Quota PHI Quota

By Ron Voyage

Ron Voyage was a social outcast that was left to flail inside the high school hunchback for his second time at sex. That is until he met Dbo who had him pledge to the Quota: A promise to bathe his trouser snake in a different birth canal every month. Together, they and a band of brothers experience some of the most hilarious true drinking and sex stories about the female anatomy ever witnessed.

Think you’ve done every sex-position ever? How about the Reverse human centipede?!

Don’t know how to tell if the girl you’re in love with is the one or the neighborhood whore?
Apply QPHIQ’s Slor Policy!

Want to know what it takes to be Wingman of the year? Follow the wingman of the century!

Want to set up a threesome by playing a game of Truth or Dare? We dare you to read!
We are the Quota Phi Quota. Hear us Whore!

Genre: Non-fiction, Fratire, Adult Humor, True Erotica, Drinking humor,Sexual/Relationship how-to.

Approx. 44,460 words

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ron Voyage
• Release date: Aug 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301798230

Book preview

0

QUOTA

Φ

QUOTA

…How one Pledge created the funniest sex/drinking stories for men.

By: Ron Voyage

Copyright 2013 by: Ron Voyage

Cover designed by: Jerrett Harris

Cover Creative Direction by: Ron Voyage

Published on Smashwords

Formatted by eBooksMade4You

* * *

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

* * *

Testimonies

Have you got your Quota in yet?*

My 23rd Birthday*

QUOTA PHI QUOTA SLOR POLICY*

Wingman Chronicles*

Take one for the team

Challenge of the Month: The Ann Frank

Race Switcheroo

Sweet Nothings: Sit-com Reassurance

Three’s a crowd

Truth or Dare

Q PHI Q ON BI-ASSNESS:

Loko up!

Q PHI Q VIOLATION:

It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want too

Let’s get bizzzz..ARE?

The Girl with the Dove Tattoo

Sweet Nothings: Midget pick-up lines

Trapped in the Bedroom

Challenge of the Month: JP’s Deadskeet Dad

Beat The Pussy Up

Are you writing this down?

The Great Corrupter

Now that’s Customer Service!

The Puke Stories

Gag Order

Challenge of the Month: The Simba

Four Lokos falls

Sweet Nothings: The Kids were good today

The Human Centipede

Q PHI Q VIOLATION: LYING ON YOUR DICK

It’s a Secret Society, All we ask is Lust!

Honorable Mentions

* * *

Have you got your Quota in?

(Occurred 2009)

By: Brother Ron Voyage

Doctor: The average man actually only sleeps with 5 women in his lifetime.

I stared at my family’s pediatrician and waited for him to add ..in the 1960’s to his sentence.

There was no way that number was accurate. He must not have adjusted it for inflation.

For the first time in a while I started to question my dad’s recommendation in doctors. I had come to this doctor just for a regular checkup only find out that my instincts and Socrates had something in common: they both didn’t trust a guy who thinks he’s a fucking encyclopedia. After visiting the quack for the first and last time, I decided to do a little research myself on the subject.

Turns out he wasn’t too far off.

According to The Health Survey for England, the average nookie number for men is actually bedding nine women in their lifetime. Even an official logo name like the HSE and boasts of interviewing thousands of Englishmen couldn’t shake my belief that the number was just way too low.

I guess when you come from a circle of friends who each knock down at least 12 sugar walls a year your view of average can be a tad warped. But that’s what happens when you take a friend’s personal goal of getting one new notch on his belt every month and turning it into your own.

When brother Dbo told me he met a goal for 3 years of slaying a different pussy every month and calling it his Quota, I laughed my ass off.

Sure I knew guys who fucked over a hundred women before meeting Dbo, but I never met someone who made getting new pussy every month a non-negotiable priority.

Leave it to the guy who only eats tilapia in order to stay fit for his underwear model shoots to make getting some new vag a dietary must.

I met this beast of a man at a high school party in ‘07 when he was drunk trying to dance with his shirt off. With tats on his arms and lip-chap on his lips, he’s the definition of a reformed tough guy turned into play-girl model. He’s the guy that brags about his three percent body fat on his Facebook status and then fucks the horny twenty year-old Spanish hyenas that like it.

I was not sure if I found his idea of the Quota completely ridiculous or I was just afraid to grow a pair to try it myself.

The morals that my parents instilled in me said that the Quota was unsafe and shallow, but having the game to bed a different girl every thirty days played in my head like an ultimate fantasy.

I was never the guy to die a virgin, but I was far from a ladies’ man growing up. In high school, I had a bad case of being too much of a pussy to pursue the tail that I wanted so I would have to settle for the hunchback of the high-school. The second girl I had ever been inside was so gruesome that I almost got into a fight with a so-called friend after he told the whole school about our debauchery.

What was more humiliating was I actually would WALK three miles to fuck the girl before sneaking out of her house so my best friend next door wouldn’t suspect anything.

When you’re trying to hide the fact that you’re hooking up with a girl during the time when it is deemed a rite of passage for a teenage boy, there’s a problem.

The quantity and quality of women I had actually been with was WAY below the average by the time I graduated high school in ’07 and the Quota seemed like a fun excuse to raise my stats. But my fear of getting rejected by women was too powerful for me to take the challenge so the quota was just reduced to another dream that I didn’t think was possible.

Luckily, life is like a prison cell mate. It has a funny way of bullying your pride into a corner, leaving you no choice but to suck its dick or to knock its fucking block off.

