My Phantom Lover

Part 2

Thank God the next day was Saturday and I didn't have any classes. The hazing, known as Hell Night, followed the official acceptance of the new pledges and I had already moved into the frat house. My roommate had, too, but he'd gone home for the weekend so I had the room to myself. Which was a good thing, since I couldn't seem to keep my hands out of my pants. I would start to think about what had happened and I would have to jerk off again. By noon my cock was beginning to get sore, but my horniness was as acute as it had been all day.

I tried to get myself under control. "I'll never figure out who he was if I don't start thinking logically," I told myself. Last night, after the escorts had brought everybody into the main room of the house, I looked around carefully. All through the speeches of welcome and laughter about the guys whose hazing left them with paint on their faces or weird patterns shaved into their hair, I was watching the older frat brothers for any sign that would tip the identity of my phantom. Nobody stared at me (except for some notice of my burnt hair) or said anything that revealed they knew who had come into that room or that they were the one person besides myself who knew what really happened in there. I had gone to bed without a single clue to identify my mystery lover.

Saturday, when I was finally too exhausted to play with myself anymore, I began to analyze what I knew. He had to be one of the frat leaders, most likely a senior. They were the ones who planned and controlled the hazing activities, on the supposition that they were mature enough to keep things from getting dangerous. He must have major persuasive skills to talk the others into letting him "haze" me by himself. After all, watching some freshman get embarrassed was the point of the ritual. It was unlikely he was one of the four "out" gay guys in the frat. Only one of them was a senior and he was a true nerd type. I couldn't picture him having the nerve to do something like that or being able to talk the others into letting him go alone into a room where a pledge was tied up and blindfolded. Besides, his hands were too small. I remembered the big, rough, masculine hands on my stomach. I resisted the urge to jerk off again and went on with my analysis.

I didn't have much to go on as far as height or weight were concerned. My position on the floor didn't give me much perspective. I didn't feel any long hair brushing against me, so he probably had it cut regularly. He had a lighter, but I didn't remember the smell of cigarettes on him, or pot, or booze, for that matter. I knew some of the guys had been involved in one or more of those activities earlier in the evening, so I mentally took them off my list of suspects.

I thought about the men who remained on the list and I really couldn't think of any true criteria for removing any of them. Some had steady girl friends, but that wasn't proof they weren't gay or bi-sexual. I flopped on my bed and stared at the ceiling trying to sort through all the possibilities. Finally I asked myself, "So who do you WANT it to be?" That answer came easily: Steve Vernon. If someone asked me to describe the ideal man I would have painted them a word picture of Steve. He exuded an easy-going confidence that I envied. He seemed to effortlessly make everyone he talked to feel like they were fascinating to him. He could have sold eyeglasses to a blind man and left him feeling grateful to have encountered Steve.

Someone with vision would have enjoyed him even more, because the guy was great looking. Someone in the frat had mentioned that Steve was a triathelete. I'd seen him biking around campus and when I struggled over to the pool a couple of mornings to get some laps in, Steve was always there. His body in a Speedo was a sight to behold. He had wide shoulders, a perfect six-pack, and a lean, tight ass. (He was featured in all of my orgy fantasies of late.) His face wasn't classically handsome. It was little too rugged for that, but his dark eyes sparkled and his lop-sided grin drew you in and made you smile back. His dark brown hair always seemed to be slightly windblown. The whole package added up to a very attractive man.