bandit.txt
                PROLOGUE: It has a mind of its own

Late winter 1982

        The room was bathed in fanned rays of yellow light, the glare of the 
streetlight outside the window only partially shuttered out by the Venetian
blinds. It wasn't a terribly cluttered or fancy room; bunk bed at one end, 
desk at the other, two closets and chests of drawers, mirror, and bookshelves.
The walls were grey cinderblock, and the floor was institutional brown tile, a 
choice of a practical rather than esthetic nature. But that wasn't to say that
the room had no character; far from it. It wasn't easy for a lowly teenager to 
make a dent in the Establishment's effort to create anonymous conformity, but 
it could be done. The center of the floor was covered by a huge Persian rug, 
and the walls were adorned with Roger Dean landscapes: here an ethereal stone 
staircase over a cloudy sky, there a desert island floating in the clouds, and 
over there a huge mesa, a lake at its top, sheeting down water on all sides. 
And there weren't many other rooms in the building that would have had 
furniture like that next to the desk: a keyboard stand with a small 
synthesizer, a pair of boxy guitar amps, a beautiful old Les Paul on a stand, 
and a hideously-customized old Rickenbacker bass beside it, a sort of 
"American Gothic" with guitars instead of the old farmer and his wife. 
        The bunk bed was occupied, top and bottom, and gentle breathing could
be heard from both of the beds. Up top, two bodies were intertwined under the
thick blanket, sleeping the sleep of the beloved. Down below, a single body
was stretched out and gently snoring, head thrown back on the thick pillow,
arms and legs akimbo. Suddenly, a tiny rustling motion came from beneath the 
blanket on the lower bunk. A small, moving lump appeared under the blanket, 
slowly and laboriously moving across to the edge of the bed. At the edge, it 
hesitated, trembling, then cautiously nosed out from under the covers.
        The Bandit's penis was going exploring.
        It looked to the left and right, carefully sniffing the air for 
anything out of the ordinary and listening for any strange sound that might 
mean trouble. Satisfied at last, it gathered itself carefully, and jumped 
lightly down onto the carpet, glans first. It was an undignified way to land, 
that was for certain, but it knew from experience that it was a hell of a lot 
nicer than landing on its balls. It scrambled upright and immediately scurried 
to the protection of the bass on its stand, in case someone might see it. It 
paused for a minute or two, waiting anxiously for that fatal gasp or scream in 
the darkness. None came.
        Relieved, the Bandit's penis began to explore its surroundings in 
somewhat greater comfort. It paused to lovingly stroke the bottom of the bass 
with its head, luxuriating in the feel of the cool, smooth lacquered wood 
against its skin. God, it loved that instrument! It always wished that the 
Bandit would play it naked one of these days, so it could feel the bass's body 
resonating against it without the Bandit's thrice-damned pants in the way. The 
insistent throb of the deep, powerful notes was so erotic, and there it was, 
stuffed into a pair of BVDs while the Bandit got to have all the fun! 
Sometimes life just wasn't fair.
        The Les Paul was nearby, gleaming black in the night. The Bandit's 
penis gazed up at it a bit fearfully, and wondered if Zero's penis felt the 
same way about the guitar that it did about the bass. It would have to ask,
someday, but frankly it doubted if it had the courage to put forth the
question. The Bandit's penis was terrified of Zero's. So was every other penis
in the building. Or anywhere else on the campus, for that matter. The Bandit's
penis shivered at the thought of meeting it out here in the dark.... 
        The penis looked up at the synthesizer, and wondered at the flat black 
metal of its base. It was a strange one, that box. It shrieked, moaned, wailed 
and thundered. A lot like Diva when she was coming, actually. The Bandit's 
penis chuckled at that one; Diva made him laugh more often than not. 
        Diva. The Bandit's penis turned around and squinted up through the dim 
light at the upper bunk. There, perilously near the edge, was a blanketed 
back, wide and gently curved, and a generous pair of buttocks clearly outlined 
beneath the fabric. Zero was a lucky guy, that was for sure. She was smart,
talented, friendly...well, to most people. The Bandit's penis shrank a bit as 
he thought of the looks Diva gave the Bandit. Why doesn't she like him, it 
