5 – Blog 21 – Lampoon Laffs

After pizza, we decide to go to both private clubs. We chose Porcellian first. We arrive like pimp-daddys with our ladies. As soon as the upperclassmen start to hound-dog the girls, we gather everyone and leave as a group. Fox is more amenable. We stay for a couple of hours. The bar is open but we stick with beer. It goes down better after all the pizza we ate. The noise level increases as more alcohol is consumed. The party is restricted to the lower floors. When the girls are asked if they want to see what the upstairs is like, we know it’s time for a mass exit. Our standards are not compromised. To be honest, it was a long day. I decide not to ask Trudie if Joan and she want to sleep with us. I get the impression she is disappointed. I have more pressing plans – mad crazy fucking Jack-Off. I know he needs it and has high hopes. When we get back to the room, Minehan is sound asleep in Jack’s bed. We pull a quickie in the shower and collapse in our bed. Jack says he likes the small twin bed. It means I cannot get away from him.

On Sunday morning, we convince all the girls to go to 8 o’clock mass. We dress David in one of Jack’s suits, making him more presentable. He complains we are worse than his mean parents.

“Jim says you’re a rich kid,” I expose his suburban roots.

“That asshole,” David does not deny it. “The parental units are rich. A lotta good it does me. They won’t even buy me a car.”

“Ya gots a license ta drive yet?” I goof on him.


“Why git ya a car if ya ain’t gots no licence.”

“Stop pretendin’ you’s a farm boy,” he changes the subject.

“And y’all ain’t no Townie or Southie.”

“I ain’t no rich bitch like old Jack-Off.”

“Wait ‘til yer old man gits the bill fer yer tuition.”

That stops him. “How much ya think it is?”

“Three thousand a semester.”

“Holy shit. I’m dropping out.”

“You can’t, David,” the 3D girls all whine.

“Hurry up and git a record contract. Then the record company gets ta pay,” I joke.

He goes to mass with us, praying fervently for something. He leaves for home afterwards. I tell him never to pray for something for yourself. Praying has to be for the common good.

“I’ll shove yer common good up yer common ass,” he yells as he runs out the door.

We invite Trudie and Joan back to the room. We all end up on the one bed. Jack’s bed stinks with sheets all covered in cum stains. We make out for the longest time. Both girls get us super horny and hard but won’t go any further. I figure it’s a test to make sure we are not exclusively gay.

The bus back to Northampton leaves at 2pm. We take a long walk along the Charles River, talking easily and laughing about all the antics over the weekend.

“See how important football is?” I defend my Iowa roots. “Now y’all’s become cheerleaders.”

“We didn’t appreciate you making us crawl around on our hands and knees and be chased by the Harvard male cheer squad. But then you made them crawl while we chased them back.”

“All’s fair turn-about.”

“It’s all over-the-top but you seem to get it that girls want to be treated equally,” Trudie pats us on the back.

“When ya gots twin sisters and two moms at home, there ain’t no denying women’s rights.”

“Your mom’s a lesbian?” Trudie exclaims.

“Yeah. I guess it runs in the family,” I confess.

“We like that you’re both gay. It doesn’t seem to slow you down in the make-out department,” Joan admits.

We both beam, gave them a kiss, and then kiss each other. It’s all chaste, but the girls both scream and giggle. Equal rights for all.

We take the girls to Bailey’s Ice Cream parlor, south of Harvard Square. We all have Sundaes, of course, sitting at a round, spindly glass table with pink spindly seats. It feels like we are in Paris.

“I wish we’d gone to Radcliffe instead of Smith. It is so much fun here,” Joan is being sentimental.

“Smith gives y’all a better education. Freshman classes at Harvard are nothing much,” I argue.

Of course, I am still getting C- or worse on my assignments. Jack is a perfect A+.

“Maybe you should go to class,” Jack suggests.

“Why? You take word for word notes. I just refuse to spew them back at the profs.”

“You have no respect for the institution,” Jack complains.

“Yer jist an ass-kisser who parrots back whatever y’all is told.”

“Yer a know-it-all who ain’t always right.”

“All right boys. It’s been a long weekend. You can fight all you want later, but we have a bus to catch.”

“Ah, please, Miss Trudie. Ya cain’t leave now. I be missin’ ya sumthin’ terrible.”

“Ain’t enuff room fer the four of us’n in that little bed. We ain’t sleepin’ in Minehan’s cess pool.”

