Flight 12

Flight 12 – a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER TEN: HARRY EXPOSED

Previously, at the Phallic Tower:

• Seth reads a note assuring him he is alive and on planet earth, and that he alone can get the group off the island – but to do so he must stay naked. When he reads the note, the door – whose handle had mysteriously vanished overnight – springs open.

• Paul awakens to discover his clothes were also missing – replaced by a jockstrap he had not been wearing previously.

In flashbacks:

• A teenage Harry goes on Grindr and finds a sympathetic soul – until he posts his picture and is ridiculed because of his weight. He resolves to remain in the closet.

• A teenage Paul loses his virginity to his classmate Anthony while wearing a jockstrap.

• • • • • • • • SUNDAY, DECEMBER 2 * * * * * * * *

THE PHALLIC TOWER - HARRY

The sound of the door opening had awakened most of the others. Or, more likely, it was my shouting `Hallelujah!' that did it. After being locked in all night, everyone was anxious to find some biological relief, and poured out the door. Paul was distressed that his clothes had vanished, but I told him not to worry. Amongst all of us, there should be enough to share.

A grateful Paul exited the tower, leaving only myself and Seth inside. I had to go, too, but was distracted by the other phenomenon, visible only now that the floor was no longer covered by sleeping men.

• (Seth) What the hell?

• I believe you meant to say `What the fuck?'

• That too.

Toward the outer edge of the polygon, there was now a set of black lines crossing each segment, parallel to the edge, almost like a hem on a pair of trousers except that it was about eight inches wide. They set off little trapezoids, with one base about six feet long on the outer edge and the other a bit shorter on the inner edge. Within each trapezoid was a number, prominently displayed in white.

• Those weren't there last night.

• No.

• Twelve numbers. One per wedge.

• But not in order.

• 1, 29, 7, 3, 31, 17, . . . what could they mean, Harry?

• Other than 1, they're all prime numbers.

• Yes?

• 1 is not a prime number, but it has no factors other than itself. Otherwise, these are the first eleven primes: 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23, 29, 31.

• But why these numbers? Why not one through twelve? Why prime numbers?

• That's one question. Another is why 1 and not 37, which is the twelfth prime number.

• And why they're not in order.

• That's a third question.

• Thought you needed a call of nature, Harry.

• I do. But it will wait a few more minutes. I want to think about prime numbers.

I also didn't want to use the outdoor `loo' while everyone else was there. Yeah, two weeks shy of my twenty-eighth birthday, I was still self-conscious about exposing my body. With good reason.

FLASHBACK – HARRY (A COLLEGE CAMPUS) – January, nine years ago

In the interests of protecting the institution, I won't name it. It was a small liberal arts college with solid academics in a rural setting. That's all you get.

I loved college. And I hated it.

What I loved were the weekdays. The classes, the exchange of ideas, the books that opened my eyes to new worlds. To be exposed to the giants of philosophy, of literature, of history, of science, of mathematics, of art and music – I absorbed it like a sponge. I felt like a nine-year-old Leonardo da Vinci, eager to learn, feeling like I could go into a half-dozen different worlds and excel at them. I wouldn't compare myself to a Leonardo older than nine, he knew too much.

What I hated were the weekends. My dormitory was populated by hot-blooded heterosexual males, full of braggadocio about sexual conquests past and future, armed with rude, crude, and cruel jokes, suffused with barely-disguised homophobia (and undisguised homophobia), anxious to demonstrate to the world that they knew how to use what was in their pants.

At least my roommate Josh was a nice person. Without my telling him, he knew I was gay, and I think he felt sorry for me in my shyness.

On a typical Saturday night, he would go out on a date.

• Hey, have a good time.

• Yeah, Harry, why am I the only one doing this?

• You know why.

• Gay guys date.

• Cute gay guys date. Cute gay guys date other cute gay guys.

• So are you just going to spend every Saturday night studying?

• Beats humiliation. Who's the lucky lady tonight?

• Mia Verdansky. (Pulling a condom out of his pocket) Want one?

• I don't think I'll be needing it, thank you.

• Well if you just sit there on your ass every week, that's true. You won't be needing it.

