by Frank Martinet
or How I Met Your Mother
I'm not going to tease you about the identity of your mother, like that old sitcom. You obviously know who your mother is, so that would be silly. But you don't know the real story of how your mother and I met, so that's what I'm going to reveal.
You heard we met in college and that is true. It was fifty years ago in a very different era. It was the 1980s. Reagan was president. The Internet hadn't happened yet. Hell, most computers were text-based back then. Cell phones were the size of shoe boxes and cost five bucks a minute to use. And back then five bucks could buy you five gallons of gas or a decent dinner, so that was a lot of money.
I'm sure you're thinking all that history stuff isn't too relevant, but you need to understand the era. There wasn't all the politically correct thinking of today. This would never happen today. This was also in Texas, at A&M, where things were a little different even then. Back then, and I swear this is true, I heard guys actually had to fuck a goat in order to get into one of the fraternities. Seriously. It was part of the initiation. Today that'd get you locked up faster than you can say PETA.
So what you're about to hear may sound bizarre and outrageous, and maybe it even is, but at the time it didn't seem that unusual. I'm not saying it was normal - but this kind of thing wasn't uncommon.
I may not remember what I had for breakfast this morning, but I remember everything from that day like it was yesterday. It was a Saturday afternoon. I was twenty years old and not a very serious kid. I partied all the time and didn't have a clue what I wanted to do with my life. On that day I'd been planning on meeting a couple of my buddies to go see a movie, but they'd bailed on me. I'm sure I had studying I could have been doing, but I wasn't about to waste a Saturday afternoon on schoolwork. I had gone to another buddy's place off campus, but he wasn't home, so I was heading back to the dorms, bored as hell and wondering what to do.
I was on the south end of the campus near the Epsilon Theta Zeta sorority house. This was just off the campus property and I remember being annoyed because the place was gated and fenced and I was going to have to walk around it to get back on campus. It was a large house, very old, a collection of several buildings, and I remember wondering if I could cut through to save me time. It was just idle musing, though. I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for your mother. There were 'No trespassing' signs on the fence and I'd heard the Epsilons were ridiculously secretive.
But that's when I spotted your mother. Morgan Price was her name back then. I knew of her, but we'd never actually met. She was on the volleyball team. I'd actually gone to a game once just to watch her. She was good. She wasn't as tall as some of the giants but she made up for it with pure aggression and athleticism. She could leap three feet straight up and spike a left-handed drive that terrified opponents. I wasn't into sports, either as an athlete or as a spectator, but even I was impressed by her. Of course, I was only at the game to see her in those tight shorts the volleyball team wore: your mom was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen.
She was a lot slimmer back then, extremely fit and lean as willow, but she still had great hips and curves. Her breasts were small, but very cute and high on her chest. She had the cutest mouth, very pouty with a sort of upside-down smile, and lovely teeth that were very even and white. What most attracted me was that that incredible smile... and that pert rump (I've always been an ass man). When she grinned you just felt the world disappear, and when she walked away you were desperate to follow.
I'd first seen Morgan at a party. We'd never connected because she was there with a boyfriend, but I noticed and remembered her.
I suppose this story would make more sense if I explain a little of what I was like back then. My experience with women was somewhat limited. I had never really been in a serious relationship. The girls I'd been with tended to be sluts and one-night stands. I knew how to talk and act around such cheap women, but Morgan was clearly a higher-class girl. She was the kind of girl you married, not fucked and abandoned before breakfast.
My point is that Morgan intimidated me. She was out of my league. I was nervous about talking to her, yet she fascinated me. I wouldn't say I stalked her; there were probably a dozen hot chicks that I found interesting and kept tabs on and tried to learn about. Morgan was just one.
So on this Saturday afternoon outside Epsilon House, when I saw Morgan doing what can only be described as lurking, I was more than intrigued. I had to follow her and see what she was doing. She was definitely being furtive, slipping up the alley and looking about as though she didn't want to get caught. There was a large oak tree on that side of the property. The iron fence actually butted up on both sides of the tree. Morgan disappeared around the other side of the tree. I hurried after her.
To my surprise, when I rounded the tree, Morgan was gone. I felt keen disappointment and curiosity about where she'd gone. The only place she could have gone was over the fence and onto the sorority ground. But why was she sneaking in? Why not just go through the front door?