We all laugh. Jack and Joan are staring intently at each other.

I take Trudie’s hand. “You are great,” I drop the country persona. “Putting up with us, staying with the ‘Cliffies, going out on the football field, fending off upper-class snobs at private clubs, and eating pizza and ice cream all weekend. Please come back next week?” I ask.

“Have you cleared it with Jack? He may not want to do it again.”

“Are you kidding. Look at ‘em,” I point to the two of them holding hands and staring at each other.

“I already asked her. It’s parents week at Smith and both our families are meeting each other. Maybe the next home game?”

“That’s the Yale game in November. The Game. I already asked my twin sisters to come out from Iowa.”

“You’re dating your sisters?”

“Hell, no. They both date my best friend, the football player.”

“Ew, they date the same guy?”

“He plays football. He really big.”

“Naw. He’s my best friend and the twins never bin apart. It’s a good match, let me assure ya.”

“Well, we don’t want to get in the way for The Game.”

“It’ll be fine. You’ll love ‘em. Angie’s jist like you and Amy’s all peaches and cream like Joan.”

“I ain’t peaches and cream?”

“More like piss and vinegar,” I laugh. She socks me really hard. I fake-fall over, wiggling my feet in the air.

“We gotta go, Joan,” she pulls her roommate away from Jack. “We can’t miss that bus.”

We all run over to the terminal, getting there with plenty of time for making out before saying goodbye. As the bus boards, we notice Troy and Venus doing the same. They wink their approval.

Walking back to the Yard, Jack and I start hitting each other on the arm, giggling and conscious that we have weathered a stormy weekend and still ended it together.

“Think they still want to go out with us?” Jack asks.

“I asked Trudie to come for next week’s game. They can’t. It’s parents weekend at Smith.”

“Let’s go there and surprise them,”” Jack suggests. “Their parents will be so happy they have gay boyfriends.”

“Right. You looked so gay with your tongue down Joan’s throat.”

He giggles. “She likes me. What can I say?”

“Trudie is just like Angie, always calling me out for my bullshit.”

“So, she’s your sister substitute?”

“Naw. No way I would ever lust after Angie. That’s incest. Trudie keeps it real.”

“Are we really gay?”

I pull him into a hug and french him right in the middle of Harvard Square. It isn’t a Hollywood moment. People stare and several call out ‘Faggots’. One person tells us to get a room. Jack is hot and horny, as we rush back to Mower. It’s a dick killer to find Minehan waiting for us.

“You want me to go up to 3D?” he asks noticing our hard-ons.

“Naw. You can watch and learn,” I tell him.

“Okay,” he’s ready to get educated.

“Don’t worry,” as I grab my stiff dick. “This is from saying goodbye to the Smithies.”

“They were cool. How come you’re dating girls?”

“You think we’re just faggots?”

“Well, yeah. I saw ya kiss in front of the Rat.”

“We were just slumming.”

“Whatcha think of my performance yesterday?” Everything is about him.

“You’re a natural star. Just don’t turn into a rock star asshole,” Jack warns him.

“Yeah. Enjoy playing with everyone. Your band mates will make or break you. Don’t make it all about yourself,” I advise.

“They just do what I tell ‘em.”

“Jim’s totally cool. He needs to trust his playing. He picked it up quickly.”

“He a fag, too? No wonder you like ‘im.”

“Why do you say that? ‘Cause he’s sensitive? He really worries that he’ll let you down.”

“Shit. He needs to just play and keep his mouth shut.”

We just shake our heads. “You need adulation. Go up to 3D. They think you’re cute.”

“I am cute.”

We laugh, not just because he’s so self-centered.

“Let’s go play the MOOG,” he suggests.

He is also irrepressible.

We go down to the boiler room. Soon the walls of Mower are moaning and groaning. As David and Jack trade tracks, I fill in leads with my SG guitar.  Jace is working with me. He takes over. I float above my body as Jace creates eerie riffs off the moody dirges coming from the MOOG.

“Too moody,” I complain.

“Then we’ll be the Moody Rudes, check out this one,” Minehan is inspired.