wondered. He sure likes her well enough. Hmm, maybe that's the problem. Well, 
it's not my place to advise him on such things. Onward!
        The Bandit's penis sauntered under the music stand, and clambered into 
the closet. There was the Bandit's old laundry bag, smelling of sweat, and 
dirt, and.... Suddenly the penis stopped, stiffening, and sniffed deeply at
the bag. Good Lord above, it thought, there's a pair of panties in there! Now
who in the heck-- 
        Oh. Right. Silly of me. 
        The Bandit's penis wilted completely and slumped into a dejected heap.
Oh, damn, it wailed, why'd I have to find those? She probably put them in 
there to be cleaned, the last night they slept together, and he hasn't given 
them back yet. Damn! 
        It thought miserably of the wonderful warm nights through the winter 
that the Bandit had spent with Teenie, before she'd broken up with him and 
left him alone and cold and miserable and horny and frustrated and.... it 
could remember every inch of her, her long lustrous black hair with the 
glorious red highlights that took her forever to comb, her wonderful firm lips
that the Bandit wasn't allowed to kiss too hard because she'd be too sore to
play the clarinet, her beautiful breasts with their rosy-pink nipples and 
virtually nothing else to them, her slim, tight torso with the razor-sharp hip 
bones, her-- The Bandit's penis sat up again. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing 
that she left after all, it decided. The Bandit can do better. I hope.
        It hopped down from the closet and waddled comically along the wall, 
past the dressers and mirror and back toward the bed. Ah, it's wonderful to 
get out and about in the cool and quiet of night! Pity the poor female, whose 
privates never get out to see the world and get a bit of exercise. It did a 
few somersaults, just for fun, and rolled over to the foot of the bed. The 
first faint light of the rising sun was starting to tinge the stark yellow of 
the lights outside, and it glanced at the luminous dial of the alarm clock 
nearby to see what time it was.
        It read 6:57.
        The Bandit's penis was glad it didn't have any vocal cords, because it 
would've screamed blue murder right then. Three minutes to seven? Dear GOD!
        Frantically it waddled over to the end of the bed, cursing the pain in 
its balls. A lot like walking on sore feet, it supposed. Really sore feet, 
that is. The bedclothes were loose and dangling almost to the floor, as usual; 
fortunately the Bandit was a pretty sloppy hand at making beds. It strained 
upward, and just managed to hook itself in the little cusp of the partially- 
tucked blanket. With a mighty heave, it levered itself up to the level of the 
matress. For a split second, it lost its balance, and teetered on the edge of 
the bed, visions of a long fall right onto its balls playing grotesquely in 
its terrified imagination, but it recovered itself with a desperate lunge and 
lay panting for a few moments. The lump under the covers quickly shuffled up 
the length of the bed, between the sprawlingly spread legs, and stopped.
        For perhaps a half minute, all was still.
        Then the alarm clock began to blare heavy metal music at an ungodly 
volume, silenced a moment later by a groggily-aimed fist smashing down on the 
SNOOZE button. The Bandit remained frozen in midreach for a moment, body half 
raised from the matress, then collapsed back into bed.
        Above him, he heard a moan, a light kiss, indecipherable whispers.
Then a pair of shapely legs appeared over the edge of the bed, followed by a 
meaty but well-rounded pair of buttocks, demurely clad in purple panties. With 
a graceless thump, Diva dropped to the carpet and hastily began to dress. She 
didn't turn around; the Bandit was watching her, and she knew he was watching 
her, and what was worst, HE knew that she knew that he was watching her and 
that wasn't stopping him. 
        Another pair of legs, much skinnier and covered with hair, appeared at 
the foot of the bed, and ingerly turned around, hunting for footing. Zero 
climbed down to floor level, muttering, "Morning, Bandit. Sleep well?"
        "No," the Bandit responded. "Not at all." He scratched his groin and 
swung his legs out from under the covers, smacking his lips distastefully at 
the awful layer of perdition in his mouth. He blinked, trying to remember the 
fragments of something very near, yet too nebulous to touch.
        "I'm never going to sleep on a full stomach again," he vowed wearily.
"Pizza with mushrooms and onions gives you the WEIRDEST dreams!"


