he stood, letting his untucked shirt hanging over him to hide his small arousal. It had excited him to hear her label it as small, but old habits die hard. And he didn’t like girls to see the size of it compared to the rest of his tall frame. He took the hem of her skirt and tugged it down bringing her tights along, slowly revealing her black panties. She writhed on the bed, wiggling her hips to help him get her undressed. Then he was over top of her again, her in just bra and panties. He kissed her neck and her collar while her hands folded behind her and undid the bra. When it loosened he pushed it away with his chin, seeking her nipple with his mouth. He suckled it, and her hands went over his head, nails scratching at his scalp. His fingers dipped into her waistband, pulled the panties down her thighs, and she kicked them away. Now she was naked and his shirt was undone and his pants hung loosely at his thighs.

"Get a condom," she whispered.

Fuck. In all the excitement, he’d forgotten. Yet again he was unarmed. Unprotected. The same thing happened on Sunday, going home with that blonde haired photo-taking witch, winding up in her bedroom, using her condoms, none of which were small enough to fit him. The tragedies of that night overwhelming him in the following days, making him disregard the one most important take away from that evening: always having appropriate protection. He worked at her nipples again, working his way down her body, intending to end up in that hot patch between her creamy thighs. He wasn’t drunk tonight. He wasn’t drunk, and if they didn’t have a condom, he was still going to do wonderful things to this pretty girl.

She repeated, "Get a condom."

He whispered across her navel, "I don’t have any on me."

"In my drawer," she gasped, and he thought of ways to broach the subject that they probably weren't going to fit him. Reading his mind, she whispered, "I have snug-fit."

Now his pulse raced again, and while this labeled him as small, showed she recognized his diminutive endowment, it still excited him. One, they were going to be able to have sex tonight. Two, she was prepared for guys with small packages. Could he have found some girl who was beautiful, funny, smart enough to attend NHU, and had some sort of small-size fetish? She had seen his picture and sought him out. She wanted what he had. The thing that he had between his legs raged hard and straight and steely. And he stretched himself across her bed, reaching up to her night table and pulling open the top drawer. His hand fumbled around grabbing light cardboard boxes, hearing the scratching foil inside, knowing they were boxes of condoms. He held one up to the light and saw Magnum. Definitely not. Held up another they just said Trojan. Not that one either. He searched around further, found another one, pulled it out and saw that they were labeled as snug fitting. These were the ones. He brought them to the bed, opened the box, fighting conflicting thoughts within him right now, asking him what he thought about all those boxes of condoms. Was she some slut? Maybe she didn’t like little ones, maybe she liked big ones, medium ones—maybe she liked them all. It didn’t matter, and now was not the time to ruin the evening with self-conscious thinking. He tore open the foil, and now Alexis was climbing on him, taking the opened condom out of his hand.

"Let me," she said. "You’re taking forever."

They both laughed as she got on top of him, completely naked, his shirt opened, pants still pulled down to his middle thigh. She was on her knees, her rump squatting over his belt buckle and he admired her beautiful body while she sorted out which way the condom rolled down. He ran hands up and down her bare legs, feeling how flawless her flesh was. Her breasts gently swayed, then were pressed together as she brought her hands down to his erection. She held the little condom between the thumb and forefinger of one hand and circled his base with the thumb and forefinger of the other. She pinched him tight, and guided the condom to go over his glans. He watched her work. He said, "You like little ones?"

"I do," she said. "And yours is the littlest one I’ve seen."

"Are you joking?"

Alexis smirked and then used her thumb and forefinger to roll the condom down his shaft. She said, "Yeah… Well, no. Probably not. It’s really small." Her words stiffened him further, and he forced her to fall on his chest by bringing his knees up rapidly. She collapsed on his bare chest, laughing, kissing his chin, and then pressing her cheek to him.

She whispered in his ear, "Fuck me with that tiny dick."

Now he rolled Alexis over, throwing her onto her back on her own bed, climbing up on top of her, getting between her thighs. She was eager and compliant, opening herself to him, laughing, having a good time. Her knees came up, and he guided his rock hard erection inside her. It slipped inside her very easily, and she made no sound. He stroked in and out, finding her breasts with his hands, kissing her shoulder, wishing he could make her cry out. But that was not something that Michael Fallon could do. He pounded away regardless, driving his body against her so at least she would grunt as air was pushed out of her by the force he applied. Her hands caressed his sides, up and down, rubbing his back. She was quiet and calm. He began to think she was just waiting for him to put it in.

Feeling aroused and a little out of his mind with ecstasy, he grunted, “Ask me if it’s in.”

“Really?”

“Ask me,” he grunted, driving away.

She whispered, “Tell me when it’s in.”

“It is in,” he grunted.

“No, it’s not,” she sighed.

“I’m all the way in,” he grunted, powering away, feeling himself swelling within, getting closer and closer.

Alexis whispered, “Stop teasing me, Michael, tell me when you put it in me.”

He had no comeback. Sweat dotted his brow and his hips machined into her, shaking the bed. She gasped now, sensing him close, her arm going around his neck. She whispered in his ear, “I think I feel it. I think I feel it, Michael . . . it’s in now, isn’t it?”

That was it. Her words whispering gently across his ear sent off his rockets. All his missiles launching up inside her, a full-scale attack. He thrust and thrust, filling up his teeny condom with his massive load. Pumping and pumping while the girl he was with still made no sound of enjoyment.

