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From: Nick Scipio <nick_scipio@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Summer Camp - Book 3" by Nick Scipio - Ch 30 (MF, teen, oral, anal, voy, exhib)
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Date: Wed, 05 Oct 2005 17:10:04 -0400
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Author: Nick Scipio
Title: Summer Camp - Book 3: Kendall
Part: Chapter 30
Universe: Summer Camp
Summary: Coming-of-age story about a teenager whose family spends 
their summer vacations at a nudist camp.
Keywords: MF, teen, oral, anal, voy, exhib
Revision: 1.03
Word Count: 23,799
Web Site: http://www.nickscipio.com/summercamp/book3/
FTP Site: ftp://ftp.nickscipio.com/summercamp/book3/
Discussion Forum: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Scipio_Forum/

*****************************************************************
                       STANDARD DISCLAIMER

This story is intended as ADULT entertainment. It contains 
material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you are 
offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO NOT 
read any further.

This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events 
portrayed in it are fictional, and any resemblance to real people 
or incidents is purely coincidental. The author does not 
necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities described.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without 
the written permission of the author, Nick Scipio 
(nick_scipio@yahoo.com). It may be freely distributed with this 
disclaimer attached.

Copyright (c) 2005 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

*****************************************************************

Summer Camp - Book 3: Kendall
by Nick Scipio

CHAPTER THIRTY

As the weather warmed, I came to the conclusion that spring is a 
great time to be a guy on a college campus. T-shirts and halter 
tops replaced long-sleeve shirts. Short skirts and even shorter 
shorts replaced jeans and slacks. Arms and legs and cleavage 
appeared, creamy and white from the winter, ready to freckle and 
tan.

My sunburn faded, but Wren still teased me about it ("And what 
were you doing in South Carolina, that you got sunburned _down 
there?_"). She'd come back from Spring Break with an all-over 
tan, so she knew _exactly_ what I'd been doing in South Carolina. 
Christy's surfing tan had deepened, highlighting her blonde hair 
and bright blue eyes. Even Kendall tanned better than I did, 
despite her winter-fair complexion.

Kendall, Abby, Trip, and I spent a couple of afternoons at the UT 
pool, but so did hundreds of other students. We quickly decided 
that we'd rather spend time at Abby's house instead, since it had 
a perfectly nice pool. So I got to work on my tan--_with_ 
sunblock--and I spent the time reading for English class, working 
calculus problems, or doing any of a dozen other things my 
professors demanded.

The time by the pool was enjoyable, but since I was usually doing 
schoolwork, it wasn't nearly as relaxing as modeling. When I 
posed for Siobhan's classes, my mind roamed free. Unfortunately, 
Kendall had grown bored with modeling, and felt she could spend 
the time better, reading or doing schoolwork.

Wren and I had settled into a comfortable routine, and we talked 
as much as we flirted. We still had an undercurrent of mutual 
attraction, but neither of us openly pursued it. Christy and I 
spent our time together on our bench, which was another source of 
relaxation. She was easy to be around, and when she wasn't 
chattering happily, she was a good listener.

We spent most of our time drawing, though, which suited me fine. 
I even asked her to give me tips on drawing people, although I 
remembered the basics from high school art class. I knew I'd 
never have her deft touch, but I could see definite improvement 
when I leafed through my sketches.

For her part, Christy asked me to show her how to draw buildings. 
She had the basic skills, but her hand was freer than mine, less 
precise. Her eye saw things differently, too; where I saw 
straight lines and geometric shapes, she saw colors and textures 
and shades of light and dark. With a few gentle strokes of her 
pencil, she could change the emotion of a drawing, but she 
couldn't easily capture the beauty of a Greek temple's symmetry 
and classical proportions.

I chuckled about that more than once, but then I thought about my 
drawings of people. I could breathe life into a complex Beaux-
Arts facade, but I couldn't capture simple facial expressions. 
The people in my drawings were stiff and still, nothing like the 
ones who imbued Christy's sketchpad with life. I think she 
admired my talent as much as I admired hers, as different as they 
were. She had a gift I could only recognize, never imitate. But I 
realized I had an inimitable gift as well. I couldn't explain it, 
but I saw the "rightness" or "wrongness" of a building at a 
glance.

"I do the same thing with drawings of people," Christy said. "I 
can't explain it either, but I can just look at a sketch and it's 
either 'right' or 'wrong.' But the problem is, I can't _explain_ 
what's 'wrong' with it, or tell someone how to do it 'right.' 
Siobhan _can_, and that's what makes her such a great teacher. 
I've learned more from her than I _ever_ did in high school."

