Chapter 3: First Trance
The rhythm of life in the house settled into a strange new normal. The shared showers continued, the silk panties became just another layer of skin, and sleeping curled against Tyler’s chest was simply how he slept. The comments about his body were constant, a background noise he learned to laugh off with a flushed face. He was bonding. He was becoming a brother. The weirdness was the point, he reminded himself whenever a cold thread of doubt unspooled in his gut.
A week after the big-little reveal, a text lit up his phone. It was from Caleb, an older brother he didn’t know well—quiet, always watching from the edges of rooms with an intense, thoughtful expression.
Caleb: Hey pledge. House wellness check. My room, 4pm. It’s a mindfulness thing. Mandatory.
Jamie stared at the screen. Mindfulness? He pictured yoga mats and deep breathing. It seemed so… mature. Unexpectedly sophisticated. A grin spread across his face. He texted Drew.
Jamie: Dude, I got a ‘wellness check’ with Caleb. Mindfulness session. Lol.
Drew: Yeah me too, last week. It’s chill. Actually kinda nice. This frat is low-key woke.
Drew’s confirmation sealed it. This was cool. It was modern. It proved Gamma Phi wasn’t just about beer and hazing; they cared about mental health. He felt a flicker of pride.
At four, he knocked on Caleb’s door, which was at the end of a quiet hallway on the second floor. It swung open silently. Caleb stood there, offering a small, close-lipped smile. “Jamie. Right on time. Come in.”
The room was unlike any other in the house. It was dim, the windows shrouded by heavy velvet drapes that killed the afternoon sun. The air was thick and sweet with the smell of sandalwood incense, coiling from a brass holder on a cluttered desk. Soft, rhythmic music played from a hidden speaker—just drums and a single, droning synth note. In the center of the room was an antique chaise lounge, upholstered in faded burgundy velvet. Jackson, the president, was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed. He gave Jamie a nod.
“Jackson’s just observing,” Caleb said, his voice low and even. “Part of his presidential duties. Ensuring brother wellness. Have a seat.”
“Cool, yeah,” Jamie said, trying to sound relaxed. He perched on the edge of the chaise. The velvet was cool through the thin fabric of Tyler’s maroon shirt.
“This is just a guided relaxation,” Caleb explained, pulling up a stool to sit beside Jamie’s head. “A stress-management technique. The pledge process is demanding. We want to equip you with tools to handle it. Just follow my voice.”
“Sounds great,” Jamie said, meaning it.
“Close your eyes. Good. Now, focus on your breathing. In through the nose… out through the mouth…”
Caleb’s voice was a instrument. It was calm, monotonous, and it rolled over Jamie with a physical weight. He guided Jamie through his body, telling him to relax his feet, his calves, his thighs. With each exhale, Jamie felt himself sinking deeper into the chaise. The incense smoke curled in his lungs. The repetitive music seemed to sync with his pulse.
“You’re doing very well, Jamie,” Caleb murmured. “Very receptive. Just letting go. Deeper now. It’s a wonderful feeling, to just… let someone else guide you. To obey the voice that wants to help you.”
The word obey floated by, wrapped in the honey of Caleb’s tone. It didn’t sting. It felt like a fact.
“You’re in a safe space. A brother’s space. Everything here is designed for your growth. For your pleasure.”
Jamie’s breathing was slow and even. His fingers were limp. The world was the voice, the scent, the drone.
“I want you to think about comfort,” Caleb continued. “About the things that make you feel accepted. The shirt you’re wearing. It smells like brotherhood. It feels like belonging. And when you see the brothers, you feel that warmth. You notice them. You appreciate their form. Their strength. It’s natural. It’s a sign of your connection.”
A faint image of Tyler, shirtless after a shower, flickered in the dark behind Jamie’s eyelids. It was followed by a flash of Jackson’s confident smile. The images felt warm. Pleasant.
“Your eyes are drawn to the symbols of that strength. It’s a biological impulse. A social bond. You look, and you feel that warmth deepen. You feel a good feeling. A secret, quiet thrill. It’s okay. It’s part of the bond. It means you’re one of us.”
