Happy Birthday, Hayden
Hayden blinked his owlishly large eyes at the man who’d just greeted his arrival in the dining hall with such well-timed birthday salutations.
He would have laid odds that Jacob Bubowski didn’t even know he existed, never mind when his birthday was.
He’d only been a member of Phi Beta Alpha for a few weeks, and Jacob Bubowski, who was a well-established senior, hadn’t paid him any attention during those few weeks. Not that he’d expected attention.
He’d pledged Phi Beta Alpha because he’d heard they were cleaning up their act after some fairly public ethics violations, trying to foster diversity and reduce hazing.
And indeed, the rush parties had been tame.
Bouncers had actually checked IDs at the door, and only people with a wristband had been allowed to drink.
Sure, some pledges, including Hayden, had skirted that rule through various means, but no one had forced alcohol down his throat or made him streak naked through the quad or eat pig intestines or any of the stuff you heard about on the news.
He hadn’t told them he was gay, but he hadn’t pretended to chat up girls either, and so far no one seemed to care. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not that he wanted to be bullied, but he’d expected more out of joining a fraternity than Sunday brunch.
“Oh, um, thanks.” He gave Bubba, as everyone called Jacob Bubowski, a polite wave as he took a seat at the far end of the long table from him.
“Trust Bubba to know when everyone’s birthday is,” the guy he’d sat down next to said, which was odd.
Bubba didn’t seem like the kind of person who would know when people’s birthdays were.
He was the weightlifter type with huge, hulking shoulders and thick thighs which were almost always on display in athletic shorts cut surprisingly high.
He had a perfect wave of blond hair, like a Ken doll, and an all-American smile that would have come across as boyish if he weren’t so big.
He looked like an angel. Like a warrior angel.
Like an angel who was about to fuck you up.
Hayden both feared it and wanted it in equal measure.
Bubba was beaming at him from farther down the table as if the idea of Hayden having a birthday really did delight him, though the glint in his eye made Hayden suddenly need to swallow.
“Is there going to be cake?” he asked tentatively because something had Bubba excited.
“Yeah, sure,” Bubba agreed. “I’ll pick one up. What’s your favorite?”
“Chocolate?”
“Perfect.”
Chocolate wasn’t actually his favorite. He had no idea why he’d said that except his favorite was white cake with white icing and that seemed so…
vanilla. He could hardly call himself vanilla, not with his head full of thoughts about getting squeezed between Bubba’s thighs like a tube of toothpaste.
But if Bubba thought chocolate was perfect, then he was glad he’d picked chocolate.
“Seven o’clock tonight, in the common room. Everyone’ll be there, right?” Bubba glanced down the long table with authority and the guys all nodded like they were afraid to say no. “Oh, and Hayden, wear something you can move in. Like track pants. Not jeans.”
“Okay.” What did that mean? Why?
He looked across the table at the sophomore who’d been assigned to mentor him—a quiet, studious guy named Aaron—but Aaron was looking the other way, kind of like it was on purpose, and when brunch was over and everyone dispersed, Aaron took off like someone had pulled the fire alarm.
Hayden went through his day in a sort of haze.
Bubba was buying him a cake and the whole frat was going to turn out to celebrate his birthday.
It felt sweet and thoughtful. Special. But the gleam in Bubba’s eye and that warning about wearing something he could move in cast an ominous pall over the event. Obviously more than cake was in store.
Dressed in his nicest track pants, freshly showered and with his hair slicked back so it would stay out of his eyes, Hayden edged nervously into the common room shortly before seven.
Already half a dozen men filled the room—mostly seniors whose names Hayden barely knew—and the cake was there too.
A full sheet cake with “Happy Birthday, Hayden” written across it in blue icing.
Bubba stood next to it dressed in his customary shorts and tank grinning like he’d made it himself.
“This is really nice of you.”
Someone snickered, but when Hayden looked around, he couldn’t figure out who or why.
“Least I could do.”
Another snicker. The room was filling quickly.
By the time the grandfather clock in the corner struck seven, it seemed like the whole frat was there.
Except Aaron. Not much of a mentor. Hayden could really use some guidance here.
Was he supposed to make a speech? Everyone was staring at him.
But before he could make up his mind to do something, Bubba took control.
“Today is Hayden’s birthday,” he said, raising Hayden’s arm by the wrist like he’d just won a boxing match. “And I think most of you know how this goes. First, we gotta sing him the song.”
