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!”
PART 1:
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.