When he was done, and a certain wave of shame began to lick up his back, he rose over her, lifting himself up with his arms. He kissed her shoulder. He looked her over; she was wordless, a half a smile threatening to pull wider. It seemed like she wondered what to make of this, what do you do now, what do you do when a man can’t satisfy you?

Alexis was innocent and pretty; she seemed like a sweet person. Kindhearted, someone who he could spend time with. So he slipped off the condom, squeezed his shaft into it as it unrolled and slid off, and let it drop to the floor next to the bed. Alexis still couldn’t say anything, eyes bright, lips hesitating, not knowing what to say. She made to pull the sheets up to cover herself, but now Michael lowered himself again. He kissed between her breasts, ran his tongue down her Linnea Alba to the tight, shallow cup of her navel, flicking and rolling with a tongue tip, then lower until he smelled latex from where he’d burned her membranes with his intense friction.

"Oh, Michael," she sighed.

Then he took her, took her like he’d studied, like he’d learned to do. Running the flat of his tongue, pressing all of her folds down and flat, making them wet with his saliva. Then darting up his tongue, coming to a point and running in the folds she had there. She was coppery and sweet smelling, a girl who kept herself clean. She was heavenly between her legs. His tongue went quicker, making each side of her furled flesh wet and ready, probing, and teasing into her canal, then up over her, soaring back down again, tongue tip riding over the crest of her hood, knowing what he sought lay underneath. Alexis's sighing stopped, and soft girlish squeaking began. When her nails scratched at his scalp again, his heart rate resumed its steady pounding. He had her; he had her and he knew what he was doing. He found that membranous pleasure lump under her hood, teasing and pulling with his lips until it became hard rubber, then he controlled it, using the soft gasps she uttered to fine tune his pleasuring. He worked her for half an hour; he wasn’t counting, but he knew Alexis had come at least four times. Some of them were small, some of them were big, but her body was telling him she was capable of more. So he worked her like that, twisting in the sheets with her, Alexis flat on her back, sometimes on her side, her thighs pressed around his ears. He even one time made her come while she was on all fours. He put his tongue in her anus that time. But now he had her back where they started: her head in her pillow, her knees up to her breasts, her legs wide for him, letting this welcome guest do what he pleased. He worked her until her belly began to roll like waves on a stormy ocean. Her breath came faster and faster and she began to gasp and chant. Not his name, though he wished she would, just unintelligible sounds. Her hands came away from his head and he chanced a glance up along her beautiful body to see her now clenching her fists against her own forehead. It was coming.

He plunged his tongue harder, working her clit with the root, while his tongue curled to point into her canal, he mashed her hard, pushing that button into her own flesh, and she bucked against him as she came.

Now she cried out. Now she cried his name. Not his full given name, just a high bright and very welcome Mike!

It was explosive. She hip-humped him so hard her vulva pounded that spot under his nose and made his nostrils run. But he stuck with it; one-hundred percent dedicated to Alexis's pleasure.

He rode her out, dragging her pleasure for a few minutes. When he rose, he found her on the verge of sleep; out of it, her beautiful body glistening with sweat. He kissed the fronts of her thighs as he got out from between her legs, and she closed them together. She was done now. Too sensitive for him to continue. His work was done anyway.

Now he pulled the sheet up to cover her, and he lay next to her and pulled her close so they spooned.

The Size Sorority: 1.5 (Patreon)

The best part about starting college, Dylan Holifield figured, was the new audience he could expose himself to. He’d just about exhausted the town of Dogwood Hill, everyone back home knowing exactly what he had.

Right off the bat: the most important thing to know about him was his enormous penis. An easy eight-and-a-half inches long when completely flaccid. He’d once measured a legitimate twelve-and-a-half inches when erect. That was bone-pressed, but right over the dorsal side, the ruler jammed into his pubic hair and running on top of his cock to the tip. Thirteen was for rare on ultra-erotic special occasions, but twelev-and-a-half inches was every-day erect. Donkey Dick was what they nicknamed him back in Dogwood Hill. And maybe because he offered not much else to the stuck-up girls at Dogwood Hill High, he adapted by learning to wield his size like a weapon.

Though he was six-foot-two, he was only 163 pounds. Skinny, most girls called him—before passing him over as unworthy. But once word got around that he was packing a donkey cock, no one saw him the same way. And his skinny legs only helped to make his heavy meat look even larger. He’d become enamored with revealing his size to girls just so he could watch their face transform.

So now that he was at NHU, there was a vast sea of uninitiated girls. Like right now, this girl Sadie, his roommate’s girlfriend. Super-cute redhead, a sorority sister, tight body and some pretty big tits. Beautiful face, too, big bright white smile. One of those turned up button noses. Back home, wherever Sadie came from, she had to be one of the top five girls in her high school, he’d bet. His roommate was a good-looking jock. Steve Mathers, tall as Dylan, but pretty muscular; and a typical jock asshole. They’d been getting along, but that was because Steve was pretty sure he had the upper hand over his skinny roommate most girls wouldn’t look twice at.