He'd leave for his date and I'd curl up on the bed and cry.

Given the college's rural setting, most of its social life lay in its fraternities and sororities. January was pledge time, but the fraternities started recruiting in December. They'd hold open houses and dances and you could go and check out the various fraternities, and express interest, see which ones you liked, and which ones liked you.

Josh was almost certain to join Sigma Nu Beta. I was horrified at his choice, but it was understandable. His brother, a senior, was a SNB' (appropriately pronounced Snob'), so Josh was assured of acceptance. SNB's were arrogant, privileged, and notorious for their rude behavior in wild drunken parties, exhibiting a general disrespect for the female sex they so professed to admire.

I wanted to talk Josh out of it, but there was no point. Despite their bad reputation, or perhaps because of it, the SNB's were still the fraternity of choice and the hardest to get in. Josh was ambitious and considered this a feather in his cap. Several distinguished alumni were SNB's.

He tried to get me to pledge – not SNB, of course, but some other fraternity. I burst out laughing.

• Me, in a fraternity? What have you been smoking, Josh?

• I'm serious. In a fraternity, you'd have brothers. You'd have friends, friends that will last for life, guys who will support you, guys who will be there for you.

• If you get in.

• You can get in.

• They never should have made marijuana legal in this state.

• What if there was a gay fraternity?

• There isn't one.

• Not an official one, no. But there's an informal one. They don't have a house, they meet in the student union, but they sponsor dances – some gay alum lets them rent a space for free.

• I've seen the gay guys around this campus. They're as smug as –

I was going to say `as your fraternity brothers', but stopped.

• – as any obnoxious prig you've ever met. Gay culture can be very unforgiving, Josh.

• Which you know because –

• I've seen it.

• Where? On TV?

• . . . Yeah. And movies.

And Grindr.

• Listen. I know one of their members, an Israeli named Uri. What if he came over and talked to you about it? He could answer some of your questions, maybe ease you over the hump.

I'll overlook the unfortunate use of the word `hump'.

Uri turned out to be, predictably, studly and gorgeous. He seemed very nice and natural, though, rather down to earth. I'd have felt comfortable talking to him if it weren't for the fact that he made my heart pound just looking at him.

He told me that the fraternity was very welcoming and accepting. They weren't exclusive and didn't turn anyone down. They didn't take themselves too seriously – as evidenced by their name – Kappa Omicron Kappa. "You can see why there's no national affiliation", Uri said, grinning.

There was a party Saturday night for new initiates. He would have a word and would make sure that if I showed up, I'd be accepted. He gave me the address of a private house, owned by a sympathetic alum; since the party was only for initiates, it wouldn't be in one of the larger facilities and not all members would be present.

I was nervous all week. This could be my chance. I could stay in the closet all through college or maybe this was the time when I could finally come out and openly state I'm gay'. I wanted to be proud I was gay, just like they were – the ubiquitous they' we all live in fear or hatred of. The `they' that I was sure wouldn't accept me. Fat, ugly, shy, virginal Harry.

As long as they accepted me, I'd be okay. I kept telling myself that. Uri had said they would accept me.

Please, KOK, accept me.

This was an older town, and this was an older house, sort of Victorian, I guess, looking to me like something Nathaniel Hawthorne might have had in mind when he wrote The House of the Seven Gables. I walked up six steps to a large porch that extended the length of the façade.

I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

Uri himself answered it, and looked delighted.

• Hey, you made it! Great! You're just in time. The initiation ceremony's about to begin.

• Initiation ceremony?

• Oh, it's fun. No paddling – I promise. Come on in.

I walked into a living room where there were about fifteen normal-looking guys – in their underwear.

• Meet your fellow initiates.

I looked at them. They looked at me.

• Guys, meet Harry. He's a last minute admission to the fraternity.

That produced a lot of Hi, Harry's and smiles, which did wonders for me. They looked like guys I could trust. They looked like guys who might accept me. I didn't see anyone with a gosh, he's fat, what is he doing here' expression on their face.

On the downside, they were in their underwear. It was clear that to join this pseudo-fraternity, I would have to strip down to my briefs. I would have to be fat and nearly naked in front of them.