On 2009’s New Year’s Eve, my pride had enough.

When I saw brother Corrupter ring in the New Year by fucking his hundred and something blonde outside his parent’s house, I was tired of smelling latex and bodily fluids that weren't my own. While everyone at Corrupter’s house each stated their own New Year’s resolution, mine had become clear:

I wanted my own Quota but I wanted to make it my own.

Ron: I’m going to fuck a girl from a different race every month.

Everyone grinned at my drunken smirk before taking an awkward drink from their cups. Even though I felt like Special Ed who just slurred out his love for apple sauce, I lowered my Disaronno on the rocks to my lips and gulped it down in the most determined way I could.

This was the first time I had ever made a New Year’s resolution, and I intended to keep it.

It took a lot of researching seduction, hanging out with guys with game, and kicking the habit of being a pussy, but by the end of January 2010 I had fucked my first Indian girl. In February, I fucked my first Irish girl. In March, I had fucked my first African girl. In April, I had taken my first virginity from a twenty-three year old who was saving herself for MARRIAGE.

For two years straight, The Quota transformed me into a sex machine.

My fuck-it list was being marked down so fast that I had to tweak my resolution to either a different race I haven’t fucked before, or has a certain major trait that I had not sexually conquered yet, just so I could continue the challenge.

My brother and my friends soon caught wind of my successes with my little experiment and started to ask my new-found secret to pounding poon.

Their eyes widened with excitement and thirst when I let them into my and Dbo’s little hobby. Soon many of them started to get their own Quotas in.

Although few really took the time to study the art of seduction like I did to meet their monthly Quota, the simple act of setting a goal to split a new pair of pink lips every month did wonders for their ass options.

It also did wonders for the funniest true drinking and fucking stories in the Hall of Hook-ups. We were sharing so many disgusting, amazing, and fuck-up sex/drinking stories with each other, Dbo thought it was a good idea to make a private group page on Facebook about it as a joke.

Since he wanted to be an Alpha when he went back to college, Dbo named the group Q PHI Q for Quota Phi Quota. Minus the community service (unless required by law) and beating the shit of pledges, we were a lot like a frat since we also got hammered and nailed sororities.

The only difference is we don’t charge our pledges a couple grand for dues every semester.

Shit, we don’t even make them drink toilet water.

We only require a commitment to wash their trouser snakes in a new birth canal every month and share the experience with their brethren if noteworthy. In order to protect our hearts from slordom and keeping pussy off the pedestal we also created certain rules of conduct.

In order to protect the lives of my brethren, I have masked their identities with aliases that match their character. Nevertheless, this book is a true testimony to what we have eternalized through our experiences with this pledge and to each other.

We are the Quota PHI Quota. Now hear us WHORE!

* * *

My 23rd Birthday weekend

(April 2012 Denton/Dallas, TX)

By: Brother Ron Voyage

They say you know when you’re getting older when you look at the anniversary out of the womb as just another day. You don’t expect gifts. You don’t expect a surprise party. Hell, some people feel lucky just to get a phone call or an occasional b-day BJ.

This was my mind-set on the dawn of turning twenty-three years old.

No epic blow-out party in Vegas. Not even an upscale dinner with my family. The only thing I had planned was just a trip to see the Mavericks play with one of my college homies and that happened only because a mutual homegirl of ours had some extra tickets.

It wasn’t a harem of Asian nymphos ready to fellate me but hey - it’s the thought that counts right?

The only problem was that the game was going down on my birthday which was on Friday, and here I was stuck in stupid Thursday. It was 8pm and I was sitting on my couch watching TV. ALL ALONE. I felt like Snoop Dogg when his parents left him at home in that Gin N Juice video and he screamed AAAAAAHHHHH, right before getting fucked up and banging out a house party of hoes using a rainbow of rubbers. Only I couldn’t think of any bitches qualified to give me my birthday sex. Just then my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID to see the name Shelly.

Looks like the pussy wagon is coming to pay its respects tonight. I answered the phone.

Ron: Yo.

Shelly: Heeeeyy, what are you doing?! I’m with three of my friends from work and we’re bored. Can we come over?

Shelly and I had fucked once a couple of years back on a park bench after about eight minutes of getting to know each other. Ever since then we have kept in touch and became pretty good friends, once she started taking classes at UNT. Even though boyfriends always seemed to get in the way of another smash session, she always kept a steady stable of smuts, which were all salivating to take her place.

Ron: Sure.

Shelly: Ok, we are bringing a bottle.

And I didn’t even have to remind her. Good girl.

Twenty minutes later, Shelly and her friends showed up at my place with a handle of Smirnoff, cranberry juice, and orange juice. One of her friends was one of those black hipster feminists who looked like she could be real cute, but refused to conform to the male specimen.

The short one looked like Lord of the Rings if it actually had she-goblins in it.

The second one was a thick, pasty white chick with nappy red-colored hair that was wrapped up on one side of her head.

I looked on her chest and saw Accept your fate tatted in blue ink.

Hmmmmm, I wonder if yellow cock is on that fate list?

Since she worked at a bar and goblins are natural servants, the goblin started making everyone drinks and we all started the college ritual of Kings Cup.

If you haven’t heard of Kings Cup, it’s a drinking game that deals with a deck of cards. Each player has a turn drawing a card and the entire table must play a drinking game depending on the suit of the card.

I’m not going to list out all the