There followed a vigorous rendition of a song that had obviously been made up by the frat.
Hayden didn’t catch all the words, but it was something about making your way through the gauntlet toward manhood, growing stronger as you grew older, with a rousing chorus that urged him to move resolutely forward.
Bubba kept his arm around Hayden’s shoulders as they sang, squeezing him right up under his armpit, which was about where his head came to on Bubba’s body. Bubba’s armpit smelled like fresh, manly sweat, and between the pheromones and the tight embrace, Hayden was getting a little woozy.
He was starting to think the track pants had been a bad idea, or at least that he should have worn something more substantial than a jock beneath them—even if he was going to have to run some kind of gauntlet, which the song was making him think he might—because his dick had firmed up enough to push them out in front.
When he glanced down to check how obvious the bulge was, his gaze landed on Bubba’s bulge, which was super obvious.
The guy must really have a lot going on down there, and he appeared to be freeballing it because Hayden could make out where the head of his cock hung thick and heavy near his right thigh.
Bubba gave him an extra hard squeeze, and he flicked his gaze away fast, concerned he’d been caught.
Either way, ogling Bubba’s bulge wasn’t doing anything to make his own go down.
After one last chorus, the song ended with a blood-curdling scream that had Hayden jumping halfway to the ceiling. Bubba patted his head.
“Ready for cake?”
Hayden glanced over his shoulder at the cake behind them, still wondering what he was missing. Was Bubba going to smash his head into it? Yeah, that was probably it.
“Sure,” he said, steeling himself for the mess and the laughter. He could be a sport.
“Great.” Bubba clapped his hands together. “But first you gotta earn the cake.”
“Okay.”
“So you go over there.” Bubba gave him a push and he staggered forward through the brothers who parted for him like the Red Sea to the other end of the room.
When he couldn’t go any farther, he turned uncertainly back in the direction he’d came from to see his frat brothers arranging themselves into a single file line, their legs spread wide like cowboys after a long day’s ride.
At the end of the line stood a wildly grinning Bubba, his massive thighs spread the widest of all.
“What am I supposed to do?” Hayden asked, because everyone was looking at him like he ought to know.
Bubba beckoned him with a crooked finger. Go to Bubba? But he’d just come from there. He took a hesitant step forward and was met by the firm arm of the first brother in line. He tried to dodge around it, but the guy—a junior nearly as big as Bubba—grabbed him to stop him.
“Through here,” the junior said, pointing to the gap between his legs. “You gotta run the gauntlet, birthday boy.”
The gauntlet?
Ooooh. The gauntlet.
His cheeks flamed red as a childhood memory overwhelmed him with a humiliating flash. The playground. His friends. Birthday spankings. Oh, God.
Nothing turned a person gay. That wasn’t a thing.
But if anything had turned him gay, it was crawling between his friends’ legs, his head brushing their groins, their hands slapping his ass.
He’d been prepubescent, but his little dick had gotten hard and his heart had raced and he’d been so full of awareness and shame that he’d been sure everyone on the playground could see it.
“He’s scared,” someone halfway down the line called, bringing him back to the present and this particular birthday gauntlet. But he wasn’t scared. He was terrified.
Just look at Bubba, those meaty thighs and giant hands, waiting for him at the end of a long line of temptation. Hayden’s vision blurred around the edges until all he could see was Bubba and the tunnel of masculine flesh separating them.
“Let’s go, little brother,” Bubba called. “You want cake, right?”
Hayden didn’t want cake. He wanted… that.
“Then come and get it,” Bubba said, as if he’d read Hayden’s mind.
Hayden felt himself sink to his knees, the movement slow and controlled. He put his hands on the floor, getting into position, and closed his eyes, unable to watch himself live out such a shameful fantasy in public.
Go fast, he told himself. They’ll expect you to move fast. Because you don’t want this, right? You don’t want this.
He shuffled forward without opening his eyes and blundered straight into the thigh of the man in front of him.
“Down the center, newb.” The guy leaned over to whack him on the ass—the ass he’d covered with nothing except a thin layer of nylon. Fucking Bubba. He’d known. But it was Hayden’s own fault he was only wearing a jock beneath his track pants.
The swat stung so badly he froze, allowing the first guy time to administer a second and third.