I fought the instinct to run. Josh had said there were gay guys out there who would accept me. I had to trust that these were they.

I was wondering what was going through their minds, sitting there in their boxers or briefs. Were they comfortable exposing their bodies like that? Was it turning them on? Or were they feeling awkward, too, and nervous, wondering why they had to strip to their shorts for an initiation ceremony?

It was now or never. To run would be an act of cowardice. True, I was a coward. But you didn't advance unless you took risks. This was a big step, a huge risk, but it might be the safest form of huge risk I'd ever be presented with.

Uri led me into another room, which looked like a den. There were piles of clothes scattered around it.

• You can leave your clothes in here. But leave your undies on.

My heart was racing as I slowly took off my shoes, socks, sweater, jeans, and shirt, leaving them in a neat pile on the floor near a pole lamp. I was now wearing only briefs, and I found myself trembling.

Buck up, Harry. They didn't laugh at you when you walked in the door, they won't laugh at you now.

I went back into the room, where I found Uri had been joined by three other guys who looked like upperclassmen. They led us down into an unfinished basement – cement floor, bare walls, no furniture whatsoever. There was, however, a pair of chains hanging down from the ceiling, with grip-handles at their ends. This was alarming, but at least they weren't constraints – you could release the grip-handles.

Uri turned out to be the spokesman for the senior members of the fraternity.

• Welcome, new initiates of Kappa Omicron Kappa. We regret that only a few of us upperclassmen are able to be here tonight to fully welcome you into our society. But, as you can see, there is limited space here – and, as it's a Saturday night, most of the brothers are out fucking each other anyway.

Which produced laughter that seemed to relieve some of the tension we were doubtless all feeling.

• We promised no paddling. We didn't promise no flogging.

• (universal groans and protests)

• Oh, come now, it's just a little ritual. Each of us will plant one stroke on your back. It's an act we all went through, it's a bond we'll all share.

• (someone) Bond? Do we get bondage, too?

• (one of the upperclassmen, jovially) Talk to me later.

• (widespread laughter)

• But before we get started, let's all get to know each other.

We then did a round of name-learning, where we all said our names and our hometowns, and then he quizzed us by pointing to one of us and asking us to call out his name and where he was from, rapid-fire.

It worked. I knew everyone's name and it worked to bring us closer together. I felt better knowing the guy next to me was Jared from Vienna, Virginia, rather than just an anonymous person.

And then they came around and fitted us with blindfolds.

• (Uri) I know you're all hoping we're going to play `pin the tail on the donkey' –

• (someone) Pin the tail on the ass!

• (laughter)

• (Uri) – but these blindfolds are mostly to save you from embarrassment. You'll be safe in the knowledge that none of your fellow initiates will be able to see you. WE will –

• (wicked chuckles from the upperclassmen)

• but you won't see what your fellow pledges are doing, and they won't see you. Now this is Kappa Omicron Kappa, or KOK as we like to call it, and so we're going to have to see your cocks.

What?!

• Pull em out. Stick em through the openings in your shorts. Relax, nobody can see yours, except me. And Bud and Jonah and Will. . . . Okay, Jared, don't be shy. . . Harry, let's see it. Everyone else has their cock out but you.

Oh, hell, why not. I was in a gay fraternity, I had to start acting gay, didn't I? I reached down and pulled my cock out from the opening in my briefs.

• Now make `em stiff.

• (giggling all the way around)

• (someone, enjoying this) You sure we can't take our blindfolds off?

• Let's go, guys. Ooh, very nice, Dustin. That's the way, Andre. Terrance, having a little trouble, are we? . . . Oh, good, Harry, you're getting there.

I was, too. There was homoeroticism all around me and it was directing itself straight to my balls. Once I got started manipulating my cock, it didn't take long for me to get rock hard. But, boy was I grateful for the blindfold!

I was just nervous about one thing – they wouldn't make us jack off, would they?

I at least was spared that.

• Okay, it's time to start the flogging. Each of us is going to give you one stroke on your back. That's only four strokes in total. But one requirement – you have to stay hard during the whole thing, or else you'll have to do it again.

