Melissa must've known what was coming in the next few months. As a flying trapeze artist, I would be popular with the girls on campus. She wanted to get in early. Her office on the first day certainly achieved that.
After our passionate meeting, we walked across half the empty campus on the way to the trapeze rig. A mixture of new and old buildings were surrounded by the Florida fauna landscaping. And the sports hall stood the required 15 metres high, making it stand out.
To a circus professional, the rigging is about as exciting as the show. It dictates how creative you can be. And circus performers tend to spend their lives doing pretty much the same thing over and over again each evening, so any creative outlet is a buzz.
The university had split the building to be a full-size basketball court on one side and a circus venue on the other - about the same size. It meant the space doubled up for both purposes during training, but either half could be used to host an audience by filling in the opposite space with bleachers or chairs.
Our sexual appetites temporarily satisfied and a genuine interest meant that I managed to pay attention to what Melissa actually said about the place. It was empty, so we could take a good look.
The flying trapeze rig took up most of my half of the arena. It's the piece de resistance of any circus show and school. Which is why flyers are the best paid and most disliked circus artists in the industry. They usually have an awful ego problem and primadonna complex too. None of which applies to me thanks to my measly amount of professional shows. I'm probably the world's least elegant flying trapeze artist thanks to never doing any of the usual prerequisites like gymnastics or trampoline.
But I do know my rigging fairly well. I've worked on rigs in about a dozen different countries in all sorts of capacities. So I've seen each way of doing things. And I'm a good coach thanks to a vastly better than average intelligence compared to other trapeze artists. Which isn't saying much.
So Melissa and I walked into the arena, still sweaty from our session. The rig is beautiful. It's symmetrical, which is rare for an arena where the trapeze is off to one side. Usually the roof truss of the building mucks things up. All around it were rigging points for other aerial equipment, and a few sets of safety lines for the more dangerous arts and tricks.
It takes a few people to set up a flying trapeze net (yes, we always use one), and the new net was still in its gigantic rolled up drum. The FSU team from the western side of Florida had provided everything and rigged it all except for the net.
Sorry, you don't really care about this do you? Well Melissa and I took a walk around the whole facility. We spent some surplus time in the empty girl's locker room - the same one from my previous chapter. My hands roamed all over her, and we spent much more time exploring each other's tongues. "I'm going to fuck you in here one night," I told her. Little did I know how true that was. But not that day.
We finished the tour back at the front of the university, where I had first met Melissa in person hours ago. "Thanks for the tour," I told her smugly, recalling how it had started. Trying to keep up appearances on a deserted university campus is hard.
"Thanks for the pleasure. I hope you cum again soon," she smirked. It sounded a little less stupid thanks to those pornstar glasses.
"See you Monday for O-Week."
I returned to the carpark and experienced my first American drive by. A gaggle of girls pegged three rolls of pink toilet paper at me from their yellow VW beetle cabriolet as they drove past. "Alpha Omega rules!" one screeched at me at the same time as the tyres.
We don't have sororities back home. At least not that I know of. So American movies are all I'd heard about them at this point. It seemed like an odd tradition. Still does given the situation I find myself in now. But I have a great deal to thank the tradition these days...
On the drive home I dreaded being back at home alone again. That huge house, deserted. It just wouldn't sell. What should I do?
And then it hit me.
Obvious to you in hindsight. And because of the name of my story. But I wondered if the place could be turned into a sorority. Being a landlord to lots of college girls could be fun... Imagine the parties, the initiation ceremonies and the new girls each semester.
The place was in the perfect location, close to the university. It was remote enough to not bother any neighbours with noise or parties. It was about the right size - 16 rooms, with space for more. It all fit together.
My mind wandered and convinced me it'd be a good idea thanks to my balls doing the thinking. So home I raced, across the bridges, past the trees, suddenly looking romantic instead of spooky. Into the driveway towards a façade that no student lodging could compete with. And into the house that would be home to all sorts of depravities according to my racing imagination. Little did I know just how creative I could be.
Take for example the Confession. This was one of my earliest and best ideas when the sorority first began. It's still going now, years later, practically a tradition. And it ensures my power over the girls by knowing everything worth knowing about their lives. It also gets me fantastic, regular and dirty blowjobs in a wonderfully perverse way. Some of the shyer girls really come into their own.
