Drugs Aren't Worth It, Frat Boys

Note : This story is completely fictional!

Hello, my name is Dave. I won't give my last name, but I would like to relate to you something that happened a few years ago at my college fraternity house. It concerns the night the police, more specifically, the DEA, raided the house.

Just about every weekend my frat brothers and I enjoyed some wild parties. We had the usual items one expects; lots of alcohol, and some illegal drugs. I only drank beer, but some of the other guys in the house snorted coke. We were not what you would call bad, actually this was an expensive, preppy, sort of college, and my friends and I certainly looked the part. Most of the guys wore their hair short and conservative. I was the exception; I kept my blond hair about shoulder length. I also wore an old army jacket and fairly snug, faded blue jeans, hiking boots. I am a little taller than average, my legs were strong from running track, and I must say that I had a nice full butt. Unfortunately, I am not that well-endowed with body hair, and my chest and stomach are almost completely bald.

The school we attended, and especially the fraternity, was overwhelmingly white. About the only African-American students were on the basketball team. Even on the track team all the guys were white. This perhaps led to some friction with the local community, which was mostly black and especially seemed to resent the fact that we college kids did drugs and drank beer with no repercussions from the authorities.

The mayor of the community was elected that year promising to clean up the drug problem anywhere in the town it was. Local community leaders made sure that included fraternity row. The Drug Enforcement Administration was invited in to aid in cleaning up the problem. A date was set for the operation-a raid on all the frat houses of fraternity row.

Me and my friends, of course, had no idea that all of this was about to happen. We just considered it another partying night. As I said before, I did not do drugs, some of the other fraternity brothers did. We were partying as usual; unaware of the fact that at that moment the police and the DEA already had our frat house completely surrounded. Then came a loud bang on the door.

"open up...police!!!"demanded a loud voice. We turned off the music we were listening to and wondered if this was a joke. "Open up..NOW!!" demanded the voice even louder. One of my friends, Jason went to the door and opened it.

Suddenly in marched a heavy-set police officer followed by several DEA agents. The policeman was white, but the DEA agents were black. "Okay, were is it at!" demanded the officer. "What?"asked Jason. "The coke." We looked around; some of the cocaine was actually in plain view on a nightstand. The officer soon found it. That was all they needed. They arrested all of us on the spot.

We were marched outside in the hallway. I considered making brake for it, but then I noticed that both ends of the hallway were covered by armed police. "Line up, hands against the wall, apart and above your heads. Spread your legs and back away from the wall" he instructed.
My friends and I obeyed the instructions. I was actually standing on the balls of my feet.

The police and DEA agents lost no time in searching us. Since I had long hair the agent who searched me, a black guy, actually ran his fingers through my hair. I wondered if this was procedure, or did he just like blonds. Then his big hands felt my neck, shoulders, under my arms, and down my sides to my waist. He shifted somewhat and felt my chest and stomach. He felt something in my front left pocket of my green army jacket. It was only a pen, but he took it anyway. Then he began to rifle through my other jacket pockets at one point actually pulling up my jacket and t-shirt and exposing my smooth, bare torso.
Yes, I know what you are waiting for. He put his fingers inside my waist, under my tight blue jeans and even my underpants. I felt the strange sensation of his fingers crossing my hips, abdomen, around back just above the crack between my buttocks. Thankfully, he did not reach inside my pants further; my penis was spared his touch.

He then took his hands out from my waist (actually the waistband of my underpants) and felt me all over on top of my jeans. In the position I was standing in the search of my groin was very easy. He simply reached up, between my legs, and checked everything. I don't think I could have hid anything from him. Finally, he bent my right arm behind my back and cuffed me. My friends, including Jason, were already cuffed. "You guys are under arrest for the possession of...."
(you know the rest).

We were then marched outside in handcuffs. What a surprise! There were TV cameras and crews everywhere! Onlookers were also taking pictures of us, and even filming us as we were marched out in to the waiting police vans. Damn bastards! It was humiliating.