• (Someone) That won't be a challenge. The more you hit me, the harder I get.

• Oooh, sounds like Dustin's speaking from experience. Kinky, kinky Dustin.

That detail was adversely affecting my erection. I didn't need to hear about Dustin's past experience. Were all the rest of them experienced like him? We were eighteen years old. Everybody I knew in high school was experienced – or claimed to be. Was I the freak I feared I was? Was I the only virgin in the room?

• Harry, Harry, the idea is to stay hard while being flogged. It doesn't help if you're soft to begin with.

• (laughter)

I took steps to remedy that situation.

• Very good. Now that you have the momentum, why don't we start with you?

No, that's not a good idea.

• Come on, Harry, come on up here. And keep that pecker up.

A chant began to circulate: "Harry! Harry! Harry!" Was it camaraderie or ridicule? I couldn't tell. Were my pledgemates laughing at me or shouting their encouragement because they wanted me to succeed? My paranoia feared the former, but the atmosphere in the room felt supportive.

I stepped forward and felt someone slap me on the butt. "Go get `em, Harry!"

Yes! Yes, I can do this! I felt a hand on my elbow and I was taken to the center of the room, where my hand was guided toward the grips hanging from the chains. I took hold of them, my hard-on at full mast. I was buoyed by the erotic atmosphere in the room; the charge was like an electric current to my groin.

The first stroke hit my back. Gosh, that wasn't bad. I awaited another. And another. And another. I was still hard. Hallelujah, I had passed the test. It was someone else's turn; my ordeal was over.

Except it wasn't.

• Very good, Harry. Now, it's time for Part Two.

• Part Two?

• Oh, it speaks! I never said ALL we were going to do was plant four on your back.

Before I knew it , I felt hands attaching something to my wrists. Leather restraints, which were soon attached to the grips. I couldn't get out of this now. It was not simply a matter of releasing the grips – I was captive to whatever Part Two was.

• We promised no paddling. So we won't use a paddle. We'll use a nice big strap on your ass.

I wanted to protest, to demand to be released. But this was a ritual, wasn't it? Obviously, we were all going to have to endure this – I would lose all the good faith of my pledgemates if I wimped out now.

• And of course your underwear has to go.

I heard – and then felt – a snip of the scissors. Scissors! They were cutting my briefs off me! They couldn't just yank them down, they had to reduce them to shreds?

My pledgemates were full of laughter as they watched me rendered completely naked, my `tidy whities' being removed in the most humiliating manner possible. The atmosphere didn't seem so supportive now.

• And in case you feel like mouthing off while we're spanking you . . .

Something went into my mouth. Deep inside my mouth. I realized that it was my own briefs. A band of tape crossed my face, holding my gag in place. I felt like I was going to choke on my sweaty underpants, but they gave me a few moments to figure out how to adjust and get my breathing under control.

• Okay, men. We're going to have a circle jerk. You can keep your shorts on or drop them, but nobody's going to see you – me, I'd drop `em. Now grab the cock of the guy to your right and start working it. We're going to spank Harry until every last one of you spurts.

That was when it hit me. This was not a ritual that everyone was going through. They couldn't possibly put fifteen guys in my position and have fifteen circle jerks. This was about me. I was being singled out. Harry, the fat guy, the object of ridicule, was once again being made the object of ridicule.

A new chant rose up: "Strap his ass! Strap his ass!"

They strapped my ass. WHACK! I gasped with the first blow, it was so astonishingly more painful than the strokes across my back had been. WHACK! The second one was just as fierce. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! After the fifth, I couldn't hold it in, and I had to cry out in pain.

Which produced gales of laughter.

• We're going to make every square inch of your ass red, Harry. And that's going to take a lot of strokes.

• (someone) Because you've got a lot of ass!

The chant switched to "Fat ass! Fat ass! Fat ass!"

It was obvious. This had all been a set-up to begin with. Was Kappa Omicron Kappa even real? Were my fellow pledges actually members of Sigma Nu Beta, just pretending to be gay to have fun at my expense? Was this THEIR initiation ritual – to ritually humiliate someone else? Had Josh even been in on it?

