The Question
Eternal
A little cross-promotional stuff:
THE HAZING
By John Castle - Written For DTM / Amy's Conquest
When A Trio Of College Seniors Decide To Haze Some Hot New Freshman Girls, They Get Much More Than They Bargained For In Return
We looked like dorks. There was no getting around that, any more than
there was getting out of it. Right there in front of everyone in our
underwear in broad daylight, and there was nothing any of us could do
about it. Our one consolation was that we wear boxers and not briefs.
We had had it coming, of course. I'm sure not denying that, and I don't
think Bobby or Mike would try to sell anybody a line of shit about it,
either. Well, half because they don't really want to talk about it and
half because the girls might... do something to us if any of us tried to
pull a fast one with anybody about how we ended up in this, uh...
situation.
It all started the first day of this semester. The Memorial Union was
finally packed, which is always kind of a mixed blessing for me. Hey, I
like having the run of the arcade, you know what I mean? When a new
semester starts up, the noobs pack themselves in there so tight you might
as well forget about setting up a table for a quick game of pool, not
that half of 'em even know how to play.
On the other hand, the noob tide always washes in a new batch of hotties
to scope out, and a whole new batch of kids who are just ripe to get
punked. Eye candy and laughs, you can't beat that, right? Well, that's
where us guys got in trouble this year. Not from the faculty or anything,
but I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.
See, Bobby, Mike and me, we're pretty tight. Bobby and Mike knew each
other all the way back to grade school, and I kinda joined the crowd a
little late. They never really have held that against me, but I still end
up playing straight man to their comedy routine. I'm just wired like that
-- I'm not really as wild or crazy, but it works out.
Well, the first day of the new semester, to get back on track, we were
standing near the main doors of the M.U. having a discussion about what
to eat. "They got rid of it?" Mike looked like somebody'd just told him
an asteroid had landed on his car.
"Mike, they were taking the sign down a month ago." I reminded him.
"Dude, you even bitched about it then."
"You know Mikey's got a memory like a..." Bobby tried to help. "Fuck, I
forgot the word for it." He elbowed Mike and laughed at him.
"Yeah, well you just watch," he flashed an evil grin. "I'm gonna remember
to..." he paused and stared, open-mouthed, at something behind us.
"See?" I chuckled. "Look at that, you forgot alread--"
"Shut up, Billy," he said calmly, "and turn around."
Bobby and I turned at the same time to see what he was so shellshocked
over, and I felt my own eyes go wide while my jaw went slack. Walking
toward us were three of the most gorgeous girls I've ever seen. They
walked toward us, chatting to each other. It didn't look like they really
noticed anyone, but everyone sure as hell noticed them.
The shortest of the three girls was just an inch taller than I am, but I
could hear the click of high heels from her feet, so I guessed that she
was in actuality only 5'7" or so. She was all gussied up like she'd just
come from a corporate boardroom or something, but she made that look real
good in a pinstriped gray skirt, white blouse and light black jacket. Her
hair was jet black and in that style Bettie Page made famous, a long
pageboy cut that set off her light gray eyes and a face right out of a
model's portfolio. She had an exotic look; I couldn't tell if she was
Asian, maybe half. It really was hard to tell, with the contrast between
her delicate, exotic features and the thick curves -- and, damn, that
girl had calves that looked like they belonged on a soccer player,
flaring out on each side of the shin.
The girl next to her was a little taller than I am, without heels, so
that put her pretty close to Bobby's height of an even six feet. She
wasn't wearing anything nearly as conservative as her friend -- short
shorts, a t-shirt and sneakers over knee socks. Her hair was the color of
honey, a sort of deep amber, with blonde highlights either from a salon
or from a lot of time spent in the sun. The bronzed skin went with them,
so either the whole look was natural or she was well off enough to afford
the best fake tan out there. She was curvy like her friend, but she had
extra curves that come from a gym. The t-shirt was probably a size too
small for her -- the top was low and showed off enough cleavage to get
her a job at Hooter's just for asking, but where the shirt stopped at the
bottom, you could see the faint outlines of abdominal muscles. It looked
like somebody had hidden six bricks under a satin sheet.