                PART ONE: some introductions

Late January 1982

        "I don't want to start like that. And again...two, three, four...."
        "Hold it, HOLD IT!" The Bandit held up a hand and waved frantically, 
making disgusted faces. Zero raised an eyebrow at the spastic diplay, but 
willingly shut off the tape recorder.
        "Something the matter?"
        "YES, God damn your oversized beak!" The Bandit glared furiously at 
Zero, fists on hips.
        Zero selfconsciously rubbed the bridge of his nose, which was quite 
frankly a tremendously outsized appendage for the face upon which it rested, a 
bit of Cherokee ancestry that wouldn't have been out of place on a nickel.
        "What is it? And calm down, you look like you're about to explode."
        "You promised me NO cliches and NO stuff stolen from other people!"
        "Well, of course not," Zero replied, looking hurt. "But we haven't 
even started playing yet...."
        "You know damn well what I mean!" The Bandit rewound the tape, still 
glaring at Zero. "That 'I don't wanna start like that' line is straight off of 
a Robert Fripp song! Now, NO FRIPP!"
        "It is? Oh, so it is." Zero scratched his head and smiled sheepishly.
"It's from the prologue of his first album, isn't it? The one that leads 
into--"
        "No, don't start! DON'T START! Or you'll set me off and we won't get 
ANYTHING recorded!" The Bandit waved him to silence. Zero grinned at him, and 
began to play a lightning series of guitar chords, his hands moving in an 
inhuman blur. The Bandit was reaching to turn off the amp, when the door 
opened and Diva stuck her head in.
        "What on Earth are you two DOING?"
        The Bandit stopped dead in his tracks, his scowl deepening. One thing 
I don't need right now, he thought grimly, is the Diva on my case. As Zero 
came to the turnaround, the Bandit kicked in the drumbox at an earshattering 
volume, and spun around to face her with a wide grin as he joined Zero in the 
song. To hell with composing, he thought gleefully. I'd rather torture Diva 
any day!

        "You burn me up, I'm a Cigarette,
        Take hold of my hand and I begin to sweat
        You make me nervous, oo woo, I'm nervous
        This must be real bad karma for this to be my dharma
        With you-woo-woo...."

        Diva looked irritable, as she always did when the Bandit ever said 
anything to her, and began to back out of the room. Suddenly another face 
appeared behind hers, blocking the way as she tried to look into the room.
Twink, trying to be heard over the din, cried, "What's the name of--"
        The Bandit's gorge catapulted into his throat at the sight of her, and 
his grin turned demonic as he aimed the next verse down her throat like a 
whaling gaff.

        "You burn me up I'm a cigarette,
        Life with you is a losing bet
        You drive me crazy, eeyow, I'm going CRAZY!
        Musical elation is my only consolation
        From you-woo-woo!"

        Twink bit her lip and backed off, reddening, and Diva hustled out of 
the room behind her, the slamming door unnoticed in the chorus.

        "Strategic interaction irreducible fraction
        Terminal inaction from a bitter hostile faction
        I'm getting anxious
        I'm FRANXIOUS
        Transactional diseases are the only thing that pleases We...."

