Note From The Author: Mature themes and vulgar language aplenty. Viewer discretion is very strongly advised.
HAZED BY THE WRESTLING TEAM
Have you ever witnessed something so strange and so peculiar that it consumed a sizeable portion of your daily thoughts and even kept you up at night? I recently did, and though it happened over a week ago, I just can't seem to shake the thought of it out of my mind.
As was the case on every second or third Friday, my twenty-one-year-old stepbrother Nate had a bunch of his rambunctious gym buddies and wrestling teammates over for some beers, barbecue and time around the pool.
It sorta grossed me out how the lot of them would come home right after wrestling practice and jump inside the pool without first showering or rinsing off at all. Like...ew. Even more unnerving was seeing the usually eight or nine of them hurriedly yanking their giant shoes and crummy as fuck socks off before cannonball-jumping straight into the pool - showing nary a hint of concern for the innumerable balls of disgusting sock lint that lined their sweaty soles and steaming hot toe cracks.
Anyways, last Friday was no different. Nate and the guys came over, sweaty and tired after their gym workout and a gruelling early afternoon wrestling practice. I was already in the pool when they arrived, but I quickly vacated the area, mostly for fear of getting sweat and sock-lint-infested water inside my mouth, but also due to a gnawing feeling of self-consciousness relating to how scrawny and unimpressive my body was.
The familiar and highly unpleasant reek of cheese and vinegar permeated the inside of the house due to the rather poignant odour that afflicted their sweltering footwear. My stepbrother especially was quite infamous in that regard. His larger-than-life-size 12s and stanky as fuck shoes could stink a room up faster than anyone I knew.
Having said that, Nate's buddies weren't inherently irksome nor did they usually go out of their way to bother or annoy me. Still, being a few years younger than they were - and definitely less jockish - I didn't exactly feel compelled to stick around and remain in their presence when they came over.
As was usually the case, I sought the privacy of my own bedroom or spent most of my time playing video games while they hung out on the backyard deck and enjoyed the poolside patio chairs. That's pretty much what I ended up doing last Friday; playing video games and just generally minding my own business.
Things only took an unexpected turn when the clamouring college jocks suddenly stormed in through the patio door, carrying the lightest and least boisterous member of the gang up in the air.
I wasn't exactly new to these sorts of shenanigans. I mean, my stepbrother and his buddies were quite prolific when it came to fooling around, and ever since my mum and I had moved in with Nate and his dad three months ago, I'd witnessed more than my fair share of gang rituals and group hazings.
What I witnessed last Friday, though, struck an altogether quite different chord.
I didn't know what he'd done, but the lightest member of the group was dragged into the house and forcibly carried off all the way over to my stepbrother's bedroom. He laughed and cried out in semi-genuine protest, but his ability to call for help was rather swiftly cut off by the collection of very broad and very muffling palms that kept clamping down all over his face.
Tyler - that was his name - proved no match for my stepbrother and the eight clamouring wrestlers that ended up brawling him down to the floor and carelessly piling atop him. I watched from the open doorway of my stepbrother's annoyingly strong-smelling room as the muffled beta-jock disappeared from view and was swallowed up into the mostly-underwear-clad, testosterone-ridden melee. And I'm not kidding when I tell you that my stepbrother and his gang were all seriously jacked.
Nate practically knocked me down to the floor as he ran out of his bedroom and brushed past me; his positively oversized bare soles creating wet slurping noises and leaving moist footprints behind as they hastily carried him towards his destination.
*SLURP*
*SLURP*
*SLURP*
*SLURP*
"Keep him quiet!" he hollered from the distance, expressing concern about the fact that the neighbours might overhear Tyler's screams, and ignoring me completely even as he ran down into the basement, seemingly in search of something.
The guys zealously complied, laughed and used their immensely thick palms to cover the half-laughing, half-protesting victim's mouth up - all the while unwittingly clogging his airways and smothering him in the process.
One of the heavier, hairy-chested jocks - I can't remember his name - even opted to squat down and wiggle his big shorts-clad rump over Tyler's smothered face before very ballsily pulling his shorts down and sitting his mind-bogglingly massive bare bums directly on top of it, much to the great amusement of everyone else in the room.
"Haha! Yeah bro, fuckin' suffocate him with your ass!" one of the other guys approvingly laughed.
Taking his ecstatic buddy's advice to heart, the jumbo-thighed wrestler-hunk used his monstrously developed legs and large soles to completely immobilise the smaller jock's head. Then he just sat there, grinding himself down on top of his defeated counterpart's face, flexing his very sizeable arm muscles and grinning rather triumphantly as the jocks around him broke down into uncontrollable laughter.
The overwhelmed captive struggled to break free and screamed in desperation, but the airtight seal imposed on his face made short work of his cries and proved entirely scream-proof.
The hairy behemoth, by contrast, was all smiles by that point. He wiggled his positively ginormous ass around, commented on the fact that he was quite literally getting his chute sniffed, and turned his head back to glance behind his shoulder several times. He remained in that position for what must've been an entire minute before suddenly crinkling his face, tensing his entire body up and letting rip a deafening fart directly into his suffocating victim's air-deprived nostrils.
*PRRRRRRRRT*
"There you go, buddy. Choke on that!" the jumbo-thighed leviathan hollered; a roar of collective laughter suddenly filling my ears as the downed wrestler frantically struggled to get away and began choking on his much heavier opponent's rotten gas.