Her waist was slim and showed a latticework of obliques muscles, just a
tease of them. But it was her shorts that were drawing stares from
everyone but her two friends, who must've been used to what we were all
seeing -- the shorts were so short they showed an indentation where her
hips and ass cheeks met each other. Her thighs were thick as tree trunks,
but defined like her stomach, with faint bulges and creases of muscle
rippling and flexing as she walked.
But it was the redhead with them... good God. She was built like an
Amazon, and that's not an exaggeration at all. She wore a skirt like the
black haired girl, but it was almost as short as the blonde's shorts. She
was taller than Bobby by almost a foot in her heels, but even without
them she would have been taller than just about anybody else in the M.U.
She was thick like the black haired girl, too, with big, firm looking
tits, a slim waist and wide, wide hips, a perfect hourglass figure
(picture Christina Hendricks as an Amazon, and you'll get what I mean).
But she was all legs, and holy shit, what a pair of legs.
Like the blonde, her stomach showed thick, firm bricks of abdominal
muscle. A cord of muscle as thick as my wrist showed at each hip where
they dipped down into the cover of the skirt. But where her legs left the
cover of the skirt, they bunched and stretched in massive slabs of muscle
as she walked. I could pick out all the different muscle groups as she
moved, all the way down to calves that put the black haired girl's to
shame, which a fraction of a second before I hadn't thought could even
happen.
They passed by close enough that I got a whiff of their perfume, and it
wasn't cheap stuff by the scent of it. They were utterly oblivious of the
half glassy-eyed stares they got, as if they got that kind of thing all
the time, and they probably did. I looked at Bobby and Mike, and they
were still transfixed, as if they were mesmerized or something. I
couldn't blame them. I wondered what they were thinking -- if they were
thinking.
I snapped my fingers in front of Mike's eyes. "Hey." Nothing. "Dude!
C'mon, man, land of the living, remember it?"
"Holy shit..." Bobby breathed. "Did you see that?" He continued to stare
long after the three goddesses had disappeared from view, and Mike still
hadn't snapped out of his daze.
I laughed. "Man, nobody's gonna fail to see that. Come on, I'm starvin'.
Pizza."
That finally got Mike's attention. "Gah, I hate pizza."
"I'm buying."
"I love pizza."
**********
They were still fuzzy around the edges when we sat down at our table with
a large stuffed crust and a liter of Coke each. "So?" I asked them.
Bobby looked back at me, confused. "So... what?" A string of cheese made
a bridge from his face to the slice in his hand. It broke loose and
draped his chin, but he barely took notice.
"So," I continued, a little exasperated, "what's the plan? They're noobs.
Don't tell me we're gonna break tradition." Bobby shrugged, and Mike was
too busy stuffing his face to get a word out around the mouthful of
delicious he was working on. "You remember what you guys told me when I
was a noob? 'No exceptions'."
"Eat up, Billy." He said, then took another bite and said around it, "I'm
thinking."
"Somebody put some fuckin' Viagra in my pancakes or somethin'." Mike
finally spoke up. "I don't think my johnson's ever goin' back to sleep."
Now that was a hell of a comment coming from Mike. See, Mike's family is
from southern Mexico, so he is the living embodiment of suave. It's an
act, of course -- he totally fakes a Latin accent even though he was
raised right here in Portland. But he's got the blond haired, brown eyed
surfer boy look nailed, so the dames eat that act up, fake accent and
all. Hell, the guy's got three girlfriends and they all know about each
other, and he makes it work. So to hear him say something like that told
me he was still reeling.
"Okay," Bobby said in the middle of his second slice of pizza. "Get this:
these girls are lookers."
