It’s already 3pm by the time I leave St Paul’s. I realize Jack has not tried to contact my heart. He is so lame. I go across the river and seek out Seth at the Business School library. He’s working on my case study, researching conflict resolution between differing business cultures. He shows me his work and the copies of relevant texts he made for me. He is so excited to see me. I know we need to satisfy his hormones before going over the research he did for me.
“Let’s get out of here,” I suggest, running my fingers across his shoulder. He shudders and jumps up. We run all the way to his dorm room. I up my game from being his passive victim to an enthusiastic participant. We strip each other and fly onto his bed. Our dueling hard-ons find each other, as we make out. Remembering his reluctance to kiss me, I carefully seduce his lips. Using my trick of a quick lick of his lips, he is soon sucking on my lower one. We maintain constant lip-lock as our hands run all over our exposed flesh. As soon as he grasps my straining dick, I thrust my tongue inside his mouth, poking in and out, a hint of what I want to do with him. It’s all new to Seth. Instead of yielding to my demanding thrusts, he attacks my ass with a middle finger. I rock on his hand as he stimulates my anal ring, eventually reaching my prostrate. I let loose with a pre-mature ejaculation, all over his rippling stomach muscles. Total disappointment is written all over his face. He expects I’m done, having cum just once.
He gives me several involuntary humps. I stay hard as a rock, knowing where his dick is going. I move so my knees are hugging his chest and sit down on the straining dick. His breathing relaxes as imminent orgasm retreats. I rock slowly up and down as he lays back, staring intently into my eyes.
“You take control,” he admits, not recognizing I already have. I lean down and kiss him. There is no hesitation on his part. I squeeze my butt as I rock up and down on his steel-hard dick. He closes his eyes and lets me work him. Both his hands have a hold of my dick, stroking to the rhythm of my up and down motion.
“You’re still hard,” he observes.
“I love being fucked,” I admit. “It keeps me going.”
My confession excites him. He is pushing himself into me as I continue rocking on top of him. Soon he has to take control, rolling me off of him, wrapping my legs around his upper body, kneeling on the bed, and fucking me like the world is about to end. I pull his head down and we’re frantically frenching each other. I start shaking in anticipation of his orgasm. That’s all it takes. The first spurt is accompanied by a thrust that breaks our kiss and knocks my head against the dorm wall. His rapid, uncontrolled thrusts keeps knocking my head against the wall. I finally put both hands behind my head to protect from a concussion. He’s lost in his own orgasm. Once done, his eyes fly open, as if he’s waking up from a dream. He flops next to me on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“I’ll never forget this fuck,” he claims.
“You think we’re done?” I tease his ass with my finger.
His dick twitches and starts to get hard again. His eyes are in disbelief. I whisper how much I had loved being fucked by him. He is such a stud. I can’t stop now. I need him. All the bullshit lines I know to keep him hard. He’s writhing on the bed. I threw his legs over my shoulders, lifting his butt to my month as I kneel on the bed. His dick is leaking copious pre-cum.
“Yes, fuck me. I want you to fuck me,” he is delirious. I worry his brain is gone. He doesn’t realize what is about to happen to his ass. If that’s rape, then so be it. I withdrew my fingers.
“No. no, don’t stop,” I get consent, as he misses my probing fingers.
My dick is more than ready. I impale him, slowly and steadily. He is writhing and squeezing, turning eventually to shaking like he is seizing. He instantly cums. I pull out and stick his exploding dick down my throat. As soon as he is finished, he starts moaning, wanting me to finish what I had started in his ass. I am back inside him. His dick never goes down, as I steadily bring myself to the edge of cumming. I stroke his dick, rubbing my thumb against his glans. The vein pops out and he goes rigid. I hasten my dick with a deep thrust and quick ins and outs inside him. The tip of my dick does its turn inwards. I revert to long steady thrusts. As I cum, he gives a short jerk. About a thimbleful of jism is barely expelled. We are done.
We lay there panting.
“Welcome to the gay world,” I gently mock him.
“I never knew it could be this way.”
I snuggled in with him. “And all you wanted was a quick jerk in the bathroom. Don’t let this upset your world.”
“Like it’s not going to upset my wife?” he worries. “How many times did I cum?”
I giggle. “Four. Five, if you count that last dribble
“You are so evil,” he realizes. “This is not something I’ll ever forget.”
