A/N: All the glory goes to the Grammar Guru, TwilightMundi, who deserves a medal at the very least for the edits she's subjected to. (I bet she even edited this author's note.) The woman has the patience of a saint. And I love her.
A special HAPPY BIRTHDAY shout out to my Musey, Tellingmelies. You know how I feel about you. The day you were born the sun shone brighter, the birds sang sweeter, and the world became a better place. All my love, little sis.
Disclaimer: Anything Twilight related belongs to SMeyer. All I have is another fic starring her characters that I can't seem to write. Oh, does that mean I have writer's block too? Well, on the bright side, I get to add that to the "mine" list. I'm such a loser...
8=D
Chapter 3- Boys Will be Boys...
Two weeks. Two weeks later and my ribs were still tender from the smack down that asstard Emmett had laid down on me. Turns out he didn't actually crack anything, though I don't know how. Still, I'd been in enough fucking pain to bench me from practice for a few days. I was grateful for not having the shit pounded out of me, but I was concerned that our first game was around the corner. So as soon as I was cleared for practice I was back out on the field even though it hurt like a motherfucker each time I cocked back the canon and let the ball fly. Coach must have gotten a hold of McCarty and his crew, 'cause the unnecessary roughness was replaced with a cool, indifferent attitude. And not a minute too soon. Thankfully, we were able to pull our shit together to win our first few games of the season, and get a bit of confidence under our belts. It was only a handful of players, for the most part, who continued to see things Emmett's way. But just because shit on the field calmed down didn't mean that everything did.
For starters, I couldn't get the inky image of the girl from practice out of my head. I never got a good look at her, but my overactive imagination eagerly filled in the "blanks." She was like a beautiful chick version of David. You know, the dude that killed the giant? I'd lost count of how many times I'd jacked off to the picture I'd conjured up of the smart ass bombshell who'd stood up to my real life Goliath. In fact, we were spending so much quality time together that I'd started calling "Junior" Goliath. And my imagined "Bella" would beat the fucker relentlessly during our "alone time." I hadn't spent that much time tuggin' the turtle since I first figured out that I could. I was walking around campus with a hard on of biblical proportions. It seemed like I'd gone from "smooth ass mother fucker" to just plain old "lame fucker" over night.
It wasn't enough that I was suffering public humiliation at the hands of others. No, apparently Karma was a skanky bitch who'd been hanging around me lately. In addition to the usual antics of Emmett and Company, Karma had decided to join in the fun. That's how I came to find myself standing at a table of fucking hot college women, all of them sputtering and drenched in soda that I had spilled on them after tripping over my own feet. Karma was also who I was blaming for the sudden onset of stomach issues. Namely, gas. I was beginning to get a little worried about my near constant need to toot my ass horn. It wouldn't have been so bad if said ass horn didn't choose the most inopportune moments to blow. I swear, there was this one time where I could have sworn I sharted as I sat in Senora Gomez's Spanish lecture. Every fucking head turned to look back at me. What could I do but quip, "Perdona me. Donde es el bano?" I flew out of there and to the nearest bathroom. I think my little gas problem was from the stress I'd been under, but just in case it wasn't I started popping Beano like they were Skittles. Between Emmett and Karma, there were few embarrassing situations I'd yet to live through. Or so I told myself.
UF football players are expected to also join the Delta Tau Delta fraternity. It's some shit about tradition or something. So when it came time for Rush Week, all the "fresh meat" were expected to rush and subject themselves to the fuckery of initiation for the coveted honor of being inducted Greek. Most every college has strict, harsh guidelines regarding the very sensitive topic of hazing. Some are more lax in their definition of what constitutes "hazing"- overlooking pranks and asinine behavior as long as no one is injured or any property damaged. Others are more vigilant, and will take any little joke and blow it up into a matter of National Security. UF fell somewhere between the two. They took all allegations of hazing very seriously. Long gone are the days of the "boys will be boys" mentality. All it took was one little pussy whining to mommy and daddy about how his "brothers" held him down and shaved off all his hair. And by all his hair I mean all of his hair. Think naked mole rat, people.
That seems to have been the case with the Delta Tau Deltas a few years back, and as a result, the Delts landed their asses in front of a judicial review board and on probation for a period of four years. This meant no alcohol on the house premises, extra community service projects, and the chapter president and officers were required to attend some lame classes about preventing hazing. Not to mention that the chapter's every move was scrutinized.