"Congratulations, you noticed." I couldn't help it, the opening was
there.
"Shut up. So you gotta figure with girls like that, nobody's got the
balls to make a play for 'em. All the guys our year are either hooked up
already or couldn't make it if they paid for it. Well, we're going to put
the moves on those girls. I'm all about the blonde."
I gave him a skeptical look. "Yeah, and they're just gonna melt into our
arms just 'cause we make a play."
"They will. You watch." He nodded, took a swig of his Coke. "I'm telling
you, man, with girls that hot, they might as well be hounds. You got your
homely chicks, who never get any interest 'cause the guys don't want 'em.
Then you got the hot chicks, who get so much interest they reject guys
just 'cause they can. Then you got girls like these, who nobody ever
tries for because they just assume they'll get the brush. Right?"
I nodded. "Okay, Professor. So what's Part 2 of the class assignment? We
hook up with these girls, and then?"
"And then what?" he looked confused.
I sighed. "That's what I'm asking. What's the punch line?" I realized I'd
been letting the slice of pizza on my own plate get cold, and I finished
it off while he stared at me like a dog that's just been shown a card
trick.
"I haven't planned it that far yet." He finally admitted. "First we need
intel. Troop numbers, troop movements, all that, you copy?" Jesus, Bobby
played way too many first person shooter video games. But there was Mike,
following right along with it:
"Roger-roger." He grinned, then adopted his 'smooth' accent. "I will find
out all that we need to know." He heaped three more pieces of our pizza
onto his plate and off he went. I guess he totally forgot that he hated
pizza.
Whatever bad things you can say about Mike -- and there are not a few --
he certainly knows how to suave members of both sexes to find out what he
wants to know. By the time we sat down to a dinner of Chinese takeout in
the common area of Ross Hall, our dorm, Mike had a load to lay on us
about the three girls. "Okay, so here it is. The blonde's name is Susie
Anderson. Her older brother lives over in Maxwell Hall, so I'm gonna
buddy up to him and find out a little more tomorrow. She just turned 18
and she got in here on a volleyball scholarship." Bobby nodded at that,
memorizing the details.
I sort of poked at my sweet and sour chicken with my chopsticks. I could
feel myself leaning forward in the lounge chair and forced myself to sit
back. I was waiting to hear about the redhead.
"Her friend who looks like that old pinup chick is Maya Vinetti. Same
age, fresh out of high school. She's here on a soccer scholarship. Seeing
a pattern yet?"
"Girl jocks." Bobby smiled. "Not too bright, I bet."
"You totally owe me a new irony meter." The words got out of my mouth
before I could stop them, so I stuffed a mouthful of chicken in there.
"Ha. Ha." He held up a piece of szechuan pork so it looked like a middle
finger. I showed him the real thing in return so he'd know what it looks
like.
"The redhead is Rose Ferguson." Mike added. "She's an exchange student
from Scotland, and guess how she's paying tuition." He stabbed at his
fried rice with a pair of chopsticks. Then tried again. And again.
Finally, he tossed the sticks over his shoulder and dug in with a fork.
"Basketball scholarship." I ventured on a whim.
He finished taking a bite and pointed his fork at me like it was a
pistol. "Nailed it in one. Here's the thing," he paused, chewing
thoughtfully. "What I got was these girls are bad news. This mousy girl
from their dorm says they went out clubbing together the other night
wearing FMBs and black leather, were bossing guys at the club like they
owned the place."
I paused, a big chunk of chicken halfway to my mouth. "FMBs?"
He shook his head. "Damn, Billy."
" 'Fuck Me Boots', hayseed." Bobby added. "Dude, we seriously need to get
you out more." He turned to Mike. "So what are you saying, these girls
are kinky?"