I nodded.

"Nobu could do the same thing," Christy mused, "but not about 
drawings of people or buildings or anything like that. He just 
had a way of looking at... the _world_, I guess." She shrugged. 
"He could see the beauty in anything. I think that's why I like 
Buddhism so much. It's more a way of looking at things than an 
actual religion."

"Is that why you don't see a problem being a Buddhist Catholic?" 
I asked, more teasing than serious.

"Absolutely," she said, taking me seriously, "although Simon 
thinks I'm crazy. He's an atheist, which _I_ think is crazy. 
That's _another_ reason my father doesn't like him." Suddenly, 
she cocked her head to the side and studied me. "What're you?"

"What am I what?"

"Are you Protestant? Atheist? What?"

I shrugged. "I never really thought about it. I mean, I didn't go 
to church growing up. I believe in God and all, but I guess I'm 
not really religious."

"Why not? Don't you want something to believe in?"

Once again, I shrugged. "I guess I believe in _me_. Yeah, God 
probably had a bit to do with the way I am, but He gave me free 
will, didn't He?"

"He did," she said, almost solemnly.

"So unless God's controlling my actions--"

"He isn't."

"--I guess I'm responsible for what I do. As much as I don't like 
to admit it sometimes," I added, sotto voce. I searched my 
feelings about God, but then shrugged. "I guess I don't think 
about it much."

"You should come to mass with me sometime," she said. "I think 
you'd like it. I don't go very often, but I really enjoy the 
Consecration. It's... peaceful... and I feel so close to God. I mean, 
I'm the next best thing to a lapsed Catholic, but that doesn't 
mean I don't enjoy it when I go."

"Why don't you go very often?"

"One of the things I've never really liked about the Catholic 
Church is the idea that I need a priest to talk to God. If God 
loves each and every one of us--and I know He does--then I should 
be able to talk to Him whenever I want." She leaned over in an 
aside: "Don't tell my father that, though. Or my brother Harry, 
for that matter." She rolled her eyes. Then she grinned, her eyes 
dancing with mirth. "I've never been partial to the 'no sex 
before marriage' thing either." She laughed at my expression. 
"_Definitely_ don't tell my father about that."

"Oh, I won't," I said, fighting not to laugh.

As we went back to drawing, my imagination wandered. Not 
surprisingly, I thought about Wren and Christy together, 
caressing each other with soft lips and insistent fingers. 
Fortunately, my sketchpad hid my erection, but it was a long time 
before I could concentrate well enough to finish my drawing.

A long time indeed.

-----

At the end of April, Trip and I flew to Franklin for the house 
closings. Coincidentally, we entered the landing pattern one 
plane behind my parents, who were in our family Cessna. Trip's 
father arrived a few minutes after we finished fueling the 
planes, and after greetings all around, we drove to the bank.

It was a local bank, but they agreed to loan money on our house 
in Atlanta, simply due to the strength of their relationship with 
Trip and his father. My parents and I completed the paperwork for 
the second mortgage on our family's home, and with well-hidden 
nervousness, I signed and initialed my way into twenty thousand 
dollars of debt.

Our first house closing (the Colonial Revival) was scheduled for 
eleven o'clock, so we drove to the title company. Trip, Frank, 
and my father seemed completely blase about the entire process, 
and I tried to affect the same self-assurance. My nerves were 
thrumming, though, and I had to fight not to fidget. My mother, 
perceptive as always, smiled at me confidently.

After lunch we returned to the title company to close on the 
Craftsman bungalows, which took nearly an hour and a half. With 
the stroke of a pen--many, _many_ strokes, actually--I was in 
debt up to my proverbial eyeballs. Not counting the second 
mortgage, I was a joint signer on eighty thousand dollars of real 
estate. It was a stupendous amount of money, and my head swam 
with visions of all the things that could go wrong. Trip seemed 
to thrive on the challenge, though, and his mood had turned 
boisterous.

With the closings safely behind us, and three sets of keys in 
hand, we headed to the houses to take measurements so I could 
create accurate floor plans. We spent more than an hour in the 
Colonial Revival, and I filled a dozen pages of my sketchpad with 
drawings and dimensions (thank you, Professor Ledbetter!).