Jamie’s brow furrowed slightly. The logic wove itself seamlessly into the fog of his mind. Look. Appreciate. Bond. The words echoed, finding grooves in his consciousness.
He felt a hand, large and warm, settle on his hair. Jackson’s. He began to stroke it slowly, from forehead to crown.
“Good boy,” Jackson whispered, his voice a rough contrast to Caleb’s smooth one. “Such a good, receptive boy.”
The praise melted through Jamie, liquid and golden. A soft, contented sigh escaped his lips.
Caleb’s voice took on a new, slightly firmer tone. “Now, I’m going to give you a keyword. A trigger to access this deep, relaxed, accepting state whenever you need it. The word is ‘gamma.’ When you hear me or a brother say ‘gamma’ in a calm tone, you will take a deep breath and let this feeling return. This feeling of warmth, of obedience, of finding pleasure in the bond. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Jamie breathed, the word slurred.
“Gamma.”
A full-body shiver ran through Jamie, not from cold, but from a wave of profound release. His mind went beautifully, utterly blank and receptive.
“From now on,” Caleb said, his voice now the only anchor in the void, “you will notice your brothers more. You will feel drawn to look at them, even when you try to resist."
You will feel safe in their presence, because they are so much bigger than you, their builds are so solid, so safe. You feel small, Jamie. Perfectly, comfortably small. That’s your place.
Caleb’s words were not spoken but poured, a syrup-thick certainty that coated Jamie’s slack mind. Jackson’s hand never stopped its slow, possessive stroking through his hair.
Your eyes will trace the lines of their arms, the breadth of their shoulders. You’ll notice how a shirt stretches across a chest, how jeans hang on a thigh. It’s just observation. It’s just appreciation. And it feels good to appreciate, doesn’t it?
A soft, agreeing hum vibrated in Jamie’s throat. The images came clearer now, unprompted: Tyler’s bicep flexing as he lifted a keg, Jackson’s broad back filling a doorway. They felt like studies in strength, in safety. He felt himself shrinking, a welcome sensation, a relief.
“Good boy,” Jackson murmured again, his thumb brushing Jamie’s temple.
And your eyes, so appreciative, will wander. They’ll be pulled downward. It’s a natural comparison, a biological curiosity. You are smaller everywhere, aren’t you, Jamie?
A faint, distressed twitch flickered beneath Jamie’s eyelid. A deep, instinctual shame, buried but not erased, stirred in the fog.
You know you’re not supposed to look there. A good, straight boy knows not to look. But you won’t be able to resist. The curiosity will be too strong. The comparison will be too compelling. And when you look, you’ll feel that warmth. That secret thrill. You’ll feel how small you are. And you’ll like it. It will feel true.
Jamie’s breathing hitched, a shallow little gasp. His fingers curled slightly into the velvet of the chaise.
“Gamma,” Caleb said, soft and firm.
The resistance dissolved, wiped clean. Jamie’s body went limp again, his face smoothing into blank acceptance. The idea was planted, rooted deep in the fertile soil of his suggestibility. It sat there, waiting.
“When you see one, or think of one, your face will get hot. You’ll feel that embarrassment. That’s your old mind fighting. But underneath, you’ll feel the pull. The need to look. To confirm your place. And each time you do, the embarrassment will feel… good. It will feel right. It’s your body accepting the truth.”
Caleb leaned back, studying Jamie’s tranquil face. He gave Jackson a slight, knowing nod.
“We’re done for today. He’s ready. On the count of three, you’ll wake up feeling refreshed, and you’ll remember this as a very relaxing session. One… two… three.”
Jamie’s eyes fluttered open. The room came back in pieces—the dim light, the strange music, the sweet, heavy air. He blinked, slowly sitting up. A profound, lazy contentment weighed his limbs.
“Wow,” he slurred, a dopey smile spreading across his face. “That was… intense. In a good way.”
Jackson pushed off the wall, his charismatic grin back in place. “Told you it was chill. You were totally out, man.”
“I feel great,” Jamie said, standing up on slightly wobbly legs. The world seemed softer at the edges.