That was four years ago, and this was the first year the Delts would be able to fully participate in Greek Week activities. Not that they weren't still being watched; now they could just fuck things up more. As a precaution, the President of the Delts, Jasper Whitlock, had procured the help and guidance of their sister sorority, the Dee-Gees to keep them out of the shit house. Most of us suspected he was just trying to get into the tiny ass shorts of the sorority's prezzie, Rosalie Hale, but turns out the guy really did want to earn back the good rep the Delts once had. So, the Dee-Gees were commandeered to help their wayward brothers stay on the straight and narrow. No easy task, I can assure you.
How did I know all this shit? 'Cause we had to listen to all of it when we sat through the first Rush meeting. Man, that meeting was long as hell, and more boring than watching the hair on your balls grow back! Moments from the past few months flashed through my mind as I sat there, listening to some descriptions of what the university considered hazing. I was certain that some of the shit I'd been through lately could be considered hazing on some campus somewhere, but I didn't see it that way. Sure, it sucked; being singled out and embarrassed was never fun, but aside from the shit that went down in practice, I was never hurt or injured. No harm, no foul. And I wasn't a pussy. I could take whatever shit they threw at me. Monkey fuckers. Mostly we were forced to do retarded things like wear "Dee-Gee Pledge" shirts to classes, take shifts as Speedo-clad lawn ornaments in front of the frat house, and eat really nasty as shit things like haggis or liver and onions that our "big brothers" would pack for our lunches. And don't forget the live cricket spitting contest. I can swear I can still taste cricket ass on my tongue. There was the time I walked out to the Viper to find it covered in condoms and whipped cream with the words "Condom Boy" painted on the back window, and "Cum or Bust!" on the side windows.
It would seem my brothers had a theme when it came to my initiation. That theme became abundantly clear when I was abruptly woken up from the first frat party I'd ever attended with an unceremonious shove off the couch and a pre-dawn bullhorn wake up call, that called attention to the pounding headache I was desperate to sleep off.
"Get out, scum! You don't have to go home, but you ain't stayin' your asses here!" Emmett was loud enough on his own; I wondered which of these stupid asstards had thought to give him a bullhorn. Whoever it was, I can promise you MENSA wouldn't be banging down his door to hand him a membership card. My moan was met with a chorus of equally pained expressions of disbelief. One by one we all rose and shuffled out the door, which was slammed behind us. The twelve of us stood there in a haze, clustered on the front lawn. The sun was just starting to rise, and as the sky brightened we looked around at one another. I busted out laughing at the guy, Trey, who was rubbing his eyes with one hand and scratching his balls with other. Scribbled across his forehead was a crude drawling of the female genitalia in what could only be permanent marker. Everyone looked to see what I was laughing about, and joined in the fun; pointing and cackling. That is until we all realized that we had something drawn on our foreheads. I'll give you one guess what I'd been branded with. You got it. A dick. The fuckers drew a dick on my face. Not just a little one, either. This bitch was huge. I took solace in telling myself they were going for accuracy.
Dream on, peen boy. You wish Goliath was that big.
Why you gotta hate? If you have to sound like Shatner then why can't you be more like the "Negotiator"? He's so much nicer...
What the fuck are you rambling about, dick head? He quipped.
That's it, I'm calling Leonard Nimoy and he's gonna go all "Vulcan Death Grip" on your ass. You're fired! And suddenly I was doing impressions of The Donald for the imaginary Captain Kirk in my head. What that hell did I drink last night?
I went home and tried to scrub the penis off my face. Ten minutes and at least six layers of skin later, there was still a faint outline of the monster dick, but it wasn't as noticeable. Yes it was. I decided to skip class that day and snuck out to the store for some baby oil. I read online that it would take off permanent marker. Yeah, I Googled that shit.
That afternoon my parents called to see how college life was treating me. Mom just wanted to be sure I was eating enough and that I had clean underwear, while Dad hinted around at all the "trouble" he was sure I was getting "in to." We talked about my classes, Rush week, and about the few games we'd already played and won. Mom gushed about how I'd grown up too fast or some shit. Dad reminded me to study before he mentioned the possibility of their coming for Parents' weekend.
Huh, if they only knew. All I do these days is study. I thought to myself.
I assured him I had more than enough fucking time to study. "We're so proud of you, son," he said, "You seem to be adjusting to college life nicely." I brushed off his compliment, "Proud? Of my serious lack of a social life? I'm such a social pariah that I have to study just to absorb the loneliness." Mom just laughed, thinking I was joking. She mumbled something about the Edward she knew and loved had never been lonely a day in his life. Just goes to show you how you can live with someone for almost eighteen years and never really know them.
