This is a story I hope my kids never hear about. College already is a time where people do crazy things, and I don’t want to give them a license to emulate their (once) crazy dad. So, this is just between us.
Yes, it’s true that I was part of a group of 6 college guys, paraded naked, poked and examined before a packed house of co-eds. All for a good cause, of course – to raise money for the sorority. Don’t judge me too harshly – I was young, overflowing with testosterone, and my girlfriend promised me a night of unbridled passion if I agreed. I could do anything to her, she said – anything. I already had a pair of handcuffs waiting that she’d never allow me to employ. So, yes, I was manipulated into doing it.
The whole affair had its origin when one of the sorority sisters, Alice, sitting around with others after a night of drinking, began talking about her hunky boyfriend.
“I’ve never seen a guy better endowed than Eric. I have to keep him from poking a hole in me. I swear, his mother must have slept with a stallion.”
“He’s too short,” said one of the girls. “There’s no way his cock could be as large as you want us to believe. He’d be a freak.”
Another girl spoke up about her football player boyfriend. “I never measured, but Chad has to be 9 inches. I’d put him up against your boyfriend any day.”
There followed an intense discussion of the merits and characteristics of the males they’d known, past and present. (Apparently, guys aren’t the only ones concerned with size.) Similar discussions must take place all the time among college girls, right? But just gossipy chatter, leading nowhere. Unbeknownst to any of them, however, a seed had been planted.
It happened that the sorority was running a deficit in its budget. The number of pledges that year was down, and expenses were up. A typical lesson in budget 101. But a sorority is not a business. It has no income beyond member dues and whatever fundraisers they might dream up, like their annual car wash and the bake sale. The executive committee of the sorority met to figure something out.
“We could raise dues,” proposed one. That idea was roundly booed, for obvious reasons.
“We could have two carwashes instead of our usual one,” suggested another. But a carwash wouldn’t generate nearly enough.
“Maybe we could involve our boyfriends; have a race where the guy has to run with one of us on his back. Get people to bet on the winner.”
The suggestion to get the guys involved was well received – a sure way to increase attendance at an event. But what would attract the most interest – and raise the most money?
“I got it. We’ll have the guys race – only naked! Like in the first Olympics.”
That provoked a lot of merriment. “Charge admission to see the race, in addition to betting on who wins. A lot of people would pay for that.”
“We’d have to limit the crowd to just ladies,” said Carol. “No heterosexual male is going to race naked in front of a crowd of jeering guys.”
“Wait, are we seriously considering this?” said Amy, the sorority president and the responsible one. “We’re just goofing here, right?”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” said Carol. “Buff bodies are the staple of marketing. And naked buff bodies? Well, that’s double the fun.”
Who doesn’t like fun? Or naked boys? It was decided that, as a race, it would need to be outdoors, so it couldn’t be kept quiet. While this was all consenting-adult material, they could get in trouble with the university for a public display of nudity. Yes, whatever happened needed to be inside the sorority house. But what?
“I got it,” said Alice, thinking back to the earlier nighttime discussion. “Which guy is the longest, the best endowed? Each paying customer is given her own tape measure.”
A lot of laughter, but the reality of dozens of women doing dozens of measurements ended that fantasy. But the idea, as they say in marketing, ‘had legs.’
“We’ll just have one person doing the measurement,” said Amy (already thinking that her role as president demanded that sacrifice). “The guys will initially just be in their briefs. People will bet on who they think will win, prior to the big reveal.”
“Yeah, but is it the length flaccid or the length erect?” asked Betty.
“We’ll do both," said Amy. “That way we have two rounds of betting!”
Great idea, and more laughter, but now they were not goofing. They considered the logistics. How to get guys to do this? And how to get them erect? Or conversely, if they were erect out of the box, how to get them soft? Ugh. This was getting complicated.
In the end, they decided that every sorority sister with a beau was charged with talking to their guy. It was clear that each would offer the guy an inducement designed for that relationship. With most, as indicated above, it was a romantic reward. For others, it might be playing to the male ego. Guys are easy-- one just needs to find the right incentive.
Negotiations with the guys commenced. Some rejected the idea outright. One insisted as his price that he be invited to shower with the sorority sisters in their communal shower room. (Agreed.) Another said he’d only do it if he wore dark sunglasses. (Fine – as if nobody would guess his identity.) A few thought the idea a great adventure and were proud to show off their wares. In the end, the ladies were able to induce six guys to participate.
The initial measurement would be simple. A girl, a guy, and a tape measure. The complication came from the second measurement, how to get it up – or down – as the case might be, without turning the sorority house into a brothel. In the end, it was agreed that each girl would know how best to handle her guy. A call to the national sorority’s attorney gave the (albeit shocked) reply that as long as it was done indoors, with consenting adults, they were safe.