At the first Craftsman bungalow, we got lucky--_incredibly_ 
lucky. When Trip stuck his head in the attic to see what was 
there, he discovered a large, crackling roll of paper. We spread 
the pages on the kitchen counter and shared a goofy, ear-to-ear 
grin.

"You know what these are, don't you?" he asked rhetorically.

"Of course I do," I said, gazing down at the deep blue paper. As 
I hastily scanned the drawings, I began to realize the magnitude 
of our discovery.

"What is it?" my mom asked as she entered the kitchen, drawn by 
the sound of our excitement.

"Construction blueprints," I said. "_Original_ construction 
blueprints, from the Twenties."

With the plans in hand, I spent a half-hour making sure they 
reflected the actual layout of the house. After a cursory tour of 
the second house--which was identical--Frank drove us to meet the 
rest of his family for dinner.

Trip ordered a bottle of champagne, but Dad and I didn't drink 
any, since we had to fly. Unfortunately, we spent too much time 
at the restaurant, and twilight greeted us when we left. Worse, 
clouds had moved in and the visibility looked marginal for VFR.

After a pull-no-punches conversation with my father, Trip and I 
decided to spend the night with the Whitmans. My parents could've 
flown home, but Trip's stepmother insisted that they spend the 
night in the guest bedroom, and they graciously accepted. Later 
that evening Frank opened a bottle of champagne.

"To my son and his new partner," he said, raising his glass in a 
toast. "May they always find success."

"Hear, hear," my father said.

Trip grinned and I blushed as the others drank.

"To making a profit," Trip toasted, and we drank again.

I felt I should say _something_, so, awkwardly, I stood. "I guess 
I just want to thank Trip," I said. Despite my uncertainty, I 
plowed on. "I mean, he didn't think twice before offering to make 
me his partner. I never even _thought_ about what I wanted to do 
this summer, but Trip's been confident in me since I met him, and 
I guess maybe some of that is starting to rub off."

At that point, I grew uncomfortably aware that I was making the 
longest toast of the evening, and I hoped my cheeks weren't as 
rosy as they felt. "So I guess I just want to say thanks, Trip, 
for having confidence in me. I won't let you down."

He smiled and flashed me a thumbs-up.

"Oh!" I said suddenly. "I also want to thank my parents for 
having confidence in me, too. Thousands of _dollars_ of 
confidence."

My father smiled reassuringly.

"And thanks to Frank and Darlene for letting us spend the night," 
I added, embarrassed that I'd forgotten them in my rambling. With 
that, I decided that I shouldn't make impromptu toasts, so I 
hurriedly thought up a suitable conclusion. "I guess I just want 
to say thanks to all of you, for having confidence in us, and for 
doing everything to make sure we succeed."

"Hear, hear!" Frank cried. "Here's to Whitman Hughes Homes, to 
confidence, and to success!"

I drained my glass in one swallow. I'm sure my face turned redder 
still, but after one look at my parents' proud expressions, I 
didn't care.

-----

Trip and I actually had a bit of trouble on our return flight. 
President Reagan was in Knoxville to open the World's Fair, and 
the Secret Service wanted to close the airspace around downtown. 
Fortunately, Earl Walker told them that we were students 
returning from a scheduled flight, so they allowed us to land.

Meeting the agents in their dark suits and sunglasses was a 
thrill I was willing to forgo, however. Still, we had a good 
story to tell at dinner that night with our friends. Christy 
surprised me by laughing when I got to the part about coming face 
to face with the dour agents.

"I always thought Secret Service men were handsome," she said.

"Well, they're not so handsome when they look like they want to 
shoot you," I said.

Trip nodded emphatically.

Christy laughed again. "Oh, I'm sure it wasn't all that bad."

"You wouldn't say that if _you'd_ met them," I said.

"But I _have_ met the Secret Service," she said, almost sweetly.

Wren smirked.

"Yeah, right," I said.

"Paul," Christy said patiently, "my father commands a _Carrier 
Battle Group_. There aren't so many of those that they just pick 
any old sailor. Of course I've met the President... _and_ his 
Secret Service agents."

"You _have?_"

"Yes." She giggled at the memory. "President Reagan's very funny... 
and charming. And the agents were extremely polite. Mrs. Reagan 
even chatted with my mother and me while the President talked to 
my father. She's a very smart woman."

I looked at her in amazement.

Around us, conversation resumed as Trip fielded questions about 
our encounter with the agents.

Christy held my eyes, hers sparkling with laughter. I fought not 
to smile, but in the end, I couldn't help myself.