        It took another verse or two for the song to wind down, by which time 
the pounding on the door was enough to wake the dead. The Bandit was laughing 
like a lunatic, and Zero's normally placid smile was a good deal wider than it 
should have been, as they set down their instruments and opened the door.
        "Eeee, yessssss?" The Bandit asked, opening the door and batting his 
eyelashes like Bugs Bunny in drag.
        Conan gave the Bandit a big grin, and said, "Quiet or I'll kill you."
He flexed every muscle in his magnificent torso for emphasis. The Bandit,
who'd seen it all before, just yawned. 
        "Oh, hello, Conan," Zero volunteered. "Come to sit in?"
        "I've come to squash you both like rotten grapes beneath my feet," 
Conan replied goodnaturedly. "Either you turn it down to a civilized level or 
you get forcefed your guitars." 
        "Some people are so touchy," The Bandit lamented.
        "It's our punishment for rooming with heathen," Zero agreed. "What do 
they know about art, anyway?" He turned off the beatbox and the amp, sighing.
        Mollified, Conan turned on his heel and stalked back across the living
room to the other double bedroom in the quad. He gingerly stepped over Starch,
Lanky, Plaids, and Mimosa, who were sitting and listening raptly to the
Rainbow Wizard, who was holding forth from his beanbag chair with one arm
gently caressing the smooth curve of Mary Magdalene's hip. As he shut the
door, the Rainbow Wizard called after him, "Thanks for quieting them down, 
Conan. We couldn't hear ourselves think."
        "I didn't shut them up for your sake," Conan replied easily. "I need 
to get some sleep before the graveyard shift." His door slammed.
        "Most people CAN'T hear themselves think, Wiz," the Bandit said, his 
appetite for music suddenly gone. "Just because *you* can, don't assume that 
it's vital to everyone else. Besides, who wants to listen to grinding gears 
anyway?"
        "That's unnecessary!" Lanky said indignantly, sweeping a long trail of 
black hair out of his eyes, his neckbell jingling as he moved.
        "I just got finished *saying* that," the Bandit retorted. "Especially 
when he can *smell* himself think at the same time! Peeyew! I nearly called 
the Fire Department; it smelled like a short in the stereo!"
        Zero made it a point never to get involved in the wrangling between 
the Bandit and the Wiz, but he knew when points were scored. He let his smile 
widen a bit, which was a real outpouring of emotion for him. Mary Magdalene 
actually smiled, though, and *that* was a major tactical victory for the
Bandit. 
        The Bandit saw the smile, and nodded, hastily reaching for his coat.
"Let's call it quits for a bit, Zero; it's getting way too stupid for me in 
here."
        "Right behind you, kemosabe," Zero replied, fetching his coat and 
scarf from the closet. 
        The Rainbow Wizard sighed loudly, half in anger at the Bandit's
attitude, half in relief in getting him out of his hair for a while, but Lanky
wasn't letting the Bandit get off that easily. "You ought to try listening
rather than poking fun once in a while, Bandit. You might learn something.
Wouldn't that be a shame?" 
        "Every Messiah needs his Antichrist, Lanky m'boy," the Bandit said 
gaily, zipping up his jacket. "Otherwise, who'd the Faithful have to blame 
for their troubles?" He turned and headed out the door, Zero behind him.
        "Bandit?"
        The low, throbbing voice grabbed him by the crotch and did its best to 
spin him around and pull him back, penis first. The Bandit's back was turned 
to the others, so nobody saw the flash of emotion in his face. Was it anger, 
fear, or just lust? 
        He turned around casually, his face a neutral mask. "Yo?"
        Mary Magdalene gave him her best smile, asking, "Don't you wear the 
neckbell I gave you? Even Zero and Diva wear theirs...."
        The Bandit looked sidelong at Zero, and gave him a poke in the chest.
No jingle, however muffled, answered the poke. "They do?"
        Zero smiled at Mary Magdalene and said softly, "We keep ours at Diva's 
place. No real use in wearing them around here."
        "But a neckbell is meant to be worn, and to be used, when you feel 
lonely or left out!" Mary Magdalene jingled hers lightly, and was instantly 
rewarded with a kiss from the Rainbow Wizard.
        "Not a problem," Zero said mildly.
        "Don't feel badly, Mary-Mag," the Bandit said with a raffish grin. "I 
wear mine all the time. See?" He reached under his coat and hauled out the 
tiny brass neckbell on its braided chain. He shook it gently.
        It didn't make a sound.
        The Bandit grinned at her look of confusion, and said, "I pulled out 
the clapper. 'Bye, now!" The door slammed on five shocked looks.
        "Ain't I a stinker?" The Bandit grinned.
        "The absolute pits, kemosabe," Zero agreed. "That was *really* low."
        The pair bundled up as they walked down the hall to the stairwell, and 
down the few steps to the side door. "It was worth it," the Bandit said, 
straightening his beret. "The look on that pompous shit's face...."
        "You really hurt Mary Magdalene's feelings, though," Zero reminded 
him. "The Wiz wasn't the one who gave you that bell; *she* was."
        "For her cold borscht my heart bleeds," the Bandit growled. "If the 
world depended on my concern for her feelings, Ronnie would've dropped the 
bomb on Andropov already."
        "Oh, really," Zero said mildly. "And what happened to all that stuff 
about 'God, she's beautiful' and 'I wish she'd at least pay attention to me' 
and so on and so forth?"
        "Past history," the Bandit replied with ice in his voice. "I met her 
two years ago, before either you or the Wiz started here, and I will freely 