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! . . .

My ass got sorer and sorer until I heard someone shout, "Omigod, here it comes!" And then a room of gleeful laughter and cheers – someone had shot his load.

I lost track of the strokes. It was in the dozens, it was in the scores. Eventually they stopped, probably with the realization that if they went much further I'd have to go to the infirmary. While they were planting strokes on my ass, they repeatedly warned me against reporting this to anyone. One of the upperclassmen said his father was Dean of Students and could get me expelled. Another said his uncle was head of the infirmary and If I showed up there he would report it to the Dean of Students. These sounded like lies just to intimidate me, but there was no risk to them: No way was I going to tell a single soul about this. Not even Josh. It was too humiliating.

Finally, they removed the gag from my mouth. I was full of things to say, but was incapable of saying any of them. Anyway, I had better hold my tongue until I was free of the restraints.

Which wasn't yet. It appeared that my ordeal wasn't quite over.

• Well, gentlemen, now that his ass is nice and red, what should we do with our big fat pig?

• Roast him!

• Yeah, roast the pig!

It soon became the new chant: "Roast the pig! Roast the pig!"

• Well, Harry should we roast you? And by roast you, I mean spitroast you?

I panicked. I knew what spitroasting was. I was a virgin, I'd never taken a cock in either my ass or my mouth, and here they were proposing to give me both at the same time?

How I wished I had full control over my body. Because as much as I was horrified by the suggestion, I was also turned on. I was eighteen, at my sexual peak, and my cock started to rise.

• Look at that! He wants it!

• (Roast the pig! Roast the pig!)

• Sorry, Harry, we're not going to spitroast you. I don't stick my cock into asses that fat. I don't even think I could reach your hole! And your mouth – it's been full of stinking underwear. No, Harry, no cock for you. But I know that to roast a pig, it ought to be covered in barbecue sauce!

I don't know where it came from. It felt like there was a bucket over my head that had just been turned over. But all of a sudden gallons of a thick, viscous liquid flowed over my body. It must have looked like the scene in "Carrie" when the blood was spilled over her at the prom. Some of it landed on my lip. Yes – barbecue sauce.

Roars of laughter. I felt brushes smearing the barbecue sauce over my body, as if to baste it. More sauce was dumped over me, and they worked on me until every inch of my body was covered – face, neck, hair, arms, legs, chest, back, ass – even cock and balls. Especially cock and balls. Gobs of sauce were forced into my crack. I was subjected to rude comments all the while. And then a hose was unleashed with such force it seemed like torture, to the accompaniment of gleeful shouts and the occasional protest when one of them – one of THEM – had gotten wet.

When they finally took me down and released the blindfold, I saw that everyone in the room was fully dressed. Uri looked me in the face.

• There was no circle jerk. Do you think anybody could get their rocks off looking at the likes of you? Now get dressed and get the fuck out of here.

Later I found out that Kappa Omicron Kappa was, indeed, real. This was not some cruel prank by SNB or one of the straight fraternities. Gay men had done this to me.

I resolved then and there never to put myself in such a situation again. I would stay in the closet my entire life. And I wouldn't expose my body to ridicule.

So why, years later, had I chosen a beach vacation at a gay-friendly resort?

THE ISLAND - HARRY

Someone whose body was already exposed came back and motioned me to the side of the phallic tower: Paul.

• Listen, Harry, you said you could get some clothes for me.

• Yeah, sure, we can. Though I'm a bit worried they won't stay around.

• You mean because of Seth losing his clothes again.

• If he lost his clothes twice, you might, too.

• Well, I've got to do something to cover this up. I mean this is embarrassing.

He looked down in shame and my eyes followed down to his crotch. His jockstrap was stained yellow.

• What happened?

• I had to pee so badly, Harry. I had to pee inside the jock. At least I could still crap.

• I don't understand. Why didn't you take the jock off?

• It won't let me. It – they – whatever – won't let me.

• What do you mean?

• It's like welded to my body. I can't get out of this jockstrap.

[COMING UP NEXT: CHAPTER ELEVEN – BIRTHDAYS]