Me and four of my friends, including Jason, were strapped into one van. We went on a long ride, much longer than the distance to the local police station. We all started to get scared. I tried not to show it, but Jason's eyes were filled with terror. We didn't talk. By now it became obvious to even us fraternity boys. The van was going all the way to the county prison!

When we got to the gate of the prison the van went inside. The warden came out and informed us that for a few days we would be held there, to be booked. We then could call our parents and arrange bail. Our handcuffs were removed and we marched, single file into the processing area. We were all permitted to sit down and were asked to identify ourselves. We did, politely of course. We were then told to empty our pockets and remove our shoes. We did. The staff was firm, but not abusive. Maybe it was just the obvious fear we preppy college boys showed. They took all our personal items,(wallets watches etc.) and returned our shoes, but without the laces. One of us had a belt-that, too was taken. We were all shaken up a bit, but the experience was not that bad.

We then sat down. One, by one, our names were called, "Joseph Knight, Edward Norten....David (my last name)" When my name was called I proceeded ahead behind a corrections officer. He ordered me into a room with a table, some chairs, a video camera and tripod. There was also a scale in the corner. I was again starting to feel nervous about this.

They sat me down in the chair. I was asked to hold out my hand and my fingerprints were taken. Then they had me stand up, walk over to the corner, and a photographer took my picture. The photographer did not look like a corrections officer at all. He was I learned later, a civilian. Moreover, he actually did this job, part time voluntarily. I would soon find out why he seemed so willing to do this and not get paid. From his appearance, small, skinny, about forty years old with dark shaggy hair and beard and thick glasses, he wasn't at all attractive. Also, the way he stared at me he appeared to be gay.

"Remove your shoes." One of the corrections officers demanded. I did. They then had me stand on the scale and they took my height and weight. All this time I wondered why the photographer was still in the room. Maybe he just liked my appearance. As I mentioned earlier I am tall, blond, with wavy shoulder length hair. I wore tight jeans with an old army jacket. I am a sprinter in the track team, so my legs and buttocks are well-developed. I must confess that I am also a little homophobic. At my school middle aged gay men are always trying to sneak into the team locker rooms. Security usually stops them, but one time one of them actually saw me in my underwear. I hated it!

"Strip down to your shorts!" I was flabbergasted! Mortified! Really? Here??? There were five corrections officers, a man in a lab coat, and that gay-looking photographer in the room with me. "Officer, I...eh... I am only wearing jocky briefs under my pants, sir." (I got into the habit of wearing these because I could also wear them during track meets, thus eliminating the necessity of undressing completely in the locker room. I now severely regretted that choice.) "That is procedure, strip to your shorts, now."

There was no getting around it. I unzipped my army jacket, put it on the table. I then removed my t-shirt. My perfectly smooth, slightly tanned and toned upper body was now exposed. My nipples were darker and were slightly prominent for a guy. I put the shirt on the table, too. Yes, then the jeans. I unzipped and pulled them down, trying to forget where I was and who was there. I couldn't help it. I glanced over at the photographer. He was smiling broadly. I put the pants on the table, too. I was left in my socks and underwear.

There I stood, facing the others in the room. My briefs barely covering me. They were cut low. My thighs could clearly be examined. Just don't ask me to turn around. The briefs really did an inadequate job of covering my smooth, meaty, fleshy, athletic, muscular, buttocks. I did a lot of squats and fast runs, so they had the tendency to protrude more than most men's butts.

The man in the lab coat then came over and examined me. He ran his hand through my hair, looked at my hands, and examined the bottoms of my feet. He even looked in my mouth, and under my tongue. He used a small flashlight.