8=D
Emmett quickly became my least favorite fucker. I could overlook the crap he put me through during Rush week; I understood that. I could even forgive the ass for trying to kill me on the field. But the day I saw him with his arm around her- well, that was the day I decided I had no use for the guy and he took the numero uno spot on my "Fucker" list.
Her was Bella Swan, and she sat two rows in front of and one seat over from me in my Music Theory class. I was minoring in music while getting a BS in Business Administration, specifically marketing. What can I say? I'm a great BS'er, so I figured I might as well get paid to BS people out of their hard earned money. Music had always been important to me, and I rationalized that the formal instruction would come in handy when developing ad campaigns. I could write the shit out of jingles; too bad most of them wouldn't make it past the censors. They were fucking brilliant, if I do say so myself. So, in an effort to obtain a well-rounded edgamacation I added "music minor" to the list of shit I was cramming into my college experience. I nestled it in there between being a star QB and all around fuckup. I've always been an overachiever.
The first time I saw her I had no clue who she was. I noticed her sitting in front of me as I took inventory of the other students filling the class; but she wasn't my usual type. Still, my eyes would drift over to her during class. The chick was pretty enough and all, she wasn't Quasimotto or anything, but she was, well... thick, for lack of a better word. At least compared the kind of girls I was usually seen with. She reminded me of a dark haired Marilyn Monroe or maybe a Sophia Loren type. She looked curvy; her tits all round and full. Not that I'm complaining; all guys love tits, and the general rule of thumb is "the bigger, the better." And when her long, brown hair fell around her shoulders it hit those glorious melons right where they were fullest. The soft curls bounced against the perfect swell of flesh when she walked, hypnotizing me as I watched her take her seat. Then, when she turned to sit, her ass was, well… I think Beyonce said that shit best when she coined the phrase "bootylicious." This chick was packing serious ammunition both coming and going.
That mouthful should be forced to sport signage, maybe something like: WARNING! DANGEROUS CURVES AHEAD! For once I actually agreed with Shatner on something.
One day, I heard her respond to the name "Bella" when the TA went through the roster and I finally made the connection: this was the Angel from the field!. I may have blacked out on the field like a pussy that day, but I remember very clearly Emmett yelling at a Bella, and face it, that's not a common name. I spent the rest of that class watching her in a whole new way, learning her mannerisms. She tapped her pen on her notebook, and I wondered if she even knew she was doing it. She also had a way of threading her hair through her fingers as she listened to the lecture. That class was over way too soon. Before I knew it, everyone around me was collecting their books and heading out the door. I scrambled to follow her out, nearly dumping every-fucking-thing out of my backpack because I forgot to zip it in my hurry to keep up. I just wanted a chance to say hello, and yeah, maybe I wanted to see her tits up close, too. But mostly I just wanted to say hey. I burst through the door, tripping on the threshold as I did, sending my book and notes flying for real this time. I swore and squatted to pick up my shit, stuffing it all in the bag. When I looked up I spotted her walking across the grass. I stood up, trying to decide if I should chase after her or wait until our next class to approach her.
The decision was made for me though, 'cause that's when she jogged right into the open arms of one Emmett Fucker McCarty. What the fuck? I watched as he lifted her off the ground in a bone crushing hug. Then, taking her bag from her he slung it over his shoulder, he wrapped his other massive arm around her neck. It looked like he was choking her, but he pulled her tight to his side and her arms wound around his waist. I was about to turn away from the nauseating view, but before I could I saw him press a tender kiss to her temple. She looked up at him like she worshiped him. The two of them walked off together, all tied up in one another. Figuratively and literally.
What could anyone see in that college educated Neanderthal?
Amen, Shatner! When did you start making sense?
Shut up, Golden Boy. You're such a kiss ass sometimes. Annnnd Shatner was back in the number two spot on the "Fucker List."
That was the day that I decided that I hated Emmett, and the day I learned I had a thing for busty brunettes. Well, one in particular. It also went down in history as the day that Edward Golden Boy Cullen didn't get the girl. Yeah, that day sucked monkey balls, and unfortunately it was just one day in a long parade of monkey ball sucking days.
8=D
A/N: Just a quick. heartfelt thank you to Barburealla for being my sole pre-reader this chapter. Her dedication to seeing Golden Boy suffer immensely is to be admired. I live for the words "It's perfect! I love it!" from her. That means that his torture was thorough and sufficiently uncomfortable. Smooches, Barbi.
Lastly the Forever, Liz blog has a post regarding the "Emasculation of Edward Cullen." It may have some insight and answer a few of your questions.
www(dot)forever-lizff(dot)blogspot(dot)com
Your reviews are lovely and so appreciated! Thank you so much for reading and laughing at, er- WITH me. XOXOXO