admit that she knocked me flat on my ass. But she ended up getting into this
soulmate stuff with the Wiz before I had a chance with her, and for that I owe
him a big debt of gratitude." 
        "You? Owe the Wizard *anything*? Why, for Set's sake?"
        "Because in rooming with the Wiz, which seemed like a damned good idea 
at the time, please forgive me--"
        "Long since forgiven. Say on."
        "--I had a chance to see what's going on inside her head. Man, it is 
*scary* in there!"
        "There are crazier people in Arcadia, Bandit."
        "I'm not so sure. That woman's in her own little fairy kingdom!" 
        The hard-packed snow crunched under their boots as they made their way 
across the gleaming white expanses of the Eastern Quadrangle, past the Virgin 
Vault, the Roach Motel, and the Lovepile. Up ahead, Scum Central was already 
surrounded by a growing crowd of students, filing in for dinner.
        "Don't worry your pointed little skull about it, Zero," the Bandit 
said mildly, kicking the snow from his boots and shivering as he stepped 
across the threshold. "I'm leaving well enough alo--HEY! TEENIE!"
        The skinny young girl by the coat rack looked up like a frightened 
deer, terror in her eyes. She took a half step back as the Bandit came over to 
her, smiling.
        "H--hi, Bandit." Her voice was a dry whisper.
        "Hello, sweetheart. Just going in to dinner?"
        "Just coming out." She grabbed her coat from the rack, and shouldered 
into it hastily. "I have to get over to the rehearsal hall...."
        "Hey, hold on a second!" The Bandit's forearm came up, barring her 
escape. "You've been avoiding me every chance you've had for nearly a month 
now. When you said you didn't want to see me any more, I let you go with no 
questions asked, and frankly I have been *miserable* since then. I love you 
and I miss you! Couldn't you at least give me an explanation?"
        "Just leave me alone." Teenie pushed past him, not meeting his eyes.
He watched her hurry into the snow, his eyes tortured.
        Zero, who'd been standing nearby, shook his head. "Bad karma, bro'."
        "No shit," the Bandit muttered, his eyes still on the doorway. "What 
the hell's got her so spooked?"
        "No clue," Zero said mildly, doffing his coat. 
        "Multitudinous thanks for essentially nada," the Bandit snapped.
        "Mellow out. You'll be so wound up we won't be able to play after 
dinner. Just calm down and relax, okay?"
        The Bandit glared at Zero for a moment, then sighed, his expression 
softening. "Yeah, okay. You're right." He walked over to the entryway and ran 
his data card through the debit machine, then took a place in the food line.
"It could be worse," he said philosophically. "I could have to eat with--"
        "HEEYOW! ZERO THE GUITAR HERO AND THE DREADED BANDIT!"
        The yell split the calm murmur in the cafeteria like a knife. Zero 
winced, and the Bandit rolled his eyes, finishing his sentence.
        "--Livewire."
        A curly-headed spring of raw energy uncoiled itself in a long leap 
over the decorative planters dividing the line from the eating area. One 
trailing foot caught the edge of a planter, toppling it and scattering dirt 
across a wide swath of carpet. Livewire didn't even look behind him as the 
plant hit the floor with a rustling crash, his grin from ear to ear as he gave 
first Zero, then the Bandit, a food-spilling whack on the back.
        "Heyyy, how you guys doin, nice to see ya, listen, I got us a big
table over in the corner with lotsa seats, look for us over there it'll be a
kick, see you soon gotta get back my burger's getting cold, hurry it up!" 
        Another leap and he was gone. Zero shook his head in awe. "What a 
marvelous human being," he said with a smile. "Utterly untroubled by anything 
resembling common sense. It's a miracle he's survived to adolescence!"
        "Be still my heart," the Bandit sighed. "More indigestion tonight."
        "Hey! Bandit?"
        The Bandit winced at the familiar voice, then plastered on a smile as 
Twink came over, a glass of something in her hand. The Bandit glanced at it. 
Milk. Just plain old white milk. Typical.
        "Need a place to sit? I'd just love your company," Twink cooed, her 
voice a poor imitation of Mary Magdalene's. "It'll give you a chance to make 
up for how rude you were over at the dorm." She tossed her blonde hair out of 
her eyes and gave him what she must have thought was a demure look, but came 
off more like a cartoon caricature of a whore's leer.
        The Bandit's speech centers suffered a severe lockup as eighteen 
suitable rejoinders arrived at his larynx simultaneously and shorted each 
other out, and he glared at her. 
        Then, suddenly, he smiled.
        "You wouldn't happen to be sitting with Livewire, would you?"
        She smiled brightly at his softened tone. "No! I'm all alone by 
myself. But if you want, we could move over there! Livewire's there, with Diva 
and Bone and Thunder and--"
        "No, that's all right," the Bandit said hastily. "I'd *love* a nice, 
quiet meal with you. You go on ahead, Zero; I'll see you after dinner."
        Zero looked at him, then at Twink, then over at the waiting delights 
of the corner table, where Bone and Thunder were joking with Livewire, and 
Diva was casting him pleading looks. He shrugged. "Okay."
        "Great! This way," Twink said, leading the Bandit to a small table for 
two in the Annex, her hips weaving from side to side in a carefully practiced 
imitation of Diva's sexy wiggle. 
        He found himself eyeing the shift and ripple of her buttocks as she 
walked, and shook his head violently. If the Ultimate Ditz is giving you a 
hard-on, kid, he told himself grimly, then you are in BAD shape.