-----

A group of us went to the Fair the next day. Trip and I were 
_thoroughly_ familiar with the major buildings (from Design 
projects), and had fun pointing out hidden details. The crowd was 
heavy, though, so we headed back to campus after a few hours.

The next evening, I got to work on the renovation plans. Even 
though it wasn't schoolwork, I decided to work in one of the A&A 
design labs. I had just finished for the night when I felt a 
presence behind me.

"And what project is this, Mr. Hughes?" Professor Joska's voice 
asked.

It was well after dinnertime, and I fought not to stiffen in 
surprise.

"You're surprised to find me here?" he asked.

"Um... yes, sir."

"One of my fifth-year design classes has a project due in a few 
days," he said, nodding toward a group of students at the other 
end of the lab.

The students were working on foamcore models, and I paused to 
study them for a moment. The groups were small, and they worked 
with practiced coordination, putting the final touches on their 
models or making last-minute changes. In a few years, I knew I'd 
be just like those students: one of a handful of survivors from 
the hundreds who'd entered the architecture program.

"So," Joska asked, intruding upon my fantasy, "what latest 
distraction is occupying your time?" He leafed through my 
drawings, giving them a keen-eyed appraisal.

"Trip and I are renovating houses this summer," I said. I felt a 
rush of overweening pride that I _should've_ suppressed, but I 
guess I was trying to impress him. "I'm doing the design."

I expected a biting comment, but he surprised me by nodding 
thoughtfully. "Why are you removing this wall?" he asked, 
pointing to the plans for the bungalows.

"Because we want young families to buy the houses," I said, 
unconsciously falling into the familiar role of the student being 
grilled by the professor. "And they only have one bathroom. So I 
decided to take out this pantry--the wall wasn't load-bearing--
and extend the master bedroom so I can add a private bath."

"You need to remember storage, too. Not only in the kitchen, but 
here as well," he said, indicating the linen closet between the 
two smaller bedrooms.

"The house already _has_ storage," I said, pointing to the small 
closets in each of the bedrooms.

"But if you move your linen closet _here_," he said, pointing, 
"you can give these bedrooms larger closets, which means more 
storage space."

"But if I move the linen closet, then I'll have to redesign the 
master bath."

"Why not have the linen closet open into the master bath as well 
as the hallway?" he suggested.

"Because then I'd have to...." My voice trailed off as I actually 
_considered_ his idea.

"You could have a full door for the hallway opening, but a 
cupboard-style door for the master bath. It would only be for the 
top shelves, but a housewife would be able to retrieve towels 
without having to walk back into the hall."

I started to protest again, purely out of habit, but my words 
died unspoken. He was right, and I immediately saw the wisdom of 
his suggestion (even though I hated admitting it, however 
silently).

"Bring these plans by my office tomorrow, Mr. Hughes."

"Why?" I asked, not bothering to hide my suspicion.

"Think of it as extra credit," he said.

"Will I actually _get_ extra credit?"

He smiled with a combination of amusement and benign tolerance. 
"No, but you _will_ need a licensed architect to review them."

I looked at him in growing understanding. And dismay.

"And I wouldn't want your first real-world design project left to 
some unknown architect."

"You don't have to do that, Professor Joska," I said. "Trip has 
an architect lined up. I'm sure--"

"With all due respect to Mr. Whitman's choice in architects, I'm 
sure he doesn't understand your strengths and weaknesses as well 
as I do."

I clamped my mouth shut and suppressed a snarl of frustration.

"Do you know when my office hours are?"

Reluctantly, I nodded.

"Then I expect to see you there tomorrow."

In my mind, I was silently gnashing my teeth: Joska already ruled 
my academic life, and he'd just taken over a significant portion 
of my budding _professional_ life as well. I wanted to rail at 
the injustice of it all. I wanted to tell him to mind his own 
damned business. I wanted to--

"I'll tell my secretary to expect you, Mr. Hughes," he said. With 
that, he nodded farewell and strode toward his fifth-year 
students without a backward glance. They greeted him 
deferentially, and I clenched my fists in exasperation.

_There ain't no justice!_ I silently howled.

When I calmed down, I looked at my drawings again. I knew I 
couldn't get out of showing them to Joska--not if I wanted to 
stay in the architecture program--so they'd have to be _perfect_. 
Nothing less would satisfy him.