Advertising was by word of mouth, and only to women. Admission to the event was $20. To avoid local gambling laws, a “raffle” was held – and you purchased a raffle ticket in the name of the guy you thought was going to win. (Thank you, counsellor. The sorority’s attorney sighed with resignation as he told the ladies to behave after this.) The raffle tickets of the winning guy were placed in a bowl. One ticket was drawn and got a cash prize. And there were two raffles. One for up; one for down.
The event took place on a Saturday evening. Tickets sold briskly. There was a buffet and a cash bar (ca ching!) for the guests. The six special guests drank free. And drank they did.
At 11 pm, when everyone was well lubricated, the contest began. All six guys came out wearing identical robes.
Amy welcomed the crowd. “As you know, our sorority maintains the highest standards. We expect it of our sisters – and from the men they date. Tonight, we’re going to demonstrate the fine male specimens we’re honored to welcome to our house. Each man tonight is a beautiful representative of his sex. But one will be the ultimate exemplar of maleness. Or maybe two – as we’re going to measure the length of the male organ both in its flaccid state, and then when erect. Maybe one man will be the winner – or maybe two will share the crown.”
There were murmurs from the crowd of women, as not all realized that a second measurement would take place. A bonus.
“You’ll first see the men wearing Speedo briefs. You’re invited to purchase raffle tickets in the name of the man you think will prevail as the longest in a flaccid state. There will be a separate raffle for the erect state. We’ll do the measurements and reveal the winner or winners.”
With that, each man’s girlfriend reached from behind and removed the robe. The men stood there wearing just a tight-fitting blue Speedo brief that emphasized their maleness. A hundred eyes examined their privates, figuring out which must be the biggest based on the bulge in the fabric. Some penises were clearly flaccid, but two were not. They pressed insistently against the Speedo, pleading for release.
“We’re prepared for this discrepancy,” Amy said. “Those whose penis is in the natural state will be measured for the flaccid contest. Those whose penis is erect will be measured that way. Then, we will arrange for the penis to be measured in the other condition.”
That realization caused murmurs among the women. How were they going to accomplish that? Would the crowd watch? This contest was getting interesting.
After raffle tickets were purchased, it was time for the reveal. At the count of 3, each girlfriend pulled their man’s brief to the floor. Then, a different girl in front quickly used the tape measure to measure the length. Quickly, before the exposure to the air (and a hundred eyes) caused a flaccid penis to expand.
When the initial measurement was complete, the task of reversing the penis’s condition was at hand. ‘At hand’ was the right term. Each man turned to face his girlfriend, with his bare backside to the crowd. Each girl used lotion on her man, rubbing the balls and the penis. If the penis was erect, the lotion was used to bring his excitement to a peak. The resulting eruption would be with his back to the crowd (a slight concession to ‘modesty,’ if that word had any relevance to this spectacle.) If the penis was flaccid, the lotion and rubbing would bring the organ to its peak. Then, each man would turn back to the crowd, and the second measurement would take place.
All went according to plan, except for Veronica’s boyfriend, Paul. All her rubbing was not bringing his penis to the erect state.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered to him. “This always works on you.”
“It’s all these people watching me. It’s freaking me out. I need more. Let me see your breasts,” he said.
Veronica hadn’t counted on this. She wasn’t to be the one on display here. “No,” she said. “I can’t.”
“You need to do it,” he insisted. “I’ll be embarrassed if I can’t get it up. And I know you bet on me. If you don’t let me look at you, I’ll never get an erection. And it’s just women here. What are you worried about?”
She considered that. She certainly was routinely naked among women – in the sorority house, in the women’s locker room. Even sometimes during the women’s-only pool time, when ladies often swam naked.
“Damn it,” she said. And pulled her top off, and reached behind to release the bra. Her beautiful, rounded breasts, those milky white orbs that he loved to suck, spilled out.
“Can I suck them?” he asked.
“No, damn it! Just get that thing up!”
The sight of the breasts did the trick. The penis rose up as Veronica firmly massaged the testicles. Paul turned around and was measured by the other girl.
That was it. Amy announced the winners, who, with a little sheepishness, accepted applause from the crowd for their ‘victory,’ as all eyes focused on the winning appendage. Then the men departed to get dressed. And to bask in their new celebrity on campus.
The sorority raised a ton of money. The fundraiser was repeated in future years, and it became famous (infamous?) on campus. They never encountered a shortage of male contestants. In fact, sorority sisters found themselves newly popular, as dating one was the ticket for a guy to participate. The sorority never held another car wash or bake sale.
Didn’t need to.
P.S. I didn’t win. Except in the sense that the night of romance with my lady, her hands securely handcuffed above her head to the bed frame, was spectacular.