                PART TWO: Various bedtimes

Early February 1982

        The Bandit rubbed his eyes and put down the book, tucking his pen in 
it for a bookmark. He sighed gustily and looked at the closed door to the 
living room. Muffled sounds of conversation were coming from outside, 
interspersed with shouts of raucous laughter: Conan, having some fun at the 
expense of one of the Wiz's folks, no doubt. There was no sign of Zero; it was 
becoming obvious that he'd be spending tonight in Diva's room. Bummer.
        On impulse, the Bandit walked swiftly to his cassette rack and 
withdrew an album that he almost never played any more. He popped it into the 
deck, pulled on his headphones, and began to disrobe.

        "Oh very young, what will you leave us this time?
        You're only dancing on this Earth for a short while,
        And though your dreams may toss and turn you now...."

        "Come to bed, liebchen," Diva smiled, stretching out languidly on the 
narrow mattress. Her body wasn't a pin-up artist's wet dream by any means: a 
bit heavy in the hips and thighs, just a hint of a double chin. But her heavy
breasts and sinuous torso had an appeal all their own, as did the tawny patch 
of hair just above her swollen labia. 
        She licked her lips. "I'm thirsty."
        Zero smiled at her as he undid the buckle on his belt and dropped his 
pants to the floor. His straining underwear was stretched even more out of 
shape than usual, and he walked over to her and waved the huge bulge in front 
of her as he unbuttoned his shirt. "I can go get you a glass of water from the 
bathroom," he offered politely. "Or did you have something else in mind?"
        "Hmmmm...." She rolled over onto her side, facing him and propping up 
her head on one elbow. She licked her lips again, reaching out with her free 
hand and giving the waistband of his underpants a tiny tug. The huge, 
throbbing mass under the cloth shifted position and tried frantically to 
escape, but didn't quite make it. She laughed lightly at the spectacle, and 
ran a caressing hand over the scarcely-covered testicles, weighing them 
gently. With another gentle tug, she finally pulled the waistband over the 
tremendous obstruction keeping his underwear on, and the pants fell to the 
ground. 
        Zero's penis was a terrifying club of throbbing meat dangling in her 
face, as big around as a kolbassi and nearly ten inches long. It was the kind 
of penis one tended to see in porn flicks, the sort of equipment that always 
seemed to belong to the men submitting their life histories to the Penthouse 
Forum. Most of the men who saw it coming out of the shower or in the locker 
room turned pale and got very quiet, suddenly selfconscious. Even Conan, who 
was put together like a stunt double for Arnold Schwarzenegger, said of it, 
"All that meat on that skinny little guy.... it's just not fair! He probably 
can't even manage a hard-on without passing out!"
        That obviously wasn't the case, as Diva could readily attest. It was 
true, the weight of the organ was such that it never stood up at more than a 
horizontal position even when fully hard, but that didn't matter to her. All 
that mattered was where it went, and what it did when it got there. She stuck 
her tongue out as far as it would go, and licked the underside of the shaft, 
from the base to the tip of the swollen purple glans, and smacked her lips 
delightedly. "Finger me," she said, "Finger me while I suck you dry."
        Zero slid a teasing hand down the length of her belly and over her 
pubic mound, searching for her clitoris. It was already oozing and swollen as 
he touched it; there was no question but that she'd been playing with it 
already before he'd gotten in. She was in no mood to waste time that night, he 
decided, and proceeded to slide two fingers into her slick crack as deeply as 
they could go. Diva grunted loudly, gently caught the huge head of the bobbing 
member between her parted lips, and teased the slit with the tip of her 
tongue, tasting the sticky pre-come there. His fingers were finishing her work 
of the past three hours, and she felt her orgasm surging up in her like a wave 
of molten lead. She smiled around the huge knob between her lips, looked up at 
Zero with wide blue eyes like a child asking for praise, and inhaled sharply.
        It had taken months of practice with dildoes, but she'd learned to 
relax her throat muscles and take his entire penis down her throat without 
gagging, a trick none of his old girlfriends could ever have matched. It made 
him her slave; he couldn't say no to her loving mouth, and the fact that the 
act made him seem the dominant one only put a touch of kink in the total 
control she exercised. But tonight she was too close to coming to bother with 
teasing him. Her strong inhalation sucked the entire pulsing member into her 
waiting mouth and down her throat, all the way down to the base. She heaved up 
on the bed, hands on his buttocks, scrotum flapping rhythmically against her 
dripping chin, and tried her best to swallow his penis whole. And when she 
felt him hit bottom, she began to hum.
        That was all it took. Zero groaned and his legs shook as he dumped a 
huge load of semen directly into her stomach, and her humming turned into a 
confused series of muffled screams and gagging noises as she came all over his 
hand, the warm flow of liquid in her belly sending her over the edge. Zero, 
unable to endure the excess of stimulation, pulled his shaft from her mouth, 
and she coughed up a thin stream of semen after it, a grey line that trickled 
down her chin and onto her breast. She grabbed the still-rigid rod and pulled 
as hard as she could, milking more fluid from it as she pulled him down atop 
her and tried to feed his length into her sopping vagina.