"Kinky?! Man," Mike popped another mouthful of fried rice into his mouth
and continued around it, "the way I hear it, these girls aren't just
kinky, they are kink. Know what I mean? Whips, chains, the whole show. My
little mousy friend tells me the two taller ones actually dragged guys
off the dance floor. As in, grabbed 'em by the arms and pulled 'em almost
off their feet, then made out with 'em in the back of the club. Well, I
know one of those guys -- you know Marcus Quintiliani?"
I nodded. "I think so. Big guy, always dropping hints like his family's
Mafia, right?"
Mike pointed his fork at me again. "That's the guy. You seen him the last
couple days?" I shook my head. "Well, I have. He's wearing a knee brace
and a bandage under that wifebeater he always wears. Looks like he got
hit by a truck and if you ask him why, he gets all pissed off about it."
"Dude, you're shittin' us."
"Hey," Mike put up his hands. "I'm not saying how it happened, 'cause I
don't know. I'm just tellin' you what I heard and what I saw, okay? But
get this," he paused to take another bite. "Their last year of high
school, Susie and Maya were seeing carrying their boyfriends through the
halls."
I blinked. "What, like giving them piggyback rides or something?" My
pulse started to quicken and a chunk of chicken I'd lifted out of the box
fell back in. I tried for it -- and again -- and missed both times.
Fortunately, Bobby was so intent on his food again and Mike so intent on
his story that neither of them noticed. "Nah, man," Mike shook his head.
"Like, in their freakin' arms. Like 'groom carries bride over the
threshold' stuff."
"Bullshit." Bobby declared. "I've seen some pretty beastly-lookin' girls
that could maybe do that, but--"
"Hell, man, you saw their legs." Mike looked doubtful even as he said it.
"Maybe the redhead." I added. "But you said she's a foreign exchange
student, so she wouldn't have been there for that. The other two, though,
I don't know. Maybe we ought to be careful."
"Bottom line," Mike nodded, "these girls aren't all wholesome like they
act on campus."
Bobby nodded. "Now that we can use. Just give me until morning to figure
out how."
**** For The Full And Complete Story, Come Visit us In Our Brand New Amy's Conquest (Amy's Conquest) Exclusive, Members Only, Text Stories Section ****
THE HAZING
By John Castle - Written For DTM / Amy's Conquest
When A Trio Of College Seniors Decide To Haze Some Hot New Freshman Girls, They Get Much More Than They Bargained For In Return
We looked like dorks. There was no getting around that, any more than
there was getting out of it. Right there in front of everyone in our
underwear in broad daylight, and there was nothing any of us could do
about it. Our one consolation was that we wear boxers and not briefs.
We had had it coming, of course. I'm sure not denying that, and I don't
think Bobby or Mike would try to sell anybody a line of shit about it,
either. Well, half because they don't really want to talk about it and
half because the girls might... do something to us if any of us tried to
pull a fast one with anybody about how we ended up in this, uh...
situation.
It all started the first day of this semester. The Memorial Union was
finally packed, which is always kind of a mixed blessing for me. Hey, I
like having the run of the arcade, you know what I mean? When a new
semester starts up, the noobs pack themselves in there so tight you might
as well forget about setting up a table for a quick game of pool, not
that half of 'em even know how to play.
On the other hand, the noob tide always washes in a new batch of hotties
to scope out, and a whole new batch of kids who are just ripe to get
punked. Eye candy and laughs, you can't beat that, right? Well, that's
where us guys got in trouble this year. Not from the faculty or anything,
but I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.
See, Bobby, Mike and me, we're pretty tight. Bobby and Mike knew each
other all the way back to grade school, and I kinda joined the crowd a
little late. They never really have held that against me, but I still end
up playing straight man to their comedy routine. I'm just wired like that
-- I'm not really as wild or crazy, but it works out.
Well, the first day of the new semester, to get back on track, we were
standing near the main doors of the M.U. having a discussion about what
to eat. "They got rid of it?" Mike looked like somebody'd just told him
an asteroid had landed on his car.
"Mike, they were taking the sign down a month ago." I reminded him.