They shared a small bathroom in their dorm with a toilet and shower stall and sink. So when Steve said that his girlfriend Sadie was coming by, it was the perfect opportunity for him to get in the shower. He could hear them talking outside now, sounding like they both sat on Steve’s bed. He checked himself in the mirror. He liked to keep himself light these days because he knew he looked good lean. And his dick looked good when he was lean. Last year he’d tromped through Europe going to all the museums, and every day he’d committed himself to 500 pushups. Now he had something like a chest, and some improvement in his shoulders, too. He had abs, but he wasn’t jacked. In fact, getting jacked would be pretty impossible unless he was willing to eat half a cow every day. But he’d got the beginning of a full sleeve tattoo, starting on his forearm now, and his buddy Cliff back in Asheville finished the neck tattoo for him in the summer; one side of his neck, from ear to collar. It had hurt like a son of a bitch.

Outside in his room, he could hear Steve say something in his low grumbly voice, and then Sadie burst out in a high titter. Both of them laughing then. Perfect. He gathered up his towel, put it over his head, opened the bathroom door and walked into the dorm room completely naked. He had the towel around his ears and scrubbed at his wet hair, strolling between the two beds. He kept the towel around his head open, so he could peep out, watching Sadie. His cock bounced off his thighs as he walked, and his eyes tracked Sadie. She was watching Steve, then saw him coming between the beds, her eyes moved to him, down a few degrees and then widened seeing his massive floppy dick. It made sticky flesh sounds as it bounced off his thighs.

“Oh, my God,” Sadie bawled. Then she reeled, laughing brightly, knowing she shouldn’t look, turning her head away—but looking again in her periphery.

Steve, however, scowled. “Jesus, dude,” he cursed, full of venom.

“Oh, hey,” Dylan said, “sorry, I didn’t know you guys were here.”

“You knew I was here,” Steve said.

“I didn’t know your girl was here,” Dylan said, still not covering up.

“You could put a towel on,” Steve said.

“I was drying my hair,” he said, letting the towel come down his body, Sadie’s cheeks blushing bright red, head turned away, but eyes still peeping between his legs. He loved the poise of her pretty mouth the way it was pulled in a reluctant smile. He’d just made her day. Once she’d departed dear old Steve, he of the mighty bench press, the first thing she would do was text her friends about the monster cock she’d just seen. Who? they would ask, and Sadie would say Steve’s roommate. And thusly more opportunities would be provided for him to reward eager girls’ curiosity. He put the towel around his waist, and loosely knotted it at his hip. “Sorry, guys,”, he said. “That was rude. I just thought it was me and Steve, and I only have the one towel.”

Sadie was still flustered, turning to face him now, her eyes moving up his body then back down looking to see if she could see the bulge of that thing against the terrycloth towel fabric. She said, “Nope, I’m here, too.”

“Yeah, again, sorry about that,” he said while Steve still scowled at him.

“That was crazy,” Sadie said, and giggled. And Sadie’s giggle made Steve angrier. Now he was scowling at her.

“We should probably get out of here,” Steve said.

“Yeah,” Sadie said, some of the enjoyment in the moment dashed for her, what with her boyfriend’s bad mood.

Dylan said, “Where’re you guys going?”

Steve said, “Out.” Then realized how dickish that sounded and said, “We’re going out with some of Sadie’s friends down to the bar on Mill Street.”

Sadie said, “The Green Lion,” and Steve shot her a look, thinking that sounded too much like an invitation and not liking it.

“Okay,” Dylan said. “Have fun.”

Steve led the way out of their dorm room, taking Sadie by the hand. Sadie glanced over her shoulder, and there was that big smile again. He smiled in return, and Sadie showed a wave over her shoulder before Steve pulled her out of the room and closed the door behind them.

  *

Alexis’s alarm went off at ten to midnight; she snatched her phone from the nightstand and turned it off before it woke any other sisters in the house. Ones who weren’t members of The Six, or ones chosen to pledge.

She’d only napped underneath the bedcovers, and now she slipped out in sweats, stepped into slippers, tiptoed to the bedroom door, holding her breath, then closed the door behind her, wincing as the old hinges creaked. Now she turned and made her way down the dim hallway.

These midnight meetings were the worst, especially when they were held in the turret. Everyone knew Starlight Manor was haunted. And the turret was supposed to be the most haunted part of the house. So she walked with that awful feeling, the one where like someone was watching you, then you glance over a shoulder but always only find the hallway empty. Nope, no ghosts here. Unless of course, you’re not looking. Then they’re skittering along behind you, knowing that was when you were most vulnerable. She quickened her pace, breath coming in quick gasps as she arrived at the heavy wooden door leading to the mansion’s turret.

According to legend, young Elizabeth Winthrop had died in a tragic accident on the eve of her wedding, way back in 1890, and her spirit still lingered in the manor, particularly in the turret where she used to spend hours reading and writing. OKE’s home resided in the summer retreat built by Edgar Winthrop, an industrialist and uber-wealthy textile baron, who’d overseen Starlight Manor’s construction in the 1880s. Elizabeth was his daughter; after the deep depression Edgar and his wife Evelyn suffered in the wake of Elizabeth’s unexpected demise, the Winthrops sold Starlight to a progressive social group of women wanting to form a sorority in the newly established New Haven University.

The room past the door was small and cramped, with a single window that looked out over the darkened town of New Haven. A spiraling stairway wound up to the turret’s main chamber, and this space was the anteroom, a place of preparation before entering the Starlight Chamber above; the home of the secret council that worked behind the scenes at the OKE sorority: The Order of the Six. Or the O6; or the Hexennial Sisters.