        "Now that I've lost everything to you,
        You say you want to start something new,
        And it's breaking my heart, you're leaving,
        And baby I'm grieving...."

        Teenie stared at the ceiling in the darkness, arms at her sides, legs 
tightly together. I wonder where he is tonight, she thought. Is he lonely? 
Does he miss me? Or will he just haul out one of those disgusting magazines 
from under the bed and pull on himself until he forgets about me? Probably. 
That miserable son of a bitch. I did the right thing, leaving him.
        She rolled over and looked out the window at the drifting snow. It had 
been snowing heavily for nearly a week now, and there was more to come. She 
shivered. It was cold, even under her blankets. She frowned; it hadn't always 
been this cold at night. But of course not; she'd had him in bed with her 
then, cradling her in his arms and saying how he'd loved her....
        "Not tonight, Bandit. Please?"
        "Sure, sweetheart. Not if you don't want to. Sleep well."
        And that was all. No nasty hints, no pleas, no angry words or threats. 
And later that night, when she was drifting in and out of sleep, she 
remembered the sudden splash of something warm on her back, the gentle hand 
that wiped away the stain, the kiss on her shoulder blade. He'd gotten what he 
wanted anyway. He always did.
        "I don't miss him." She said it out loud to the dark. "He used me as a 
sex object. I don't need him. The Rainbow Wizard was right. He just uses 
people, and throws them away. I'm better off alone now. I am...."
        She rolled over again, and started suddenly to find a furtive hand 
betwen her thighs. Angrily she moved her hand elsewhere, and firmly shut her 
eyes. I'll say twenty Hail Marys tomorrow, she decided, and go to Confession.

        "Oh, I can't keep it in,
        I can't keep it in I gotta let it out,
        I gotta show the world, world's gotta see,
        See all the love, love that's in me...."

        Livewire staggered through the snow, singing to off-key to himself. 
His breath was thick with beer and vomit, and the front of his parka was 
stained. He fell forward into the snow and lay there, panting.
        I gotta get up. My face is cold, I got snow down my pants, man, that 
really sucks serious dick. Shit. I'm tired. Maybe I should take a nap or some 
shit, just rest a minute. I'll get up in a second. I'll count to three. I'll 
count to ten. I'll count to three. One. two-- 
        "Whugghh," he said, scrambling to hands and knees and heaving beer and 
half-digested hamburgers into the snow. He wiped his mouth with one hand and 
got to his feet, weaving. Up ahead, through the snow, he could barely make out 
the front of the Eastern Habitat. He stumbled forward wearily, one hand 
outstretched before him. There were the front doors, up ahead, and there were 
the steps, and there-- he unconsciously counted up four floors and over two 
windows-- was HER window. SHE was asleep, looked like. Or she was fucking some 
football player or some shit up there. Yeah! Fucking some football player 
while he was stuck out here in the cold! Mother FUCKER!
        "MOTHER FUCKER! YOU BITCH! I HATE YOU! I HOPE YOU DIEEEEEEEE---"
        Livewire went face down into the snow again, retching. At long last, 
the last of the beer gone, he crawled up the steps and onto the porch. He got 
one hand onto the door handle, and pulled feebly. The door hadn't latched 
properly when the last resident had come in, and so it opened with a click. He 
pulled himself inside, smiled happily at the warmth of the air as the door 
shut and locked behind him, and finally, mercifully, passed out.

        "Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning,
        Born of the one Light Eden saw play...."