Cheers and hollers resonated across the room a second time when my two-meter-tall stepbrother returned, this time with a veritable shitload of his father's colourful camping rope in tow.
Tyler was spun onto his stomach, but even though he showed no signs of resistance - no doubt realising that he was very heavily outgunned and outnumbered - a brute force the likes of which my impressionable eighteen-year-old self had never witnessed was casually dished out on him.
The sea of mostly underwear and singlet-clad jocks swarmed atop him; their sizeable arms and muscles bulging as they very forcibly pulled the vanquished wrestler's wrists behind his back and forced his ankles together. The defeated jock could do nothing but lay there and allow himself to be trussed up even as his substantially brawnier and heavier assailants manhandled him into submission and began securing him into an overly excessive hogtie.
The process lasted quite a while and proved unsurprisingly chaotic. Cheers, laughs and numerous calls for a gag to be used peppered the noisy dissonance. That in itself was quite a spectacle to behold, especially seeing as how I'd never actually witnessed anyone being tied up in real life before.
Tyler was a good sport in the sense that he wasn't fighting back and appeared content to just lay there and take it.
Jabs and taunts came in thick and strong, but even when my stepbrother's singlet-clad best buddy took the teasing to another level, Tyler kept his cool.
"Haha yeah. That's right, bitch. Sniff my nuts!" Anthony taunted, holding the back of the hogtied victim's head with one hand and grinding his mesmerisingly huge lycra-clad tent all over the helpless guy's face.
The defeated prisoner tried and temporarily succeeded in getting his nose out of his fellow wrestler's engorged crotch, but that only resulted in three additional hands quickly swooping in to grab his head and forcing his face back in between the singlet-clad jock's very thick, wide-open thighs.
"Yeah, get his little face back in there. Ohhh...fuck yeah." came the sound of Anthony's pleasured moan as soon as the hogtied prisoner's nose was smooched up into his gooch - inadvertently massaging the area that separated his balls and his butthole.
Truth be known, I was more than a little dismayed by the vulgarity of what was happening. But knowing my stepbrother's rowdy teammates - particularly Anthony - the way I did, I can't really say that I was all that surprised.
Things calmed down for a little while after that. Three of the guys - including my stepbrother - were still busy tightening the ropework and double-knotting all the loose ends they could find. Pretty much everyone else appeared happy to just sit back and tease the defeated victim.
Poor Tyler was repeatedly wedgied, had numerous saliva-coated pinky fingers twisted into his ears, got his shortly-cropped scalp condescendingly rubbed more times than I can count and even got his bare soles tickled by at least four different guys. All of it seemed to be in good fun at first.
The bound beta-jock writhed around and strained against his bonds for a bit, but the liberally applied ropework keeping his athletic body arched back proved more than adequate at keeping him restrained. And still, more ropes were being added.
But yeah, the ambient decibels once again reached new heights when one of the guys reached for my stepbrother's discarded trainers and pulled the wads of disconcertingly poignant cotton out from inside one of them.
"Holy fuck, bro! These smell like shit!" the stud disbelievingly laughed, before turning his focus away from the socks and bringing the positively crummy bundle down directly in front of the hogtied prisoner's visibly disconcerted face.
Everyone laughed as Tyler made a grimace and wiggled his head away in an effort to escape my stepbrother Nate's infernally nauseating stink bombs. His efforts were spirited - almost as much as mine would've been - but that didn't stop the offensive wadding from hungrily chasing after him.
I watched as several of the guys excitedly stepped in to hold his head and watched as the sweltering ball of stupendously ripe fabric was dutifully crammed up against his face.
"Haha! Gag him! Shove those dirty fucks inside his mouth!" one of the onlookers assertively demanded, to which a number of the jocks laughed even as the unlucky victim coughed and sputtered in an attempt to protest the smelly-footed host's very ratty, unwashed socks.
The crumpled wadding was eventually pulled away and tossed back down to the floor, but the ropebound victim's respite proved rather short-lived when yet another one of Nate's friends - a heavily tattooed bloke named Hunter - reached for the giant shoe that had been hosting my stepbrother's old socks and pressed it's reeking mouth atop poor Tyler's disgruntled face.
"Big whiff." the shoe-wielding leviathan assertively commanded, causing the hopelessly defeated wrestler to do just that before once again crying out in horror as a means of making his opposition known.
Both of my stepbrother's harrowingly battered trainers were brought to the fore; their gaping mouths forced wide open and their stinking maws hungrily clamping down atop the bound wrestler's defenceless face.
Nate just sat there and watched; a sizeable boner animating the front of his tight Calvin Klein boxers and his proud grin betraying a glaring lack of empathy for what his friend was being put through. Pretty soon the entire group was scrambling to grab their footwear; each one of them apparently motivated by the urge to get their own - or in some cases, each other's - funky socks and shoes sniffed.
Tyler very wisely kept his mouth shut to avoid getting any of their socks shoved in, but I could tell from the visibly distressed and mortified expression on his face that he wasn't enjoying the torment one bit.
I definitely couldn't blame him. I would've probably puked my brains out on the spot had I been in his place!
What happened next though, is what really distraught me. To this day it still shocked me and I just couldn't shake the thought of it from my head. This was no ordinary hazing. Or so I would soon learn.
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, I have the impression of recognizing myself in the character who tells the story, I think that I would have the same reaction as him to everything that