It was almost midnight, and Alexis worked quickly to locate her midnight blue robe, shrug it over her head and pulled up the hood so it cowled around her face. She wrapped the cummerbund around her middle, toed off her slippers and went barefoot, as was the protocol, and stepped onto the first metal stair—

The heavy door boomed open behind her and she jumped out of her skin, crying out with squeaky horror and slapping a hand over her mouth. A woman stood in the open doorway, cocking her head and studying her with predatory concern.

“Oh my god,” Alexis said. “I thought you were Elizabeth Winthrop.”

The young woman in the doorway chuckled, stepped deeper into the anteroom, closing the door behind her. With calm superiority, she said, “Boo,” then strolled to the hanging robes. The latecomer was Sadie White. Sister White as Alexis would call her tonight. Sister White or the Weaver or the Black Weaver. Sadie was O6; not a pledge but a bonafide Hexennial Sister with a lot of power. Third in ranking; The Mother Witch and the Oracle Lune the only ones outranking her. Sadie didn’t don one of the hanging robes; she had her own locker, and opened it now, pulling out her Hexennial robe. Still in the same midnight blue as Alexis’s, but Sadie’s showing moon phases in embroidered silver across the back and shoulders, the chest showing the arcane symbol of the Weaver. As Sadie puled the robe overhead, her red hair tied up in a French braid, she said, “Did you bag him?”

Alexis flinched, looking around, unsure if Sadie addressed her or not—though there was no one else here unless maybe Elizabeth Winthrop’s ghost. She said, “Uh, bag him? Who?”

Sadie still showed Alexis her back, pulling out her silver necklace with the huge pentagram pendant from the locker. “That guy with the tiny dick.”

Alexis nodded.

Sadie looked over her shoulder, frowning, not able to hear a nod.

Alexis cleared her throat. “Yes, I did, Sister White,” she said, forming mental excuses for why she couldn’t manage getting Michael verified by a Six Sister.

Sadie smiled, looped the necklace overhead and set the shimmering pentagram between her large breasts. Then she put a finger to pursed lips for a second. “Say no more. You’ll give the council the details when you come up to the chamber.” Then she aimed a finger to the bench underneath where the satin robes hung. “Sit there and wait. Give me a minute to get settled, then come up and see us.”

Alexis pulled her foot off the cold metal stair and slipped along the wall, giving Sister White room to get past, then sat on the bench with her hands underneath her. Sister White trotted barefoot up the stairs without saying anymore, then another heavy door sound as she entered the Starlight Chamber.

A minute passed, sitting on the bench in gloom and oppressive quiet, trying not to think of Elizabeth Winthrop and how that night Jasmine swore she heard Elizabeth playing the old piano in the music room and had cried with unreasonable fear and no one could console her.

But no ghost came for her in that time, and she wound her way up the stairs to the chamber door and stopped to say a silent prayer before opening it. Hand on brass knob, she twisted, pushed open the door and entered. 

The starlight chamber was a room painted and decorated in black. Victorian furniture, chinoiserie fabric in black, various artifacts and antiquities on the shelves; the ceiling was high and vaulted, the slats painted black with little stars some girls had painted up there in the 1980s. The Sisters lounged in chairs and chaises; some on sofas. The high council. The Hexennial Sisters, dressed in their midnight blue robes. Ten of the twelve total Sisters in person; The Mother Witch wasn’t able to attend, so she would appear via Zoom. Same with Ava, the Whispermoon, who was in New Delhi for a week, staying with her family.

The Size Sorority: 1.6 (Patreon)

Previously on The Size Sorority: Dylan Holifield, a skinny college freshman with an unusually large penis, reveals himself to his roommate Steve's girlfriend, Sadie, while walking naked in their shared dorm room. Sadie reacts with shock and laughter, while Steve scowls in anger. Dylan later apologizes but revels in the knowledge that he has made an impression on Sadie. Steve and Sadie leave for a night out, and Dylan remains in the dorm room, pleased with himself.

Alexis sneaks to the Starlight Manor's turret for a midnight meeting of The Six, a secret council within the OKE sorority. Sadie White arrives and asks about Alexis's assignment regarding Michael. In the Starlight Chamber, ten of the twelve Hexennial Sisters gather, with Mother Witch and Ava Patel attending via Zoom.

*

The Hexennial Sisters made Alexis sit in the center of their ring in an uncomfortable wooden chair. Sadie, Sister White, sat on the desk with an iPad Pro next to her, The Mother Witch illuminated on the screen, watching from her bedroom at home in Greenwich, Connecticut. The Mother Witch’s robes were here at Starlight Manor, but The Mother Witch wore a black hoodie with the hood pulled up for protocol. She’d showered, and her long blonde hair framed her cheeks, dangling from the hood’s opening in wet tangles the shade of caramel.

Sister White got to the point, all of them now past the ceremonial introductions, reading passages from the Sacred Grimoire, and chanting their Sister’s Sacrament in unison, saying, “Sister Miller, I understand you bagged The Mother Witch’s exquisite find.” The desk top was festooned with candelabras with long white tapers, maybe two dozen flickering flames.

Alexis nodded. “I did.” Some of the sisters chuckled or tittered behind her. 