He is experiencing buyer’s regret.
“Look. Don’t beat yourself up because you learned new bedroom tricks. If you want to be fucked so badly, buy your wife a strap-on.”
“Jesus, you are so innocent. And so young. Don’t stop experimenting and experiencing new things. This is all part of your Harvard education.”
“Right. My transcript will read ‘gay sex’ as part of my MBA.”
“Welcome to the counterculture.”
“I can’t tell if I’m glad or sad.”
“There’s only one solution to all problems – pizza.”
Then Jack, David and the 3D girls walk in. I’m so flustered that Jack goes on instant alert, knowing something is up. I introduce Seth to everyone, noting particularly that Jack is my boyfriend. Seth gets red in the face.
“He’s married,” I explain.
Everyone sits down and acts normal. Jill starts reading our notes.
“What are you working on?” she asks.
“Seth’s helping me write a Harvard Business School case study on my movie experience. I’ll get credit for ECON 10 if Professor Feldstein likes it.”
“You’re getting credit for all our classes, which you never go to, a full semester of work-study, which you get paid for, and now a graduate level case study will get you full credit for ECON 10?”
Everyone laughs, except for Jack, who suspects I’m cheating. Minehan is busy eating my pizza, ignoring everyone.
Seth is cool about meeting my boyfriend. He gives me his notes, saying he has to get back to the library. He waves goodbye to everyone, including me.
“Wow,” Minehan remarks. “He’s old. How did you find him.”
“I’ve been studying at the B School.”
Carrying out deceptions ages you.
“I went to lunch with Father John after mass today,” I admit. “We’re invited to their Christmas Party this Saturday.”
“No more miracles,” Jack warns.
“I have no control over that,” I claim. Jace sounds his disagreement in my heart.
“We can celebrate the end of finals at the party.”
“I have a surprise that you’ll all like,” I tease everyone.
“What? Jace is coming back as Baby Jesus for Christmas.”
“Maybe,” I refuse to ruin the surprise, which I haven’t figured out yet, except that Father John can perform the Sham 69 song.
Their pizzas are ready. I eat most of Minehan’s in retaliation. He eats all of Carol’s slices. She is experiencing teen anorexia, trying to please him. Like a good Irish boy, he’s in awe of her, Saint Carol. Back in the room, we go to bed. Jack is unable to suppress his suspicions about Seth. We are whispering about him in bed.
“Shut up, you two. I can’t sleep,” David complains. My savior.
Wednesday is the start of finals. We have English Literature and Calculus, morning and afternoon. Our English Lit professor surprises us with just two questions: 1. Choose your favorite novel and explain why you liked it. 2. Choose your least favorite novel and explain why you disliked it. Jack groans when he reads the instructions, having meticulously prepared to dissect each and every novel as the professor taught it in class. The girls also are anxious, responding to Jack their mentor’s discomfort. David winks at me, pleased to give his own opinions for once. We smile conspiratorially. Rather than answer each question separately, I write an introduction that states I chose Moby Dick and The Scarlet Letter as both my favorite and least favorite novels. I explain that all the novels on our reading list are great literature, blah blah blah. The two I chose are highly enjoyable reads, but also quite frustrating at times. Moby Dick I praise as great adventure with high suspense. It appeals to my environmental consciousness. My complaint is the tedious passages that go into excessive detail about the business of whaling, a lost art. I like Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter for its emotional suspense and romantic content. I describe the psychology and social mores as the first modern novel, alive over 100 years after it was written. I dislike the strict moral code and social ostracism that degrades women’s right to be treated equally. I end my essay in an Oscar Wilde-like epigram, ‘liking something excessively inevitably leads to excessively disliking it as well.’ I finish the final well before the three-hour time limit. I turn in my blue book, to the professor’s quizzical look as to why I haven’t used the full amount of time. I return to my seat and observe my friends’ efforts. Minehan is writing furiously, not wanting to miss any thought that may impress our professor. All the girls are looking distressed, barely writing, and then crossing out half of what they do write. Only Jill seems confident, our Boston Bossie. Jack is studiously looking up quotations and making notes on the provided scratch paper. I wonder if he considers it cheating, if I contact him through Jace in his heart. My initial efforts to speak to him are rebuffed. I hope Jace can get through and translate.
“He won’t cheat with you and can’t waste the time that’s needed to finish his essay,” Jace relates.