“Remember,” Caleb said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Use the tools. Breathe. Observe. It’s all for your benefit.”
“Yeah. Yeah, totally. Thanks, Caleb.”
Jamie shuffled out, the door clicking shut behind him. In the hallway, the normal lights felt assaultive. He leaned against the wall for a second, the echo of the word ‘gamma’ a faint, pleasant chime in the back of his skull.
That night in the shower, the suggestion flexed its muscle for the first time.
The water was hot, Tyler was talking about some bullshit professor, and Jamie was soaping his arms. Then Tyler turned, reaching for the shampoo on the high shelf. His body stretched, a long, muscular line from his armpit down his flank, down to his…
Jamie’s gaze, of its own volition, snapped downward. It wasn’t a glance. It was a stare, locked on Tyler’s cock, hanging heavy and full between his legs. It was so much bigger than his own. The comparison was immediate, brutal, and visceral.
A bolt of white-hot shame shot through him, so sharp it felt like nausea. His face burned. He jerked his eyes up to the tiles, his heart hammering against his ribs.
But underneath the shame, a warm, insistent pulse throbbed in his gut. A twisted, magnetic pull. The memory of Caleb’s voice whispered: You are smaller everywhere.
Tyler caught the tail end of the look. He didn’t mention it. He just smiled, a slow, knowing thing, as he worked shampoo into his hair. “You okay there, little dude? You’re all flushed.”
“Yeah. Steam. It’s really steamy,” Jamie babbled, turning his back, desperately focusing on the spray.
The silence between them was filled only by the drumming water. Jamie could feel Tyler’s eyes on his back, a physical weight on his skin. He scrubbed at his arm furiously, as if he could scour away the unwanted image now burned onto his retina.
“My turn,” Tyler said, his voice casual. His hands were suddenly on Jamie’s shoulders, turning him around. “You missed a spot. Tilt your head back.”
“I can do it,” Jamie protested, his voice thin. He tried to reach for the shampoo bottle himself.
Tyler just chuckled, easily batting his hand away. “Rule One, little dude. I ensure you’re properly cleaned. Now, head back.”
The command was gentle but absolute. Jamie’s body complied before his mind could form another weak objection. He let his head fall back, exposing his throat, closing his eyes against the spray. Tyler’s strong fingers slid into his wet hair, massaging his scalp with the same practiced, deep pressure as the first time.
A traitorous sigh leaked from Jamie’s lips. His knees weakened. The shame from moments ago didn’t vanish, but it blurred, mixing with the undeniable physical pleasure of the touch. Tyler’s thumbs pressed circles at his temples, and every thought in Jamie’s head dissolved into warm, buzzing static.
“See?” Tyler murmured, his voice close. “Better when you don’t fight it.”
He rinsed Jamie’s hair with care, cradling his forehead again. The protective, intimate gesture sent another confusing wave of heat through Jamie’s core. He was being handled. He was being taken care of. The parts of his brain that screamed this was wrong were being systematically soothed into silence by skilled hands.
They toweled off in silence. Jamie pulled on the clean panties and another of Tyler’s massive shirts, the fabric swallowing him. The ritual was familiar now, a nightly script. He climbed into the side of the bed he’d come to think of as his, facing the wall of hazy brotherhood photos.
The mattress dipped. Tyler’s arm settled over his waist, heavy and possessive. His chest was a wall of heat against Jamie’s back, his knees slotting into the bend of Jamie’s legs. Spooning. Full, front-to-back contact.
Jamie lay rigid. Every nerve was awake, screaming. He was hyper-aware of the solid, unyielding bulk of Tyler behind him, the way his own smaller frame fit perfectly inside the curve of Tyler’s body. The comparison Caleb’s voice had planted in his mind was now a physical reality he couldn’t escape. Tyler was bigger everywhere. Longer, broader, harder.
His thoughts began to spiral, sticky and unwelcome. He remembered the feel of Tyler’s hands in his hair, the sheer size of them. He pictured the shadowed glimpse in the shower, the proof of the difference between them. A flush crept up his neck. This wasn't like checking out a guy in the locker room, a flickering glance you forgot.