The Mother Witch smiled. “Excellent work, Sister Miller. I commend your boldness.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Alexis said, and bowed her head.

“Did you get a condom on it?”

“Yeah,” Alexis said. “They had snug-fit condoms at the pharmacy.”

This brought brighter laughs all around her. The Enchanted Eclipse and the Luna Divine laughed so hard they collapsed against each other, repeating the size terminology of “snug fit” and cackling. Sister White whistled for their attention and manners. They straightened themselves on the sofa, still smiling, but biting back their unruly glee.

Sister White said, “How was it?”

Alexis shrugged, not sure what to say. “We had fun.”

The Mother Witch frowned, pulling aside her hood to peer at her screen. “Fun? With that tiny little dick?”

“Well, I mean, we did other stuff, too.”

There was a moment of silence, everyone contemplating, waiting for the Mother to say something else. Sadie looked over at Sophia, the Oracle Lune, and second-in-command. Sophia leaned closer, sitting at the side of the desk in a comfy leather chair. “One of your pledge sisters knows our little-dick man.”

“Who?”

Sophia didn’t answer, only stared at Alexis, long fingers interdigitating, bare feet curling to the sides and showing her soles under the hem of her satin robes. “This pledge claims, despite that useless little dick, he’s quite competent between the sheets. Is this what you’re telling us?”

“Yeah,” Alexis said, “I guess.” She scrambled to think of the other pledges and who might know Michael, and if this pledge’s former association with Michael would affect her points.

Sadie liked this aspect of the story, smiling, leaning forward too. “Was he really any good?”

Alexis nodded again, and this time Sophia said, “This isn’t the place to hold back, Sister Miller. Tell us.”

Alexis rubbed the back of her satiny neck, feeling a little awkward divulging private details—but this was the whole point of it all, wasn’t it? “He was actually . . . he was really good.”

Sophia cocked her head. “With his tongue?”

Alexis bit back a smile, hiding inappropriate laughter, regaining composure so she could say, “He was really good. Like I said, we had fun.”

Sadie grunted, slipping off the desk, strolling closer, walking around the chair where Alexis sat and regarding her. Then she got close, smelling like vanilla and soap, saying, “Did he make you come?” She emphasized the word come, dragging it for maximum offense, testing this pledge for prudishness. 

Alexis sniffed, and said with proud affirmation, that, yes, the guy with the little dick had made her come. Adding, “Like a lot. I don’t know how many times, but it was a lot.”

There was no laughter now from the Hexennial Sisters, only scrutiny. Sister White chuckled a little in her throat, crossing her arms and strolling back to the desk. “Well, well, well,” she said, hopping back up on her perch. She leaned aside to regard the screen where The Mother Witch watched. “Looks like you missed out, Mother.”

The Mother Witch smiled inside her hood’s cowl, saying, “Yeah, well, I’m not in The Trial, anyway.”

“Trial or not,” Sadie said, smirking, “sounds like this guy might have rocked your world.”

“The Mother rolled her eyes and got back to business, addressing Alexis. “Sister Miller?”

“Yes, Mother?”

The Mother narrowed her bright blue eyes. “You have to be a real whore to fuck a little dick like that. Would you agree?”

Alexis nodded, her mouth turned down in a grim line. This wasn’t true. This was hazing. This was the process. And if you believed in the process, then you knew how to endure. “I agree,” she said.

Sister White chuckled, picked up her phone and opened it. Alexis knew she was preparing to film her statement.

“Tell me you’re a whore who loves dick,” The Mother Witch said, smirking to one side.

Alexis repeated it, telling The Mother Witch with unwavering pride that she was indeed a whore who loved dick so much, she’d “take anything a man offers.”

“Even a teeny weeny little pecker?” The Mother Witch showed a wiggling pinky finger to her camera for emphasis.

Sadie snapped her fingers overhead, and Alexis looked up, her face exposed to the light and Sadie’s iPhone camera. The Sisters recorded everything. Sadie said, “Tell me who you are, Alexis Miller.”

Alexis took a breath, let it out, said to the camera. “I’m a dick-loving slut, and I love dicks any way I can get them. Big, small, hard, floppy. Even teeny-tiny.”

Sadie laughed. “But you like them big and hard, right?”

Alexis couldn’t stop a smile from showing, felt blush heating her cheeks. “They’re best when they’re big and hard.” God, her family would disown her if they knew what she was up to here in Vermont.

“Excellent,” Sadie said, setting her phone back down on the desk beside her thigh.

From Alexis’s right-hand side, Lily, the Luna Divine, said, “Did he get it inside you?”

“He did.”

The Mother crinkled her nose. “Did you feel it?”

“Kind of.”

Some of the girls sniggered. Lily looked across to Sophia. “Do we believe her?”

Sophia hummed, thinking, regarding Alexis until she grew uncomfortable. Sadie said, “I believe her.”

Lily asked Sadie if she was sure, and Sadie said, “I’ll vouch for her. I think he put it in her.”

Sophia said, “No one else has fucked him yet?”

“The other pledge did, but that was back in high school. That doesn’t count,” Sadie said.

Alexis smiled, relieved. She’d claimed Michael, would receive more points for him than anyone else who seduced him in the future.

Lily’s features shrank. “But he’s not confirmed yet.”