"Dude, you even bitched about it then."
"You know Mikey's got a memory like a..." Bobby tried to help. "Fuck, I
forgot the word for it." He elbowed Mike and laughed at him.
"Yeah, well you just watch," he flashed an evil grin. "I'm gonna remember
to..." he paused and stared, open-mouthed, at something behind us.
"See?" I chuckled. "Look at that, you forgot alread--"
"Shut up, Billy," he said calmly, "and turn around."
Bobby and I turned at the same time to see what he was so shellshocked
over, and I felt my own eyes go wide while my jaw went slack. Walking
toward us were three of the most gorgeous girls I've ever seen. They
walked toward us, chatting to each other. It didn't look like they really
noticed anyone, but everyone sure as hell noticed them.
The shortest of the three girls was just an inch taller than I am, but I
could hear the click of high heels from her feet, so I guessed that she
was in actuality only 5'7" or so. She was all gussied up like she'd just
come from a corporate boardroom or something, but she made that look real
good in a pinstriped gray skirt, white blouse and light black jacket. Her
hair was jet black and in that style Bettie Page made famous, a long
pageboy cut that set off her light gray eyes and a face right out of a
model's portfolio. She had an exotic look; I couldn't tell if she was
Asian, maybe half. It really was hard to tell, with the contrast between
her delicate, exotic features and the thick curves -- and, damn, that
girl had calves that looked like they belonged on a soccer player,
flaring out on each side of the shin.
The girl next to her was a little taller than I am, without heels, so
that put her pretty close to Bobby's height of an even six feet. She
wasn't wearing anything nearly as conservative as her friend -- short
shorts, a t-shirt and sneakers over knee socks. Her hair was the color of
honey, a sort of deep amber, with blonde highlights either from a salon
or from a lot of time spent in the sun. The bronzed skin went with them,
so either the whole look was natural or she was well off enough to afford
the best fake tan out there. She was curvy like her friend, but she had
extra curves that come from a gym. The t-shirt was probably a size too
small for her -- the top was low and showed off enough cleavage to get
her a job at Hooter's just for asking, but where the shirt stopped at the
bottom, you could see the faint outlines of abdominal muscles. It looked
like somebody had hidden six bricks under a satin sheet.
Her waist was slim and showed a latticework of obliques muscles, just a
tease of them. But it was her shorts that were drawing stares from
everyone but her two friends, who must've been used to what we were all
seeing -- the shorts were so short they showed an indentation where her
hips and ass cheeks met each other. Her thighs were thick as tree trunks,
but defined like her stomach, with faint bulges and creases of muscle
rippling and flexing as she walked.
But it was the redhead with them... good God. She was built like an
Amazon, and that's not an exaggeration at all. She wore a skirt like the
black haired girl, but it was almost as short as the blonde's shorts. She
was taller than Bobby by almost a foot in her heels, but even without
them she would have been taller than just about anybody else in the M.U.
She was thick like the black haired girl, too, with big, firm looking
tits, a slim waist and wide, wide hips, a perfect hourglass figure
(picture Christina Hendricks as an Amazon, and you'll get what I mean).
But she was all legs, and holy shit, what a pair of legs.
Like the blonde, her stomach showed thick, firm bricks of abdominal
muscle. A cord of muscle as thick as my wrist showed at each hip where
they dipped down into the cover of the skirt. But where her legs left the
cover of the skirt, they bunched and stretched in massive slabs of muscle
as she walked. I could pick out all the different muscle groups as she
moved, all the way down to calves that put the black haired girl's to
shame, which a fraction of a second before I hadn't thought could even
happen.
They passed by close enough that I got a whiff of their perfume, and it
wasn't cheap stuff by the scent of it. They were utterly oblivious of the
half glassy-eyed stares they got, as if they got that kind of thing all
the time, and they probably did. I looked at Bobby and Mike, and they
were still transfixed, as if they were mesmerized or something. I
couldn't blame them. I wondered what they were thinking -- if they were
thinking.