“Tell him that the 3D girls are all in a tizzy and keep looking for him to at least provide support. He created a dependence for direction in all of them.”
“He says he has no way to contact them.”
“Jesus, the little nerd. They all love him and hold him in their girly hearts. All he has to do is let down his barrier by believing in himself and sending them some comforting thoughts.”
Jace shrugs and goes to berate Jack. The nerd shoots me a glaring look, but soon I can tell he is sending messages to the girls. Even Jill looks over at him, and then shakes her head, not needing help. Soon the girls start to smile. They start digging into their notes and the books they’ve brought. I’m dismayed that they have so few original ideas. I shrug, accepting that we are being trained to regurgitate the accepted wisdom of our teachers, and walk out. I head for the B School. I figured I owe Seth an explanation about having a boyfriend. He is in his regular seat at the library. When I tap him on the shoulder, he looks up and smiles.
“Let’s go talk,” I suggest.
He leads me to a cafeteria where we get coffee.
“I should have told you I have a boyfriend.”
“We skipped many steps in getting to know each other. You didn’t even know my name until after we fucked.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m just using you to write my case study.”
“What would you have done if you knew I was married?”
“All these obstacles to true love,” I joke. He gets it.
“So, this is goodbye?” he asks.
My dick has been at full attention since I saw him studying. ‘Bad dick,’ I tell myself.
“I still have questions about the case study. It’s due on Friday.”
“Great. I have time. My next final starts at 1 pm. What needs to be explained?”
“Well, we’ve dissected the merger terms and identified culture clashes between the magazine and media conglomerate. I haven’t connected the Harvard Lampoon’s role to what the new corporation will look like.”
“Ah, old culture versus the cut-throat Wall Street shark tank.”
“Harvard is selling its name and intellectual property in the Lampoon without securing a role in the new conglomerate.”
“Short term monetary gain in place of career placement for future graduates.”
“Maybe the National Lampoon sees these future employees as threatening to their current positions?”
“But that is how the magazine has succeeded.”
“The current management is cashing in on what has taken years to build. They may only care about their own self-interest.”
“So, maybe the media conglomerate needs to insist that the Harvard-to-New York City pipeline be maintained?”
“It’s intellectual property in a creative enterprise.”
I have my answer. All I need to do is write it up. It will piss off PJ, but Kurt will look like the hero if they follow what I’m proposing.
“One last thing. I feel like a rat, spying for everyone on the Lampoon side. PJ will feel betrayed. He may expose my role as the industrial spy.”
“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” Seth shrugs.
It reminds me of poor Reverend Dimmesdale in the Scarlet Letter. My life is one big circle. I kiss him on the cheek. He turns bright red.
“I guess we’re done,” he looks sad.
“Never,” I crow. “You’ll always be in my heart, as much as you were up my butt.”
I hurry back to Mower and start a new draft of my case study. First I add my notes on what Seth and I just analyzed. It’s the final part to making the case study into a whole package of how the merger affects the movie, and vice versa. The proposal that the Harvard Lampoon negotiate its revised role in the new media conglomerate is an apt coda.
Before I complete a full draft, Jack, David, Jill and all the 3D girls return from the English Lit final. The girls are enthralled with Jack for rescuing them from the confusion of a surprise question on the final. David is in his own world, since no one is listening to his description of how he aced the final.
Finally, he asks me what the girls are all excited about.
“Jack was able to ‘speak’ with them through their hearts and calm them down when the final threw them for a loop.”
“What? That’s cheating,” he’s outraged, forgetting that he copied most of his homework assignments from Jack.
“Well, if you weren’t such a hard head you’d let us into your locked up heart and be able to hear us there as well.”
Psychic powers trumps cheating, but David is still skeptical.
“Are you prepared for Calculus this afternoon?”
“If you let me, I can give you the proofs. You have to let me into your heart.”
David gives me a suspicious look. He actually knows how to open his heart, telling my heart that he’ll kill me if I tell anyone about his sensitivity to crying.”
‘Is that all that’s holding you back?’ I telepathically ask him.
‘Yeah. I see how mean you are to Jack.’
‘I keep telling you that you need to trust me.’
‘Okay, but just for today’s final exam in Calculus.’
“Sure. But, so it’s not cheating, you tell me what answers you get and if I have the same ones, I’ll tell you what the proofs are.”
His eyes light up. I still want to know how he uses his ‘music as calculus’ theory to find the right numbers.