He shouldn’t be thinking about that. He was straight. Tyler was straight. This was brotherly bonding, a weird frat thing. But his body, traitorously, was cataloging the experience: the security of being enveloped, the strange comfort in his own smallness. His breath hitched, a tiny, betraying sound in the dark.
“Relax,” Tyler mumbled into his hair, his sleep-thickened voice vibrating through Jamie’s skull. His arm tightened, pulling Jamie in even closer until there was no space at all between them. “Stop thinking so much. Just sleep.”
The order was final. Jamie tried to empty his mind, to focus on the streetlight pattern on the wall. But his awareness was anchored to the points of contact: the heavy arm across his ribs, the solid heat along his spine, the press of Tyler’s hips against his backside.
But his awareness was anchored to the points of contact: the heavy arm across his ribs, the solid heat along his spine, the press of Tyler’s hips against his backside.
Sleep, when it finally came, was a black, formless void. There were no dreams, only a cessation of the exhausting mental chatter. His body, however, remained in a state of confused alert, wired by the alien stimuli and the ghost of Caleb’s suggestions.
He woke to a slow, grinding pressure. The room was still dark, the pre-dawn light a gray smear at the window’s edge. Consciousness returned in a sickening slide. Something was insistently pushing against the small of his back, a firm, rhythmic pulse. Tyler’s arm was a vise, locking him in place.
And he was hard. A throbbing, aching fullness pressed against the front of the silk panties, trapped and insistent. The shame was instant, a cold flood. He tried to shift away, to create a fraction of space, but Tyler only tightened his grip, a sleepy grunt escaping him.
The movement behind him adjusted, and Jamie felt it—the unmistakable, rigid length of Tyler, equally hard, pressing against him through the thin layers of fabric. The comparison was no longer visual. It was a physical fact, communicated through heat and pressure. Tyler was bigger there, too. The realization sent a jolt that was equal parts terror and a deep, humiliating thrill.
“Mmm. Morning,” Tyler mumbled, his voice gravelly with sleep. He didn’t let go. If anything, he nestled closer, the slow grind becoming a deliberate, lazy roll of his hips. The friction was electric and awful.
Jamie froze, every muscle locked. His own traitorous body responded, a sharp pulse of pleasure contradicting the scream in his mind. “Tyler,” he whispered, the word strangled.
“It’s just biology, dude. Morning wood. Happens to all us guys.” Tyler’s voice was casual, amused even, as if discussing the weather.
His hips gave one last, deliberate press before he finally released his hold and rolled away. The sudden absence of his heat left Jamie cold and exposed. The mattress shifted as Tyler got up, padding toward the bathroom without a backward glance.
Jamie lay perfectly still, staring at the grinning faces in the framed photo on the wall. His own body was still taut with a humiliating, unfinished tension. The silence in the room was a roaring thing.
Jamie said, not looking up. His voice sounded too high. “Sorry. I was just… dead asleep. Didn’t know what was happening.”
Tyler shrugged, rummaging in his drawer. “No big deal. Told you, it’s biology. You’re not the first little spoon to get poked.” He said it with such effortless nonchalance that Jamie’s anxiety twisted into a sharper shame. Tyler wasn’t weirded out. Tyler was fine. Jamie was the one making it awkward.
“Yeah, ha, right,” Jamie stammered, standing up quickly. “Just… gonna hit the can.”
He practically fled into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He leaned against it, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Jamie’s skin felt too tight, his thoughts a scrambled mess.
He shouldn’t have frozen. He should have just laughed and shoved Tyler off, bro-style. That’s what Drew would have done. That’s what a normal guy would do. Instead, he’d lain there, rigid, hyper-aware of every point of contact. He’d felt it. And worse, part of him had liked the feeling of being held like that, surrounded, secured.
His gaze dropped to the front of his boxers, the silk now tented obscenely. A fresh wave of embarrassment crashed over him. He was still hard. The physical evidence of his unwanted, confusing arousal was undeniable.
“Fuck,” he whispered to the empty, steamy room.