‘Sunday afternoon
I’m just beginning to see
I don’t know what to say
What’s it matter to me
Chasing the girls away

They never call to me
The end is drawing me near
I don’t know why
Those other voices I hear
I must be high

No one sees my reflections of my mind
It’s just the kind of day to get left behind
So gently swaying in this fairyland of love
If you’ll just come with me you’ll see the beauty of
Sunday afternoon
Sunday afternoon’

After: Songwriters: JUSTIN HAYWARD

© Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC


He repeats the verse and chorus. We are now the Moody Rudes. Looking up we see a half-dozen Mower residents watching and listening by the door. We wave them in and offer them beer from the keg.

“Is that the Moody Blues?” one of the boys asks.

“No. We’re the Moody Rudes.” We win over the folk crowd. Sunday afternoons.

We play more Moody Blues and create our own mood songs. David comes up with his own lyrics without having to think about it. He claims to have visited Ireland and kissed the Blarney Stone. We believe him. As soon as the keg runs dry, our fans depart. We make him go home.

“Work with Mike and Jim. They’ll follow you to hell and back, if you even want to return. You need them to back you up.”

“I’ve got you two. Why do I want to train those two dancing bears.”

“Because they’ll do what you say. We’re no longer in high school and willing to follow the Pied Piper.”

“I wanna be in a band with you guys,” he whines.

“Too many egos just screw it up. Keep it simple and you’ll be a star. Stay with us and who knows who you are?”

A rhyme in time stays true.

“We have studying to do.”

“So do I. What’s my assignments for this week, Jack?”

“A paper in English on Moby Dick (which you haven’t read), those calculus worksheets to be completed, the comparison chart between Judaism, Islam, and Christianity in Religion, and you need to go to the pool and pass the swimming test.”

“Well, let’s get cracking, then.”

We turn off the amps and lock the boiler room. Jack isn’t about to let anyone play his MOOG. We go to 3D and find out that all the girls are at Widener Library, doing their homework. We join them. Three hours later, all Minehan’s assignments are done. He just uses Jack’s notes on Moby Dick, writing a long epic poem about slavery on whaling ships and the exploitation of native islanders. He answers all the calculus problems without doing any of the work; strangely he has the same answers as I come up with by doing the proofs. His comparison chart in Religion states that Islam requires all believers to never describe the Prophet, resulting in the women running around in veils and long robes, so all is hidden. When he announces he cannot swim, Jack makes me promise to teach him, as I am City Swim Champ in Miami. The girls are impressed, insisting I show off my muscles, which have mostly melted since I never work out anymore. All of us, including the five 3D girls, go to the pool to cheer Minehan in his swim lessons. He refuses to wear one of my Speedos and comes out in his boxers, which instantly slide down to his knees when he dives into the pool. The girls shriek and move closer to see what they can see. Minehan runs back into the locker room and returns with the Speedo under his droopy boxers.

“You just want me in this faggy underwear ‘cause you’re perverts,” he accuses Jack and me.

“Oh, David. You’re so sexy,” the girls all proclaim.

He flexes but no one notices. He thrashes around trying to swim a length of the pool. I try to hold him up with my hands on his stomach. He yells at me for trying to feel him up. Somehow he makes it a length without me having to touch him again.

“Now, I have to show you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation,” I announce.

“Fuck you.” He marches off, his Speedo covering what the boxers don’t. The girls cheer. He turns around and flexes. Everyone laughs. He thinks they are impressed.

Jack buys pizza and beer for everyone at ‘Noch’s.’ David gets carded. He only has his high school ID that says he’s 17, so he gets no beer. He proceeds to drink most of mine and some from all the girls. He is being flirty and coy, which everyone loves. Jack is jealous, telling David he has to pay for all the beer he stole.

“What do wanna do, take it out on me in trade?”

The girls are shocked. David shrugs, “Ain’t gonna be the first time.”

“You make him have sex with you?” Jill is distressed.

“Not Jack,” David defends the nerd.

“Not Tim?” the girls scream.

“Naw. They have each other. They say I stink. I get hit on by all those retards at BU.”

That seems more likely.

“Let’s stop all the fag-ragging,” I demand. “I know you all know about Jack and me. Don’t mean we don’t like girls.”

“So, you’re supersexuals?” David laughs.

“Not enough to do skinny high school boys,” Jack asserts.

“Oh, my feelings are so hurt,” David mocks Jack.

“That’s not what you said was hurt when I got through with you,” I claim.

“Ew, the truth comes out,” Jill laughs.

“Fuck you all. I ain’t no faggot.”