“You’re an idiot,” he laughs. “I look at the problem and come up with the answer that ‘sounds’ right, otherwise I just I keep looking.”
“What are you boys talking about?” Jill asks, not part of the Jack worshipers.
“Getting ready for the afternoon final,” I explain.
“Tim’s going to give me the proofs so I don’t flunk.”
“No, Tim won’t tell me unless I have the right answer.”
“You’ll get caught.”
“No way. Tim and I have a secret language.”
“Oh, no. Teen Jesus again. All the girls think Jack has ‘saved’ them. Am I the only sane person here?”
I tell Jill’s heart that I love her but think she’s insane.
Her eyes bug out. She says, ‘I’m going to eat,’ and hurries out of the room. David and I chase after her. She doesn’t want to talk about Teen Jesus.
“Are you coming to the St Paul’s Christmas party?” David asks her as we eat in Commons.
“The highlight of my Christmas break,” she’s being sarcastic.
“It’ll be the last time we see each other until New Year’s.”
“So what, now that we can all talk through our hearts, we’ll stay in ‘touch,’” she argues.
“Does it work over long distance?” David is getting into his new trusting self.
“You need to work with Jace to learn the ‘time warp,’” I tell him.
“I know about the ‘time warp,’” he gets up and sings the song from ‘Rocky Horror’ taking on the Riff Raff role
We aren’t the only ones at Commons who have seen the movie. Soon we have the whole place dancing and singing – finals craziness.
It’s time for the Calculus final. Jill insists she sit between David and me, to make sure we didn’t really cheat. Everything goes well until David has a different answer on a problem than I had worked out. Jill notes she has the same answer as David. He insists she give him the proof. I check my work and realize there are actually two correct answers. It’s great as our exam papers will differ. I used an exception rule to come up with my answer. I also write down the alternative answer, expecting extra credit. It takes us the full three hours to complete all the calculations.
It has been a busy day, two finals, a complete draft of my case study, and dancing to the time warp, again. Time for pizza. Two days to go.
The Mower boiler room is crowded that night. Students need to blow off steam while still under the stress of more finals to come. The marching band’s fanfare guys are regulars. They’re pleased to have me back. I talk about the new music scene in New York and London and how it affects the LA scene. The only awareness the band boys have about pop music is an article about the violent skinheads in England that are terrorizing the ethnic minorities who have moved into their South London neighborhoods.
“Restless youth,” I call them.
“Useless youth,” the others judge them.
“You always pick the contrarian side in any argument. What aspect of peace, love and understanding do violent skinheads represent?”
“They’re just a small part of the young people in London,” I assert, telling them about the soccer/football fans chanting song.
“Soccer hooligans,” my debater asserts.
“In New York, the musicians are older. They have clubs where their bands can play and their fans are welcome. Some English bands are bringing the New York scene back to London.”
“Leave it to the English to steal authentic roots music.”
“It’s not theft if they improve upon it. All rock music is based on the folk tradition of reinterpreting the words and music to your own times.”
“That would be Frank Sinatra.”
“Ew, lecherous old booze hound.”
“I’m living in LA now.”
“You’re not back for good?”
“I’m on work/study there. I have my own apartment.”
“Is there an LA music scene?”
“The Doors, Eagles, Jackson Browne, Linda Ronstadt; they’re the past. The Bee Gees and disco can’t quite take their place. I’m working on creating late 50’s music for a movie.”
“Gonna use your old band?”
“Naw. We’re still broken up. We will play a New Year’s party though, if you’re in Miami then.”
This is news to Jack. He actually interrupts my conversation by shooting me a heart to heart message demanding to know the plans. I tell him we’ll talk later.
“So LA’s dead?”
“The Monkeys for girls,” the trumpeter is up on pop music.
“They’re doing their own songs now. They’ve been in Japan this fall.”
“Sounds like you’ve already moved there.”
“Just for the winter. We’re scouting locations in Portland after New Year’s.”
They seem jealous of my independence.
“Come out Spring Break,” I tell them. “It’s so much fun. The work is a challenge. I’m getting credit for ECON 10 for a business school case study for Professor Feldstein. I’ve learned so much more since I left Cambridge. Harvard offers opportunities you can’t get anywhere else, even though you have to leave campus to get them.”
Later Jack is back to being pouty from not being kept up to date on my busy schedule.