He couldn’t go out like this. He couldn’t face Tyler, face the brothers at breakfast, with this secret straining against the black silk. His hand moved on its own, shoving the panties down. He took himself in hand, rough and frantic. He wasn’t thinking about Tyler. He wasn’t. He leaned his forehead against the cool tile, the image of the shower, of the size difference he couldn’t unsee, flashing behind his clenched eyelids.
It was over in less than a minute, a rushed, joyless release that left him feeling hollow and filthy. He cleaned up quickly, avoiding his own reflection in the foggy mirror. He just felt empty. And so embarrassed. Tyler probably thought he was weird now. The whole thing was just a normal guy thing, a biological glitch, and he’d reacted like a spooked animal.
He dressed mechanically in another of Tyler’s shirts, the fabric a familiar shield. When he opened the door, Tyler was pulling on a sweatshirt, looking at his phone. He glanced up.
“All good?” Tyler asked, his tone neutral, friendly.
“Yeah,” Jamie said, forcing a smile. “All good.”
“Cool. Let’s get food. I’m starving.”
And just like that, it was over. Tyler led the way downstairs, where the noise of the house was already building. The normality of it was the most unsettling thing of all.
Behind his back, Tyler surreptitiously flashed a thumbs up at Caleb and Jackson, who grinned.
Behind his back, Tyler surreptitiously flashed a thumbs up at Caleb and Jackson, who grinned. The experiment was proceeding perfectly.
The next morning, Jackson called a chapter meeting in the common room. All the brothers and pledges were there, draped over the stained furniture in various states of hungover consciousness. “Alright, listen up,” Jackson said, clapping his hands once. “Time for the next phase of pledge integration. Personalized rule upgrades. These are designed based on your individual… needs.”
A murmur of amused anticipation rippled through the room. Jamie sat cross-legged on the floor, trying to ignore the lingering, unsettled feeling in his gut from the morning. He just wanted to be normal.
“Drew,” Jackson announced, pointing. “Your verbal filter is shit. You talk too much about yourself. So now, you will narrate your own life in the third person. All day, every day. ‘Drew is going to get a sandwich.’ ‘Drew thinks this sucks.’ Get used to it.”
The room erupted in laughter. Drew’s face went red, but he smiled, playing along. “Drew accepts his fate,” he said, and everyone laughed harder.
“Ethan,” Jackson continued, pointing to a lanky pledge with glasses. “You lack flair. You will wear this pink tutu over your clothes for the next seventy-two hours. No exceptions.”
Someone produced a fluffy, satin tutu from a bag and tossed it at Ethan, who caught it with a grimace and a shrug. “Could be worse,” Ethan mumbled, and the brothers whooped.
“Chase,” Jackson said, his eyes landing on another pledge. “Your problem is you’re too high-strung. You need a companion. This rubber chicken is now attached to you. Wrist loop. You lose it, you’re fucked.”
A bright yellow rubber chicken with a loop of string was produced. Chase sighed, looping it around his wrist. It dangled limply. The brothers howled with laughter, making clucking sounds.
Jamie waited, his palms sweating. His rule was the silk panties, the shared showers, the shared bed. That was already so much more than this. Surely that was enough.
“And Jamie,” Jackson said, his charismatic smile softening into something almost paternal. “Our newest little. Your profile says you’re eager to please but prone to anxiety. You forget to eat. You get in your own head. So, to ensure your wellness and strengthen your reliance on the brotherhood, your meals will be administered by a brother. Tyler’s your primary, but any of us can do it if he’s busy. We feed you. You just open up.”
The laughter was immediate, but different. It wasn’t the roaring hilarity of the tutu or the chicken. It was a warmer, knowing chuckle, peppered with playful “awws” and “that’s actually kinda sweet.”
“Administered?” Jamie squeaked, his face flooding with heat.
“Hand-fed, dumbass,” Tyler clarified, slinging an arm around Jamie’s shoulders. “Like a baby bird. Or a very cute, very dumb puppy. It’s hilarious. Look, Drew has to talk like a weirdo and Chase has a chicken fetus attached to him. Yours is just… catering.”