I snapped my fingers in front of Mike's eyes. "Hey." Nothing. "Dude!
C'mon, man, land of the living, remember it?"
"Holy shit..." Bobby breathed. "Did you see that?" He continued to stare
long after the three goddesses had disappeared from view, and Mike still
hadn't snapped out of his daze.
I laughed. "Man, nobody's gonna fail to see that. Come on, I'm starvin'.
Pizza."
That finally got Mike's attention. "Gah, I hate pizza."
"I'm buying."
"I love pizza."
**********
They were still fuzzy around the edges when we sat down at our table with
a large stuffed crust and a liter of Coke each. "So?" I asked them.
Bobby looked back at me, confused. "So... what?" A string of cheese made
a bridge from his face to the slice in his hand. It broke loose and
draped his chin, but he barely took notice.
"So," I continued, a little exasperated, "what's the plan? They're noobs.
Don't tell me we're gonna break tradition." Bobby shrugged, and Mike was
too busy stuffing his face to get a word out around the mouthful of
delicious he was working on. "You remember what you guys told me when I
was a noob? 'No exceptions'."
"Eat up, Billy." He said, then took another bite and said around it, "I'm
thinking."
"Somebody put some fuckin' Viagra in my pancakes or somethin'." Mike
finally spoke up. "I don't think my johnson's ever goin' back to sleep."
Now that was a hell of a comment coming from Mike. See, Mike's family is
from southern Mexico, so he is the living embodiment of suave. It's an
act, of course -- he totally fakes a Latin accent even though he was
raised right here in Portland. But he's got the blond haired, brown eyed
surfer boy look nailed, so the dames eat that act up, fake accent and
all. Hell, the guy's got three girlfriends and they all know about each
other, and he makes it work. So to hear him say something like that told
me he was still reeling.
"Okay," Bobby said in the middle of his second slice of pizza. "Get this:
these girls are lookers."
"Congratulations, you noticed." I couldn't help it, the opening was
there.
"Shut up. So you gotta figure with girls like that, nobody's got the
balls to make a play for 'em. All the guys our year are either hooked up
already or couldn't make it if they paid for it. Well, we're going to put
the moves on those girls. I'm all about the blonde."
I gave him a skeptical look. "Yeah, and they're just gonna melt into our
arms just 'cause we make a play."
"They will. You watch." He nodded, took a swig of his Coke. "I'm telling
you, man, with girls that hot, they might as well be hounds. You got your
homely chicks, who never get any interest 'cause the guys don't want 'em.
Then you got the hot chicks, who get so much interest they reject guys
just 'cause they can. Then you got girls like these, who nobody ever
tries for because they just assume they'll get the brush. Right?"
I nodded. "Okay, Professor. So what's Part 2 of the class assignment? We
hook up with these girls, and then?"
"And then what?" he looked confused.
I sighed. "That's what I'm asking. What's the punch line?" I realized I'd
been letting the slice of pizza on my own plate get cold, and I finished
it off while he stared at me like a dog that's just been shown a card
trick.
"I haven't planned it that far yet." He finally admitted. "First we need
intel. Troop numbers, troop movements, all that, you copy?" Jesus, Bobby
played way too many first person shooter video games. But there was Mike,
following right along with it:
"Roger-roger." He grinned, then adopted his 'smooth' accent. "I will find
out all that we need to know." He heaped three more pieces of our pizza
onto his plate and off he went. I guess he totally forgot that he hated
pizza.
Whatever bad things you can say about Mike -- and there are not a few --
he certainly knows how to suave members of both sexes to find out what he
wants to know. By the time we sat down to a dinner of Chinese takeout in
the common area of Ross Hall, our dorm, Mike had a load to lay on us
about the three girls. "Okay, so here it is. The blonde's name is Susie
Anderson. Her older brother lives over in Maxwell Hall, so I'm gonna
buddy up to him and find out a little more tomorrow. She just turned 18
and she got in here on a volleyball scholarship." Bobby nodded at that,
memorizing the details.