“What are your plans?” I whisper in bed.
He whispers back how many different ways we can have sex.
The next day is just one final, Psychology. The main question is to describe how the subsequent psychologists, Jung, Adler, Maslow, Rogers, etc, have branched out from the father of psychology, Sigmund Freud and psychoanalysis. I dispute the professor’s claim that Freud is the originator of all psychology, citing William Shakespeare and ancient Greek paywrights as the true inspirations for examining the human psyche. I predict that Freudian psychology is dominant only on the Upper East and West sides of New York City and is fading away. I write a short coda about my experiences with Dr Kamakazi and how he blended oriental culture, Catholicism and the Oedipal complex into an effective treatment for my Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I describe the other psychologists not as Freud’s successors but originators of their own schools.
Again finishing earlier than anyone else, I use the time to type the current draft of my case study. I go to Professor Feldstein’s office north of Harvard Yard at William James, hoping to discuss my progress with the case study. He has several students waiting outside his office, looking for moral support on their upcoming ECON 10 final. I wait until he finishes with his current students, which he does in short order. I knock and stick my head in.
“I’m back for finals. Will you review the current draft of the case study you assigned? I’m hoping to get it published in the Harvard Business Review.”
“Well, you’re nothing if not ambitious. You’ll be competing for space with the current MBA students that graduate this year. Let me see this over-blown term paper.”
I hand it to him. He looks at the various sections and subheadings, nodding in agreement that I’m at least familiar with the proper format.
I’m on pins and needles, unaware that I had scholarly ambitions. Maybe it’s just my need to gain approval from father figures.
“Not bad, Castle,” He remarks halfway through. “I assume you had a grad student help you on the wording and format.”
“Just the last two days. I met a B School student who helped me a lot. He says there are very few entertainment industry case studies.”
“And why is that?” he quizzes me.
“We agreed that fitting a creative enterprise into a corporate format is constraining on the parties as well as on the case study format.”
“Think I have a shot at getting it published?”
“From what I’ve read, it is competent. Let’s go over your conclusions. That is where the money lies.”
He continues reading, specifically the merger of the National Lampoon and the media conglomerate. My role as a mole from Harvard shocks him.
“You can’t insert yourself as a major player in the actual merger process while being an unbiased observer.”
“If you describe your motives, especially the infiltration of the National Lampoon for the benefit of the Harvard Lampoon, you’ll make enemies and your reputation for future corporate work will be tainted.”
“I’m just a Harvard freshman. I doubt I’ll ever go into business.”
“But this paper is worthy of publication. You may not have any choice of a career if people recognize how organized and insightful you are. You may have found your calling.”
I’m shocked at his praise. Maybe Daddy convinced him to give me false confidence, though I doubt anyone feels I’m lacking in self-esteem.
Professor Feldstein tells me to rewrite the espionage section from a third-party point of view. He says to add Seth’s name to the case study. He will supervise it being published. I don’t even know Seth’s last name.
“Now get out of here.”
I run all the way from the Econ building to the B school, across the river. I’m out of breath when I find Seth at the library, tapping him on the shoulder.
“Should either of us continue meeting?” he’s startled to see me.
“Professor Feldstein says we should submit our case study to the Harvard Business Review.”
“Come to thank me for my help?”
“Your name should be on the paper, too.”
“Not as soon as it is for a Harvard freshman,” I laugh.
“He really liked it that much?”
“We’re brilliant, but I don’t know your last name.”
“So much for fame and fortune.”
He wants me to beg. I get on one knee and sing ‘Brotherhood of Men’ from ‘How to Succeed in Business.’
He is totally embarrassed. All his fellow B school students applaud. Some even join in for the finale
‘Oh aren’t you proud to be
In that fraternity,
The great big Brotherhood of Man?’
Music & lyrics by Frank Loesser
We are surrounded and asked if we’re getting married. Seth is mortified. I announce we were getting our case study published in the Business Review.
“Time for celebration,” someone announces.
I lead about ten B School students to ‘Noch’s and use my bank card to pay for pizza. Seth has his head down and hopes to survive with some reputation. As I’m holding forth on the details of my work/study, Seth hands me a note with his last name on it: ‘Duquette.’ He is going out the door where he runs into Jack, David, Jill and the 3D crew. They drag him back in. Surrounded by my new, older friends I yell at Jack to come over to where we’re sitting. I introduce everyone. The girls turn on the charm, while David reverts to his high school persona of bragging about himself. Seth is exposed as working with 18-year-olds. The beer gone, my new friends leave. I stay with the Mower group.