        The Rainbow Wizard held Mary Magdalene in his lap, gently bouncing her 
up and down, up and down. Her smooth, wet pussy alternately clasped and 
released his manhood, and he gently suckled on her breast as she threw her 
head back and sighed in utter ecstasy. 
        "I love you."
        "I love you."
        "I love you."
        "I love you."
        Their whispers were a litany of love under the ceiling poster of
astrological signs that served as a canopy for Mary Magdalene's bed. Unicorns
adorned every wall, and posters of fantasy heroes with swords and bloodied
shields hung on the door and beneath the window. A quartz crystal dangled
before the single lit candle in the room, casting multiple sparks of rainbow
light over the two intertwined bodies. 
        "I love you."
        "I love you."
        "I love you."
        "I love you."
        Over and over again, the words were repeated, chewed into meaningless
mantric syllables as the surges of sexual release ebbed and flowed forward,
surged up and receded, never allowing release, again and again and again.... 
        "I love you."
        "I love you."
        "I love you."
        "I love you."
        Mary Magdalene felt the beginnings of his orgasm, the tightening in 
his legs, the swelling in his loins, the thin sheen of sweat on his face. She 
smiled at his expression, glad of his joy, and began to accelerate her 
thrusts.
        "I LOVE you!"
        "I LOVE you!"
        "I LOVE you!"
        "I LOVE you!"
        Suddenly he tensed, his legs splaying outward, and gasped as his seed 
filled her to the brim and overflowed, sweet, sticky, glowing faintly in the 
dim light. The hot fluid scalded her insides, bringing on a sudden orgasm for 
her as well, swift, sharp as a dagger, and as suddenly gone.
        "I--ugh--LOVE YOU!"
        "UH! AH! I LOVE YOUUUUUUU....."
        She fell forward across him, her carpet of black hair extinguishing 
the candle, and kissed the long scar from his collarbone to his groin as he 
fell into a deep sleep. Lovingly, with a worshiper's care, she lapped up the 
softly glowing semen from his shrinking penis, licking it clean, then snuggled 
up against him in the darkness. Her final whisper was a benediction.
        "I love you...."

        "Now that I've passed your test,
        How could I lie to you baby, I'll never make you sad...."

        Twink laughed merrily, clutching her sides and rolling on the floor at 
Conan's latest joke. Of course, she hadn't "gotten" it, at least she she 
didn't think she had, but she'd learned it was safer to pretend. When she 
asked what things meant, people always groaned and looked funny at her, and 
that was no fun at all.
        Wiping her eyes, she got to her feet, and said, "Oh, Conan, that was a 
scream! I love hearing your jokes."
        "Great," Conan grinned, knowing damn well that she was trying to hide 
the fact that she was totally clueless. God damn, what a total airhead! How 
could anyone get as far as she did without learning *something* about what was 
what, anyway?
        "Is the Bandit coming back soon?" She phrased the question as casually 
as she could.
        "He's already asleep," Conan replied, inclining his head toward the 
closed door to the room the Bandit shared with Zero. 
        "Oh!" Twink got up hastily, smoothing the skirt of her nightdress. 
"Then I guess I should be going; I just wanted to talk to him, that's why I 
came down here...."
        "Well, there's me. Why don't you stick around for a while?" Conan 
smiled winningly and stretched, flexing his muscles.
        Twink looked into his eyes, her smile a frozen mask. She was 
remembering the last time she'd stayed around with Conan to wait for the 
Bandit: the dark, sweaty room, the awful, awful....THING stretching her poor 
mouth out of shape, the taste of mucus and something else, his voice: "Don't 
use your teeth, you stupid bitch! SUCK on it, don't try to chew it up!"
        "Thanks," she said with feeling, "But I'd die first." She cast one 
longing look at the shut door keeping her from the Bandit, and fled into the 
hallway.
        Conan watched her leave, sighing. Women, he thought to himself. What a 
fucked-up species. He opened the door to his half of the quad, and noted that 
neither the Rainbow Wizard nor Mary Magdalene was anywhere to be found. He 
sighed again. Well, he thought, dropping his pants, at least I can beat off 
without having to listen to them whisper sweet nothings to each other all 
night. Now where'd I leave that copy of Hustler?

        "Another Saturday night, and I ain't got nobody,
        I got some money 'cause I just got paid,
        How I wish I had someone to talk to,
        I'm in an awful way."

        The Bandit pulled off the headphones angrily and hurled them across 
the room. "Fuck that shit," he muttered, rolling over and closing his eyes. 
        Across the room, the cassette deck finished playing the album in a 
soft whir, and calmly shut itself off.