Sadie reminded Lily that the Witch Mother had been with him, had been the one to discover how small his penis was.

The Witch Mother said, “I didn’t fuck him or measure him, but I can confirm the guy has a tiny dick. We’ll put Sister Miller on the board, then we’ll tally her points when someone gets a ruler on the guy’s little nub.”

Sadie said, “What do you think, he’s like maybe three inches or something?”

The Witch Mother shook her head, not sure, her wet hair swishing on her sweatshirt’s cotton fabric. She looked like she was in her bedroom, but it was hard to tell; the light was dim, the Witch Mother lit by candlelight. “Yeah, something like that. He’s valuable.”

Alexis held up a hand with thumb and index finger spread about the short length describing Michael’s erect penis. “He was like this.”

Everyone stared with disbelief, some of the O6 getting off their seating to claim a peek at how small she showed with her fingers. More tittering and snickering. Alexis felt a little bad for Michael. He had a little dick, but he was kind of a nice guy. She added, “He likes it when you call it small.”

Sadie’s eyebrows rose high under her cowl, smirking, loving this bit of news. “Oh, really?”

“He really got off on it. He’s a fun guy. He’s really nice.”

Sophia said, “And he put in the work, huh?”

Alexis said he did, again blushing, embarrassed by all her sisters knowing how she’d liked the way Michael went down on her.

Sadie said, “That’s good, Sister Miller. Very good. Uh, listen, you showed real gumption. Go on, scoot back to bed, let the grown up talk a little.”

“Yes, Sister White,” Alexis said, rising from the chair, showing a mild curtsy, Sadie wagging a finger, indicating to speed it up.

The other sisters remained quiet, and watched her from beneath their hoods, candlelight shimmering on their robes, as she trotted out of the chamber in bare feet. She closed the door behind her, then pushed her cheek to it, trying to hear what they might say about her when she was gone.

No laughter, which was a relief, and no hushed gossip either. Only Sadie talking, saying, “Sisters . . . I’d like to tell you a little something about my boyfriend's roommate…”

Then Alexis was gone, worried what the sisters would do to her if they caught her eavesdropping, and worried now that Elizabeth Winthrop may be floating near her somewhere, eager to snatch her soul and drag her off to everlasting purgatory. She quick-stepped down the stairs, disrobed, and padded back to her bedroom, sure she wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep after tonight’s excitement.

  *

Michael bought a large iced cappuccino from the barista at KafeHaus, one of the plugged in food outlets in the lower-level foodcourt in Benton Hall. It was another nice day outside, only sixty-five degrees, but it was bright and the sun was shining warmly. He crossed the food court, fishing his phone out of his pocket. Once he was outside, he found a vacant bench that looked out over Thornton Field. It was dotted with students gathered in small groups in the bleachers, sitting on blankets, some playing hockey sack or throwing Frisbees. The girls field hockey team were running laps. He took a sip of his iced cap and brought his phone to life.

He texted Alexis.

Michael: What are you doing this weekend?

He waited, putting an arm over the back of the bench, and watching a group of freshmen throw a football. The longer he waited, the more his enthusiasm and good spirits waned, but then his phone dinged with a response.

Alexis: who is this?

Michael: Michael from the weekend.

Alexis: Oh yeah. How did you get my number?

That was tricky. He had risen while Alexis slept, some time before dawn. He watched her breathing, then gathered up some of her clothes and bundled them together on a chair. He found her phone in a pocket, sat back down, and exchanged data between his phone and hers, giving them both each other’s contact. He left her phone back on the nightstand, feeling somewhat guilty, but after what they had done that night, it seemed like the right thing.

Michael: Sorry, just took it.

There was a long pause and he made funny, nervous faces at his phone while he waited. She got back to him.

Alexis: I see that you did.

Then:

Alexis: Bad boy.

He smiled and texted his return.

Michael: sorry. You were sleeping, didn’t want to wake you. Had to have your number. Punish me this weekend?

Alexis: Can’t this weekend, sorry.

Then she added an emoji looking exhausted.

That was cool. They weren’t dating. At least not yet—but they would be if he could have his way. So he played it cool.

Michael: No worries. Talk to you later.

Size Sorority: 1.7 (Patreon)

Three days later, Dylan returned to the dorm room to find Sadie there on her own, and knew it was on. She sat cross-legged on her boyfriend’s bed, her laptop out in front of her, leaning forward and typing. She stopped when she saw him come in. He threw his bags on the chair in the corner, saying, “What are you doing here?”

Eyes still on her laptop, she said, “I’m meeting Steve.” He asked her when and she said, “Like in half an hour. Why?”

“I don’t know—are you my third roommate?”

“What do you mean?” Now she looked up at him.

He shrugged, showed her a concerned expression. “So, what—you’re just hanging out here today?”

Sadie smiled, then the smile went away, the girl not knowing if he was kidding or not. She decided he was kidding then smiled again. “I can be here if I want.”

“I should have my privacy.”

She laughed, returned her eyes to her laptop, challenging him: “What do you want to do that’s so private?”

“Private things that you don’t need to know about.”

“Well, I’m sitting here. Deal with it. Go on with your private things.”

He said, “Oh really?”

She looked up through her brows at him. “What? Is it really bugging you I’m here?”

“I just had class, I want to come back and chill out, you know . . .?”

“So chill out. What’s that got to do with me?”