I saw that the way the tree grew along the fence there were handholds that made it fairly easy, if you were an athlete like Morgan, to get up over the fence. I didn't even really think about it. With a glance behind me to see the alley was deserted, I quickly followed, grabbing an iron bar of the fence and walking a step or two up the side of the tree. Then I grabbed an overhead limb, took hold of the top of the fence, and pulled myself up. The drop to the other side was a little scary, but the fence was only about eight feet and there was grass and overgrowth. I landed silently, the vegetation cushioning my landing. I was inside!
I had no idea where Morgan had gone. All I could see were the backs of several buildings and lots of bushes and trees. I moved ahead, starting to get nervous, and wondering what I would say if someone caught me. I headed between the main house and a smaller building and almost immediately spotted Morgan. She was crouching along the side of the second building. She appeared to be focused on peering through a basement window.
The window was low, just off the ground, and perhaps a foot high. But it was long - at least three feet - and there were several more such windows around the side of the building. Bushes and overgrowth covered up much of the windows, but even from a distance I could see light and movement inside, and from Morgan's intense focus I decided that whatever was going on in the basement must be very interesting.
I didn't want Morgan to see me so I slipped up behind her to a different window. Between us was a large bush and she had her back to me, so I figured I was concealed. I looked inside the basement and was astonished at what I saw.
The room was large and sparsely furnished. It was clearly some sort of sorority meeting room. There were stacks of folding chairs along one wall. On one side there was a wooden blackboard on wheels with some chalk diagrams and writing. I didn't really pay attention, but got the impression it was Greek stuff: Latin slogans and sorority rules. What caught my eye was the tall regal figure dressed in designer jeans and a really tight sweater holding a massive wooden paddle. In front of her, on their knees, were three scantily clad women.
Let's just say I moved a lot closer to that window!
The three women were clearly pledges. They were all young, perhaps eighteen, and all gorgeous. They were dressed only in panties and bras. The first, which I will call Blue simply because her panties were of that color, had deeply tanned skin. She seemed slightly exotic. She wasn't black or Mexican, but obviously had some non-Caucasian heritage. She had a striking face, dark with heavy brows and a strong nose, but what I mostly noticed was the pronounced jut of her buttocks. Her ass was gorgeous, straining the panties to their limits with a rotund bulge that produced an instant physical reaction in me.
(I found out later that Blue's father was American, a Texas oilman with connections in the Middle East, where he'd met and married her mother. That explained Blue's slightly exotic appearance.)
Next to Blue was Red. She had brown hair and very large breasts. Her waist was extremely slender, which made her breasts seem even bigger. Her ass was wider than Blue's but not quite as round and bulging. It was still spectacular, though, and her skin was a lovely creamy pale.
The third girl wore white panties. She would have been easy to dismiss as just another blue-eyed blond, but I saw she really was extraordinarily attractive. The girls were at a slight angle to me, as I was behind and to their left, but I could see that White's face looked very young and was amazingly cute. Her body was nothing outrageous, but everything she had looked good. Nice orange-size tits, slender waist, and plump little rump.
Of course, I took all this in at a glance. It was immediately clear to me, from the glum expressions of the three pledges, and the glowing triumph and stern look on the sorority leader's face, that these pledges were in trouble. The way the leader brandished the big paddle set my heart hammering.
Remember, this was back in the 1980s. Hazing was still common back then, especially in Texas. Paddling was popular, though each Greek organization had their own practices. Some might just give a few token swats as a final initiation, while others were renowned for being brutal throughout the pledging process. Epsilon, I remembered, was a paddling house. They were famous for being strict and ruthless. But the sorority was also extremely secretive so no one knew exactly what they did. There were lots of horrifying rumors about them, but I wasn't sure if even half the stuff was true. Now it appeared that I was about to witness a private sorority punishment!
The sorority leader was lecturing, marching up and down in front of the three somber pledges, though I couldn't hear anything. She was stunningly beautiful and looked very familiar. I racked my brain and finally remembered her name: Danica Taylor. She was high up in the Epsilon ranks, maybe even the president. I couldn't remember. She was a senior. She had a fantastic body: bold breasts bigger than grapefruits, a trim waist, and a really curvy rear. I could see her butt when she turned her back to walk away from me, the pale blue jeans she wore clinging to every succulent curve. Her beauty, combined with her brandishing that imposing paddle, had me hotter than a Fourth of July picnic.
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