“You bought your new friends pizza and beer?” Jack is giving me the fifth degree.
“Yeah. I have a bank card now,” as I pull out my ATM card.
“Our sugar daddy has been upstaged,” Minehan observes, the king of upstaging his musical rivals. Jill tells me to console our previous benefactor. I give her my bank card and join Jack.
“You’re jealous I have a bank card? I’m working now. It’s normal. I don’t want to make you sad. Be happy for me. You set my apartment up with your generosity. Let’s forget about Christmas and go back to Hollywood. You’ll love it there.”
“We still have one final to go. Then the Christmas pageant, followed by shopping in the City, Christmas with our families, and a show on New Years Eve at Michael’s. We can’t just run off to Hollywood.”
“You make it sound so dull and drab.”
“You don’t pay any attention to me. I was so looking forward to being together. Now you have all these new grad student friends.”
He goes on about his miserable life. Jace and I are banging on his heart, but he has locked us out. What to do? I know, sing a song. I chose McCartney’s Wings’ ‘Let ‘em In’
Pizzas are ready. Life goes on. I stay with Jack the rest of the night. He calms down. I exhort him to think about the Christmas Pageant at St Paul’s. He thinks it’s only a party to celebrate the end of finals. We have to praise the boys choir and their newly formed rock band.
Jill comes over to discuss the upcoming Religion final. They have sample questions that seem to view religion from a historical point of view. We are expected to know the dates and particulars of recent (last 500 years, the modern age) eras – the Inquisition, the Reformation, the Enlightenment, Transcendentalism, and Existentialism.
“So far, each final has surprised us. What we prepared for has not been on the finals,” she complains. “I assume we’ll be surprised again tomorrow.”
“Well, we’re well versed in the historical record. We’ll just have to draw on that history to answer the questions,” Jack asserts.
“Great, first he teaches the Bible as literature and now treats the Church as history. Where is Professor Rhinehart’s belief?” I complain, thinking how it doesn’t matter to me; Teen Jesus plans to boycott the final.
“You can’t do that,” Jill has been reading my mind. I had set myself up for a Mower Inquisition.
“What are you planning?” Jack demands.
“If you’d let me in, you’d know,” I challenge him. He refuses to bite.
“He’s going to turn in a blue book with only the words, ‘ You lack faith’ and sign it ‘Teen Jesus,'” Jill exposes my intentions.
“Oh, Tim. That is so immature.”
“I don’t need the credits. I’ll be a sophomore next semester regardless,” I explain.
“You can’t pull off a silent protest. It’s useless,” Jack argues.
“We can sing John Lennon’s ‘Imagine.’ ‘Imagine no religion, a brotherhood of man,’ I sing
“John sang with us at St Patrick’s,” Jack brags.
“How ironic. You’re on a first name basis now?”
“Professor Rhinehart isn’t that bad. I actually enjoy his class,” Jack admits.
“Harvard was founded as a theological college. Now they teach anti-religion.”
“Time changes things. It is a secular world now.”
“Just take the exam. Your ideas are original. Let him know what you think. Not answering his questions won’t change anything.”
I refuse to pout. “Okay, but don’t expect me to support his muddled beliefs.”
We finish our pizza. So much for celebrating B School success.
We encourage David to stay with Carol as late as she allows, to give us time alone together in our shared room. Based on prior evenings I figure we have about thirty minutes to work out our horniness. Jack’s pouting is a result of the lack of alone time with me. After David leaves, we’re on a mission to get in as many orgasms as possible. He quickly gets off as we struggle out of our clothes and wrangle dueling dicks. It’s my turn to fuck him as I haven’t cum. We go back and forth, until I’ve cum twice and he’s satisfied. We are laying in bed talking when Minehan sticks his head inside the door.
“No pretendin’ to be so innocent in bed together, the odor of teen spirit gives you away.” He runs to open the window. A blast of New England winter causes Jack and me to burrow under the blankets.
“You boys are sick,” David complains.
“When are you going to seal the deal with Carol so we can have our room back to ourselves,” Jack complains.
“Oh, I’ll seal the deal alright. Just don’t expect me to move out. Her roommate will never let me stay up there.”