“That’s a relief,” Jack jokes.

“Fuck off,” as David leaves, giving us all the finger.

I run after him, catching him as he strides to the T station.

“Wait. Don’t leave mad.”

He turns around. “How come everyone turns against me.  You’re the gay ones.”

“It’s too easy to make you look silly for being a homophobe.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Fear of gays.”

“I ain’t afraid of you’s. You’s my friends. No one else likes my acting out.”

“You act like there’s something wrong with being gay. You shouldn’t listen to other people’s prejudices.”

“It don’t mean nothin.’ I likes ya. Ya say I’m a skinny string-bean Gumby. So I call ya gay. Same thing.”

“Okay, Gumby. You can call me Gaybo.”

“Perfect.” We start to shake hands but both pull back. “Psych,” we both laugh.


It’s late when we get back to Mower. The girls notice that Jack is obviously horny and anxious to be alone with me. They all stand around in front of our dorm room door on the first floor, until Jack cannot wait any longer.

“I need my beauty sleep,” he announces.

“Oh, or is that bulge in your jeans saying you need something else,” Jill points out.

Jack blushes, but grabs me and shuts our door on the five 3D girls.

“Better put a ‘Knock Please’ sign on this door. You never know when Minehan’s going to show up,” Jill advises.

I quickly make the note and open up to put it on the outside. The girls are peeking in, catching Jack already half-naked.

“Ew,” they scream and run off. I bet it’s enough to cause nocturnal fantasies on the third  floor.

Jack and I get right to it. I realize that all our bickering and actual fights are nothing more than built up testosterone. I take him in my mouth and tell him not to worry. “This is just round one. Let’s make it a title bout.”

He giggles and wraps his feet around my straining dick. It is like monkey sex, as I get close myself. We are a frenzy of bobbing, sucking and stroking until he goes off. I keep swallowing while going over the edge myself. I let loose all over the bed sheets. Both beds now need deep cleaning to become presentable again. I figure Minehan can take them home to Waltham. I am not sure I can turn them in at the local Chinese laundry without severe embarrassment. I know Minehan’s mom must be used to excessive emissions.

We lay there catching our breath.

“We always cum simultaneously,” Jack observes.

“No holding back here,” I claim.

“How can you tell when I’m close.”

“Well, first you can barely get enough breath, your eyes roll up in your head so you can’t see, your dick vibrates, and your body shakes all over. I can take a hint.”

He hugs me at my exaggerations of his orgasms. We both are getting hard again.

“Fuck me, Tim. I need to be dominated,” he orders.

“Always the entitled one,” I mock him.

“Fuck me. Fuck me,” he cries.

“Shush,” I order. I do not want our neighbors knowing.

“Please,” he begs.

I comply. Our bed is soon a Minehan cess pool. I know I will easily fall asleep in it once we are done. As he finishes, I bend over and kiss him. We break our lip lock, and I mount him from the rear. I feel totally dominant, in complete charge of his orgasm. I momentarily feel it is unfair as I am only reaching my second climax. Then I’m not thinking  at all, as the feelings take over. My toes curl so much that the arches of my feet start cramping. Then my whole body is cramping. I hold perfectly still, aching from the cramps. The second I cum, I relax. Then I pass out.

When I come to, Jack is sobbing on my chest. Maybe he thinks he fucked me to death.

“You turned blue,” he mumbles between sobs. “You weren’t breathing.”

I try to explain about the cramps. I can only mumble.

He panics at my garbled speech, thinking I suffered a stroke. His sobbing becomes shrieks. Our neighbors burst in, thinking someone is dying. Seeing Jack on top of me, naked and covered in cum is more than they expect or can fully comprehend.

“I’m fine,” I’m finally able to tell them. Jack collapses on top of me. They exit, slamming the door.

“No need to call 911,” they tell the other residents who are in the corridor. It’s a fitting anticlimax to our weekend. I pull Jack down beside me, instantly asleep as usual.

The next thing I know, Jill knocks and sticks her head in to say it’s time for breakfast. I always hate Mondays.



“Com’n in,” I tell her. “We have a problem.”

I explain that Jack thought he had killed me and our neighbors rushed in at his screams.

“Well, what was it like being dead?” Jill jokes.

“Heaven,” I smile.

“That’s good news. Must be because we went to mass yesterday.”

“No doubt. But do we lie to the boys. I doubt they’ll be as accepting as you are.”