“I don’t know,” he complained, “you’re sitting here—what am I going to do, lay down and you’re going to watch me?”

She said, “Who says I’m going to watch you?”

“I’ll feel like you’re watching me.”

“Sounds like a ‘you’ problem—so turn your back then.”

“All right,” he said, then showed her a hint of a smile to prove that part of this was a ruse, that he might be an asshole but he wasn’t a hundred-percent asshole. He threw himself down on the bed, sat and stared at her.

She watched him a moment, then said, “What are you doing?”

“Just chilling out,” he said. “Why—does it bug you?”

“You’re just going to sit there and stare at me?”

“No—I’m staring at the wall, you just happen to be sitting in front of it.”

She let out an exasperated sigh and grumbled toward the ceiling, like he was a major aggravation. “What’s the big deal? What if it was Steve sitting here?”

He admitted: “Yeah, you’re right, I probably wouldn’t look at Steve.”

She rolled her eyes, but then licked her lower lip. A good sign. She even then ran her hair behind an ear and pretended to resume typing.

He said, “Why don’t you go meet Steve wherever he’s at right now?”

Exasperated, she growled, “What is that you have to do?”

“I like to jerk off when I get home.”

Boom.

She scoffed, then chuckled. Resumed typing. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

He said, “For real?”

“I don’t want to cramp your style,” she said, completely dry and flat. Like it was no big deal. But he knew her heart was racing. She still pretended to type.

“Cool,” he said, and eased himself back to lean on the wall, brought his pillow over to be comfortable, and rested an elbow on it. He brought a knee up to block Sadie’s view of his crotch, then made sure the sound of his zipper drawing down was nice and loud.

She frowned and looked up. “What are you doing?”

“I told you what I like to do when I get home.”

“Oh, okay,” she said, dubious, nodding and rolling her eyes and raising her eyebrows. Typing.

Now he dragged up his blanket from the foot of his unmade bed, put it in his lap. Waited for her to look up. When she did, he moved his hand underneath it like he was jerking off.

She shook her head. “You’re gross,” she said.

“You’re the one that’s gross, sitting here watching me do it.”

“I’m not sitting here watching you do it.”

“Then how do you know I’m doing it?”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” she said.

“You’re a fucking bitch.”

“I’m not leaving,” she said.

“Good,” he said, “I’m not stopping.”

“Have fun.”

“I’m totally having fun.”

She stayed silent for a while, not even pretending to type now, but pretending to read, her eyes moving lines across her laptop screen. He waited and then she looked at him. She said, “You’re watching me while you do it?”

“I’m just looking at the wall.”

She narrowed her eyes, said, “Is that what you normally look at when you jerk off? Walls?”

“Why are you so interested in what I do when I jerk off?”

She laughed, ran her hair back from her face, gathered it behind her head. The act of doing so lifted her elbows up high and showed off her breasts in her shirt. He wondered if she’d thought about seeing him today when she put those clothes on. Why was she here half an hour before Steve arrived? And was Steve even coming?

“That’s it, keep your elbows up,” he said, looking unabashedly at her breasts.

“Oh my God,” she said, very dramatically, dropped her arms then folded them over her breasts. “You’re a fucking pig.”

“Look who’s talking—the girl who comes into a guy’s dorm room to watch him jerk off.”

“You’re such an idiot,” she said, “you’re not even jerking off.”

“I totally am. Can’t you see I am?” He moved his hand under the blanket for emphasis.

“If you really are jerking off, you are a fucking pig.”

“If I am really jerking off, aren’t you a fucking pervert?”

She said, “I can guarantee you’re not jerking off.”

“Oh, like you know me so well,” he said.

“No—I don’t know you at all. I don’t even want to know you.”

He said, “It would be hilarious if I really was jerking off.”

She laughed, then said slyly: “I know you’re totally not.”

He said, “Come over and find out.”

And there: she showed a tiny smile.

“No fucking way,” she said, laughing.

“You’re so sure what I’m doing, come find out if you’re right or not.”

He’d given her a conundrum. And Sadie enjoyed it. Hesitant smile on her face, her eyes stayed right on his. He stared back with confidence.

She loved to see the confidence. Her cheeks were flushed, and she couldn’t stop smiling. At last she allowed herself to do what it was she came here to do but swore she wouldn’t. She stood up from the bed, hesitated again, playing with her hair behind her head, like she was going to tie a ponytail but had no tie to do it up with. She looked to the dorm room door. It was closed. Came closer, then sat down on his bed. He patted the spot next to him, and she said, “I’m not sitting next to you.”

“You don’t have to.”

And then she did. At least a little, scooting deeper onto his bed and sitting on one hip, her weight on a hand that was very close to his thigh.

She said, “So are you?”

“What do you think?”

“I told you you’re not,” she said.

He brought his hand out from under the blanket, put both hands at his sides, looked between his legs where the blanket was gathered. “Find out.”

“Gross—what if you were?” She turned up her nose at the idea of him jerking off under the blanket.

“Then I’d be right and you’re a pervert.”

“No, I’m not,” she said in a sing-song.

“Find out if you’re a pervert or not,” he said, nudging his chin toward where the blanket was gathered over his crotch.

She said, “I’m not pulling the blanket back.”