I sort of poked at my sweet and sour chicken with my chopsticks. I could
feel myself leaning forward in the lounge chair and forced myself to sit
back. I was waiting to hear about the redhead.
"Her friend who looks like that old pinup chick is Maya Vinetti. Same
age, fresh out of high school. She's here on a soccer scholarship. Seeing
a pattern yet?"
"Girl jocks." Bobby smiled. "Not too bright, I bet."
"You totally owe me a new irony meter." The words got out of my mouth
before I could stop them, so I stuffed a mouthful of chicken in there.
"Ha. Ha." He held up a piece of szechuan pork so it looked like a middle
finger. I showed him the real thing in return so he'd know what it looks
like.
"The redhead is Rose Ferguson." Mike added. "She's an exchange student
from Scotland, and guess how she's paying tuition." He stabbed at his
fried rice with a pair of chopsticks. Then tried again. And again.
Finally, he tossed the sticks over his shoulder and dug in with a fork.
"Basketball scholarship." I ventured on a whim.
He finished taking a bite and pointed his fork at me like it was a
pistol. "Nailed it in one. Here's the thing," he paused, chewing
thoughtfully. "What I got was these girls are bad news. This mousy girl
from their dorm says they went out clubbing together the other night
wearing FMBs and black leather, were bossing guys at the club like they
owned the place."
I paused, a big chunk of chicken halfway to my mouth. "FMBs?"
He shook his head. "Damn, Billy."
" 'Fuck Me Boots', hayseed." Bobby added. "Dude, we seriously need to get
you out more." He turned to Mike. "So what are you saying, these girls
are kinky?"
"Kinky?! Man," Mike popped another mouthful of fried rice into his mouth
and continued around it, "the way I hear it, these girls aren't just
kinky, they are kink. Know what I mean? Whips, chains, the whole show. My
little mousy friend tells me the two taller ones actually dragged guys
off the dance floor. As in, grabbed 'em by the arms and pulled 'em almost
off their feet, then made out with 'em in the back of the club. Well, I
know one of those guys -- you know Marcus Quintiliani?"
I nodded. "I think so. Big guy, always dropping hints like his family's
Mafia, right?"
Mike pointed his fork at me again. "That's the guy. You seen him the last
couple days?" I shook my head. "Well, I have. He's wearing a knee brace
and a bandage under that wifebeater he always wears. Looks like he got
hit by a truck and if you ask him why, he gets all pissed off about it."
"Dude, you're shittin' us."
"Hey," Mike put up his hands. "I'm not saying how it happened, 'cause I
don't know. I'm just tellin' you what I heard and what I saw, okay? But
get this," he paused to take another bite. "Their last year of high
school, Susie and Maya were seeing carrying their boyfriends through the
halls."
I blinked. "What, like giving them piggyback rides or something?" My
pulse started to quicken and a chunk of chicken I'd lifted out of the box
fell back in. I tried for it -- and again -- and missed both times.
Fortunately, Bobby was so intent on his food again and Mike so intent on
his story that neither of them noticed. "Nah, man," Mike shook his head.
"Like, in their freakin' arms. Like 'groom carries bride over the
threshold' stuff."
"Bullshit." Bobby declared. "I've seen some pretty beastly-lookin' girls
that could maybe do that, but--"
"Hell, man, you saw their legs." Mike looked doubtful even as he said it.
"Maybe the redhead." I added. "But you said she's a foreign exchange
student, so she wouldn't have been there for that. The other two, though,
I don't know. Maybe we ought to be careful."
"Bottom line," Mike nodded, "these girls aren't all wholesome like they
act on campus."
Bobby nodded. "Now that we can use. Just give me until morning to figure
out how."
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