“Should you care?”

“Our popularity will take a hit.”

“Who’s says you’re popular?”

“We gave away a keg of beer this weekend.”

“Well, maybe it was hell that you went to?”

“Popularity is hell.”

“Get dressed. I’m hungry,” she dismisses our fears.

After breakfast, Jill and I report to the Lampoon, while Jack and David (who appears for breakfast) go to class. Kurt pulls us into his office.

“You ready for full-on harassment?” he confronts Jill.

“Can’t be worse than groveling in front of the students and alumni at the football stadium,” she is game.

“I heard about that, except it was the boys who groveled for you.”


“Fair turn about,” I add.

“Well, I explained to the staff that we want to test how tough you are by subjecting you to their worst impulses.”

“How are we going make it a lampoon?” I ask.

“We’ll write it up as what a girl has to do to make it at Harvard.”

“Some people may not understand it’s a lampoon.”

“So much the better,” Kurt knows what he’s doing. “Can you take it.”

“Hey, after a weekend of Jack and Tim’s antics so they could impress their Smithie dates, I’m ready.”

“How did that go?” he asks me.

“They turned us down for this weeks’ game. Something about Parents Weekend at Smith.”

“Sorry. Take it as a learning experience.”

“Naw. We plan to crash Parents Weekend to get permission to date their daughters.”

“Good attitude. Maybe there’s another story here.”

“We plan to tell the parent units we’re gay, so their daughters are totally safe,” Jack can’t restrain himself.

“Are you gay?” Kurt asks.

“Not that gay,” we both answer.

He shakes his head and smiles at Jill.


Jill’s week of intern hell begins. She has several snappy retorts to keep her sanity. Fatty Terry asks her to give him a foot massage.

“Blow me,” she orders.

“What?’ Fatty exclaims.

“Blow me. You do know how to blow a girl, right?”

‘Um. Maybe.” He definitely is clueless.

Jill sticks her tongue against the inside of her cheek, thrusting in and out. Fatty almost loses his lunch. Again he is the object of his own ridicule. The entire staff room bursts out laughing. The rest of the day everyone repeats Jill’s blow job meme to him. I guess you can harass anyone who is being lame.

More subtle hi-jinks come at odd times. One guy tries to get Jill to take him into the bathroom (there isn’t a ladies) to remove an eyelash that is bothering him. When he tries to grope her, she spits into his eye. Kurt sends him to the College Heath Service to make sure he did not contract pinkeye. One guy actually slides under Jill so he could look up her skirt. She had written ‘fuck you’ across the crotch of her panties. It’s a dick killer. Whenever anyone calls her ‘honey’ or ‘sweetheart,’ she calls them dickhead or butt-face. It escalates all week-long, with a committee of self-appointed staff members coming to Kurt and demanding her internship be terminated as her behavior is ‘disruptive.’ Not surprisingly, most of the ad hoc committee are the ones who harassed Jill in her first week, before the staff was encouraged to make it hard for her. Kurt takes out the photos I took of their asinine behavior, noting they brought it all on themselves.

On Friday evening, a general staff meeting is held and the project discussed. After detailing the worst behaviors, Kurt lays down new rules.

“I hope all of you have gotten this anti-feminist behavior out of your systems. There will be nothing but respect shown to Jill or any future female staffers. We’re not some private social club, allowed to set our own standards of decorum and behavior. This whole exercise has produced a toxic work environment. I cringe at all the reports I’ve received about how Jill has been treated. That some of you have said she has responded with sexist, boorish behavior only reflects upon us. That we are so good at making it difficult for her reflects on how unprepared Harvard is for receiving more female students. The administration’s ‘Go Slow’ policy toward co-education has only encouraged those who never want the University to change. Don’t fight the future, gentlemen. It will bite you on the ass.

“My hat’s off to Jill for making us see the evil of our ways. Those who believe there is no place for her spunk and humor in the face of harassment can tender their resignations on Monday. I am relieving all four interns of their menial duties as servants for the staff and promoting them to full staff status. Their first assignment will be to make this exercise into an article for the November Lampoon issue.”

Before the four of us can cheer, we look around the room and realize everyone else is pissed that they have lost their slave labor for the remainder of the year. We shrug and go about our tasks. We still help those staffers we genuinely like. There were at least two or three. And we remain Kurt’s pets.




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