“Okay,” he said, “do you mind if I keep going then?” He moved a hand like he was looking for her okay before slipping it under the blanket to complete the deed.

Now she moved her hand, pinched the fabric of his blanket, but was too scared to raise it.

He said, “What if we’re both right?”

She raised a slender eyebrow. “How can we both be right?”

“You tell me.”

She frowned at him. “I don’t know.”

“Move the blanket.”

Cautiously, she peeled it back—when she saw his huge flaccid penis laying on his leg, she gasped, and thrust back the blanket to cover it. “Oh my God,” she said, “your dick is totally out!”

“I told you it was.”

“You’re a pig,” she said.

“I wasn’t even jerking it,” he said.

“Your dick’s out.”

“It’s not even hard,” he said, “that’s what I mean what if we’re both right. I had it out, but I wasn’t jerking off.”

“You’re still a pig,” she said—not retreating from his bed.

“And you’re a pervert,” he said and laughed. “We’re both right, just like I said.”

She shook her head. Then: “That’s not even hard?”

“No,” he said, “not even a little—I was just goofing around.”

She returned her gaze his way, then looked down where her hand was near the blanket. She pinched the fabric again, and was less hesitant this time: She peeled the blanket away and looked at his dick. He’d got his fly open, and brought his dick out. It lay huge and soft on the dark fabric of his denim. She marveled at it for a moment, not saying anything but showing it in her expression.

“You have a huge dick,” she said and chuckled.

“I know.”

She laughed and said, “Yeah, I guess you know.”

“I’ve had it for a while.”

She still stared. “That is so huge, dude—it’s not even hard?”

“Nope.” He quick-flexed a butt muscle to get his penis to flop on his leg a little. She snuffled laughter. He said, “You can touch it.”

“Gross. You’re such a pig.”

“You love it,” he said.

“No, I don’t,” she said, blushing, smiling, eyes glistening. She ran her hair back again, brought her hand down to the blanket very near his penis. She looked briefly toward the door though she couldn’t see it, then lightly tapped her fingers on the side of his cock.

“Hold it,” he said, “see that it’s soft.”

“I’ve never seen such a huge dick,” she said.

“Go on and hold it.”

She checked the dorm room door again, then slowly put her hand on his cock, tucking a thumb underneath, and lifting it tentatively. She tested its weight, felt it’s boneless shape. “It’s not even hard,” she said.

“You should see it when it’s hard.”

She snuffled laughter again. “How big does it get?”

“Really big,” he said.

Now she set it down on his leg, and petted it like it was a cat, running from base to tip in soft strokes. His cock rolled over, and his foreskin began to retract.

“Ew, gross, you’re getting hard,” she said.

“Keep touching it.”

She smiled still, wide, showing her teeth, licking her lower lip, her fingers still running from base to tip, stroking him and petting him. Veins began to rise on its surface, and Sadie watched it roll over more on his leg and begin to lengthen.

“Oh my God, you’re the pervert,” she said, laughing, then scooting off the bed. She was on the verge of bursting out laughing, acting like she was mad at him for making her do that. She checked the door of the dorm room, then returned to Steve’s bed, sat down still with that joyous looking face.

“You’re cruel,” he said, and showed her a downturned mouth.

“Finish it yourself,” she said.

“Too bad Steve’s going to be here soon.”

“Why?”

“You were doing pretty good,” he said, taking his dick and slowly stroking it, letting the end flop around.

“Oh my God—are you still doing it?”

“You got me going,” he said.

Under her breath, she murmured, “Such a pig,” and scooted back to lean against Steve’s wall, her legs out straight now. She put her laptop on her thighs, and began fingering the mouse pad. But soon her eyes were looking up to see what he was doing.

He jerked himself while watching her, smiling, meeting her eyes when she looked up, enjoying the feeling when her eyes were on his growing manhood as it flopped in his grip.

“Can you please stop?” she said.

“Can’t concentrate?”

“You’re making me feel really weird.”

“You’re making me feel weird,” he said, then holding up his cock and wagging it for her to see.

She looked at it then blocked her view, saying, “Sto-op.”

“Okay,” he said, letting his dick drop down to his leg. “But I was really close.” He smiled until she returned one too.

She said, “What’s your name?”

He told her.

She said, “You are a fucking weirdo, Dylan.”

He said, “What’s your name?”

“You know it’s Sadie.”

“Good, just making sure—I'm gonna tell all my friends what a pervert Sadie is.”

“Don’t you dare,” she said, smiling, playing with her hair.

“Looks like we have each other over a barrel.”

She cocked her head. “Is that a double-entendre?”

“Why—you want to be over a barrel?”

She was preparing a witty response when their dorm room door opened. She jumped, and her face changed from happy to frightened in a second. “Shoot,” she whispered, and her attention snapped immediately to her laptop.

He pulled the blanket over to cover his dick. She brightened, looked to Steve when he came in, smiling for her boyfriend but revealing an unintentional amount of guilt.

Steve said, “Hey, what are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting for you,” she said.

Steve looked to her, must have registered the rosiness of her cheeks and the gleam in her eyes. He looked Dylan's way and scowled. “How long have you been here?”

“I just got out of class,” he said, “come back here to find out your girlfriend’s my third roommate.”

Steve scowled deeper. “She can come here if she wants.”

Sadie smirked at him in a way that he liked—the two of them shared a secret from her boyfriend.