"Now, remove your underwear!" I just stood there. "Take off your underpants!" "NOW!!" I quickly slid them down, covering my penis with one hand. I put those on the table as well. Now I was completely naked. I just stood there with my hands over my privates. I had of course no way of covering my bubbly backside. Don't ask me how, but when I put my jockey briefs on the table, I could feel the photographers eyes locked on it. Volunteer! He should have been CHARGED for being here! I walked back to my original location in the room, my hands tightly clasped over my genitals. From my long blond hair, down my smooth, firm, yet not overly muscular body, to my beautiful thighs I will confess I looked almost as good as a woman.
Or better, to that photographer.

"Raise your hands above your head, and spread your legs!" I couldn't believe this!! Those people were really going to humiliate me further.
Reluctantly, I complied. This was an obscene position. My genitals were now fully exposed (I am a natural blond!). 

"Young man, some college kids have claimed that the police ruffed them up a bit...to protect us from accusations of police brutality photos will be taken of every part of your bodies!"

YOUR NOT FUCKING SERIOUS!!! I thought. They were serious, though.
That fucking pervert, that photographer, just started snapping away, click, click, click, click......click. I never knew that one camera could take so many photos! He must have taken over a hundred pictures.
ALL OVER ME!!! I EVEN HAD TO BEND OVER AND SPREAD MY ASSCHEEKS AND HE PHOTOGRAPHED MY ANUS!!! FUCKING PERVERT!!!

When this was done, I just stood there. I was sobbing slightly. I couldn't help it. The tears just kept coming. I was then handed a towel, glory be, although it barely covered my waist. I wrapped the thing around myself and was told to go outside. There, in the hallway stood about a dozen of my fraternity friends, including Jason. They all were clad in the same tiny-sized towel. You needed at least one hand to prevent the towel from falling. Without exception all the guys had a completely broken, humiliated expression on there faces. Jason was actually crying.

We then all had to do a right-face and march to the showers for delousing. We had all just come from a party and were all perfectly clean, but that was the procedure. This they told us, what they didn't tell us was that the showers were all the way on the opposite side of the prison! We had to parade all the way past the cells of the other prisoners, nearly all of them black and delighted in the sight of these nearly naked white college kids parading past them. Jason and I just kept walking and kept our eyes to ourselves. One of the frat brothers, a rather muscular kid, made the mistake of looking back defiantly at the other inmates. They just laughed at him, and said they would make sure the guards put him with them tonight. His tough look evaporated; he looked suddenly terrified.

At the shower we lined up, were hosed down by other inmates (who made no effort at hiding their delight!) Then all our privates were powered, including between our buttocks, which we were told to spread. Our hair was checked for lice. Finally, at the shower room, we were given RECTAL EXAMS! I simply complied; I had no feeling of dignity left. The exam, done by another INMATE with a gloved hand was a little uncomfortable, but not terribly painful. The worst part was fighting the sensation of needing to take a crap. I did this successfully, my buddy Jason did not. We were then given clothes to wear for the few days we would be spending at the jail. Thankfully, we were kept in segregation. All except Jason and that defiant jock, (I think his name was Eric). They were put in the general population. This was done by the guards because of Eric's defiance when walking past the other inmates, and because Jason crapped during the rectal examination.

Overnight we could hear them scream. They were each being gang raped in their cells.

After a few days we were allowed to leave the jail, pending our court hearings. We had to call our parents for clothes, though. Our's were apparently stolen along with all our personal belongings. Of course the guards took our prison clothes first, leaving us standing stark naked in the middle of the jail for an hour while they searched in vain for our stolen clothes.

The big jock (Eric?) and Jason didn't leave with us, though. Jason was recovering in the infirmary from his injuries from being repeatedly beaten and raped. Eric learned he was not such a tough guy, and stayed away from drugs after that.

The next day we heard that the mayor had called a press conference to announce the success in his ant drug effort. He praised the police, the DEA, and the department of corrections and said that this showed the drug laws applied to everybody. The people of the community danced in the street, and the mayor was re-elected overwhelmingly.

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