Streaking Frat Row

If this weekend had taught you anything it was that you could definitely stand to see more of other people streaking over the next few years at college. But you definitely had had your fill and would be a-ok never having to do it again.

In the past 48 hours you’d streaked the quad (unsuccessfully), around half of campus trying to get back to your door with your hands cuffed behind your back, down a suburban street where you’d been caught by a professor at the college, and now you find yourself streaking frat row.

In a weekend that had seen a lot of streakers none was less well received than you were at just before noon on Sunday running with both hands cupping your balls. Most of frat row was just waking up from a night of partying and several were drinking beers nursing hangovers on porches as you ran.

There were no cheers this time only boos. Several people went as far as to throw empty beer cans at you. But by the time you made it back around to where Alaina and Marlena stood with your clothes you felt both throughly embarrassed but also triumphant. It was just now Noon and you and Saljia were tied for the lead.