The logic was presented as irrefutable. Jamie looked at Drew, who gave him an exaggerated third-person nod. “Drew thinks Jamie got off easy. Drew has to listen to himself talk all day.”
“See?” Tyler said, squeezing him. “It’s nothing. Just embarrassing. Like all of it.”
Breakfast was instant humiliation. Tyler sat Jamie down at the kitchen table, which was already surrounded by brothers drinking coffee and scrolling their phones. Tyler popped a slice of bread in the toaster. “Open up, little dude,” he said, his tone light, conversational.
Jamie’s stomach clenched. He could feel every eye in the room, casual as they were, on him. “Come on, Ty, I can just hold it,” he whispered.
“Rule’s a rule,” Marcus called from the sink, not even turning around. “Don’t be a bitch about it. Ethan’s wearing a tutu to his bio lab.”
The toast popped up. Tyler buttered it, tore off a manageable corner, and held it to Jamie’s lips. “Here comes the airplane,” he joked in a baby voice.
The room chuckled. Jamie, his face on fire, opened his mouth. Tyler placed the bite inside. It was just toast. But the act of being fed, of having Tyler’s fingers so close to his mouth, sent a jolt through his system that was separate from the embarrassment. It was intimate. It was controlling. He chewed, staring at the graffiti on the table.
“Good boy,” Tyler said softly, tearing off another piece.
The phrase, now a trigger woven with Caleb’s voice, sent a warm ripple through Jamie’s confusion. He took the next bite more easily.
The weirdness from the morning didn’t fade; it mutated. The ‘gamma’ suggestion hummed under his skin like a low-grade fever. Walking to class with Drew—who was miserably narrating “Drew is regretting all his life choices”—Jamie found his gaze snagging on every guy they passed.
He’d look at the breadth of a stranger’s shoulders in a t-shirt, the way denim stretched across a thigh, and a familiar, unwelcome heat would prickle at the back of his neck. His eyes would flick downward, just for a half-second, and the shame would follow, sharp and sour. But underneath it, a treacherous little pulse of curiosity throbbed. Comparing. Always comparing. He felt transparent, certain everyone could see the direction of his thoughts.
In his economics lecture, he couldn’t focus on supply curves. He stared at the back of a rugby player’s head two rows down, then at the professor’s hands gesturing by the whiteboard. He was aware of his own body, small in the seat, swimming in Tyler’s shirt. The silk panties were a constant, whispering secret against his skin. He was wound tight, a coil of confused energy with no outlet.
Dinner was pizza in the common room, a chaotic mess of boxes and loud arguments over video games. Jamie hovered at the edge, his stomach growling but his pride holding him back.
“Hey, puppy’s hungry,” Marcus announced, grabbing a slice of pepperoni. He flopped onto the couch and patted the spot next to him. “Get over here. Ty’s in the zone.” He nodded to where Tyler was intensely focused on the game, controller clicking.
Jamie shuffled over, perching on the cushion edge. Marcus wasn’t gentle like Tyler. He was all rough edges and sharp grins. “Open up,” he said, holding the pizza slice up.
Jamie leaned forward and took a bite from Marcus’s hand, the grease smearing on his lips. The brothers nearby glanced over, snorted, and went back to their game.
“See? Not a big deal,” Marcus said, taking a huge bite from the same slice for himself before offering it back to Jamie. The shared saliva should have been revolting. In the fog of his submission, it just felt like another broken boundary.
After a few bites, Marcus picked up his bottle of beer. “Wash it down,” he instructed, tipping the bottle toward Jamie’s mouth.
Jamie’s lips closed around the cool glass. Marcus tilted it, and Jamie drank, the bitter liquid flowing into his mouth. He was being watered. Fed and watered by another man’s hand, in a room full of people who thought it was a silly joke. His face burned.
“Good,” Marcus said, pulling the bottle away. He wiped the rim with his thumb and took a long swig himself.
Jamie sat back, the beer and the pizza sitting heavily in his stomach. The coil of tension inside him had eased, not through release, but through a forced, fed compliance. He watched the flashing screens, the yelling brothers, the rubber chicken dangling from Chase’s wrist as he played. This was his life now. No big deal.