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
she 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!”
The room was bathed in fanned rays of yellow light, the glare of the