Dear Doily: I Want to Fuck My Frat Bro
How to Crush It When You’re Crushing: Advice From an Expert.
Dear Doily,
It all started when we were jello-wrestling at the Kappa mixer before winter break. I thought I had only noticed his decadent gutters in the Rec because we always do hip day together. But, under the soft strobe of our brother getting arrested and with two Cutwaters in my blood, things just fell into place. His eyes, his cross necklace, his vast knowledge of best practice for small businesses… I feel like this could be more than just a Valentine’s Day wistfulness.
I’ve never felt this way before. I mean, the other day, we were at Brothers and he let me use his Mug Club cup for my fifth G+T. And later that night, he flicked in my direction, instead of to his girlfriend like he usually does. It’s the first time in my life that I’ve noticed details about another person. And, the worst part is, I can’t stop thinking about him when I’m supposed to be planning how we’re going to haze these fucking fish. We ended up with an entire rush class in sexy little sleeveless turtlenecks feeding each other whipped cream, and suddenly, I’m off the events committee. I should have said something, I know, but I got busy with lacrosse and forgot all about it.
Only in the past couple of days has it begun to escalate to more than just a passing interest. I’m starting to wonder if he might want me too, Doily! It’s just so hard to tell! We hit up the Clit for our biweekly walk-tac, and as I was ordering, he steadied me with his hand. I could feel his class ring. What does it mean? Is he just a major fucking alpha or could my feelings be mutual? Penis feelings, of course.
I don’t know if he and I can ever be together. Girlfriends notwithstanding, he’s president-elect of the frat and my number-one bro. Does it count as homie-hopping if he’s the homie, and I’m hopping on? Would he ever go for a bleeding heart such as myself?
I’m writing in because my heart is breaking, and my nuts are busting. Please Assist Your Troubled Ass Brother.
Sincerely,
Lambda Lambda Lovelost
Dear Lambda,
We’ll tell you what our dad told us when we shot our shot with YAF: the heart picks a house before the brain knows what’s buried there. Is it really the fatal attraction you think it is? Here’s what we did: step into the snake pit. Get torn apart by a lot of snakes. Eat an entire bucket of prunes and shit out any semblance of a crush there once was. You can never get what you really want, so the next best option is to pour all that pent-up blue-balled energy into, say, an entire week of content about a campus building no one’s heard of.
Bottom line is, love is dead and so is sex. Happy Valentine’s Day!
Yours Truly,
The Doily Allergen
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