On top of all that, I still had my class projects to complete, 
and I knew that Joska wouldn't cut me any slack because I had 
house plans to work on as well. To make matters worse, his 
suggestion about the linen closet was both intuitive and clever. 
I could ignore it, but I knew myself well enough to admit that 
_I_ wouldn't feel right if I didn't do the best job possible.

Unfortunately, the plans would take hours to redraw (especially 
to Joska's exacting standards), and I was supposed to meet 
Kendall. I reluctantly decided that she'd have to wait. I wanted 
to see her, but...

I started to pull out my eraser when I had a sudden thought: I 
hadn't made time for _Gina_, either, and it had cost me the 
relationship. After thinking it over for several moments, I went 
to the lab's campus phone and called Kendall.

"Hi, sweetie," I said. "I'm still at the design lab. And I'm 
sorry, but I've got another couple hours' work to do."

"But it's already nine o'clock," she said.

"I know. But I just had an idea, and I need to redo a drawing." 
Kendall wouldn't care whose idea it was, but I mentally chided 
myself for taking credit for it.

She sighed. "All right."

"Why don't you come down here?"

"To the A&A building?"

"Yeah. The desk next to me is free, and you can study while I 
finish my drawing."

"Okay," she said immediately.

I told her which design lab I was in and then went back to work. 
I was proud of myself for inviting her, since I'd get to finish 
my drawing _and_ spend time with her. It wasn't the relaxing 
evening we'd planned, but it was better than nothing.

_I just wish I'd done the same thing with Gina,_ I thought. 
_Maybe if I had...._

I was still lost in thought when Kendall tentatively stuck her 
head into the lab. I shook off my melancholy and took a deep 
breath. Then I caught her eye and waved her over.

"Hi," I said, kissing her. I cleared my things from the adjacent 
desk. "I'm sorry about dragging you down here, but...."

"Oh, I don't mind. I'm just happy we can see each other tonight. 
Now, you get back to your drawing, and I'll get back to my 
French."

_Maybe I _am_ learning from my mistakes,_ I mused, smiling at her 
sidelong as she opened her book. _Maybe, just maybe._

-----

I looked at my watch as Professor Feller worked toward the climax 
of a haranguing lecture about Ayn Rand's _Atlas Shrugged_. As the 
minutes crept past, I wondered why she spent so much time on a 
book she obviously hated. Personally, I liked it, even though it 
was as thick as a Bible. But maybe I liked it simply because 
Professor Feller _didn't_.

Finally, the bell rang, but she held up a hand for us to stay, so 
she could finish her condemnation of Rand's "misguided elitist 
egotism." I shook my head and sank back into my seat, along with 
the rest of the annoyed students. Finally, the professor reached 
her conclusion and we bolted. In the hallway, I almost ran 
someone down, and when I turned to apologize, I froze.

"Paul!"

"Gina?!"

She smiled, and my heart skipped a beat. For a moment, we simply 
stared at each other, at a loss for words. The moment passed, 
however, and years of friendship and intimacy came rushing back. 
Pain came with it, but was quickly overwhelmed by the other 
feelings. Her cheeks flushed, but she mastered her emotions and 
smiled stoically.

"What're you doing here?" I asked.

"I just got out of Western Civ., down the hall."

"I was in English," I said, determined to act normally. Then I 
made a sour face. "The professor is this former hippie who's--"

"Professor Feller?"

I furrowed my brow. "Yeah. Have you had her?" Without thinking, 
we fell into step, headed for the stairs.

"No, silly," she said, rolling her eyes.

_Her beautiful, dark, full, liquid eyes... Stop it!_

"I heard you talk about her all the time. Duh." She grinned to 
take the sting out of her words.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Duh! Anyway, she was going on and on about 
Rand's elitist this and elitist that. I swear to God, Gina, I was 
ready for her to start using words like 'proletariat' and 
'inevitable dialectic of materialism.'"

She laughed. "Lemme guess, you're reading _Atlas Shrugged_, 
right?"

I nodded.

"I never did like it. I mean, I like Rand's ideas about 
individualism," she said, "but I think she created an 
artificially simple society in order to make her theories work. 
You should read _The Fountainhead_. She wrote it before _Atlas 
Shrugged_, but it's got a lot of the same ideas. I think you'd 
like it."

"Why?"

"Because it's about an architect who won't conform to society."

I felt my face heating in chagrin.

Gina laughed, musical and soothing at the same time.

My chest grew tight as I realized that I missed her more than I 
thought possible.

"I didn't mean it like that," she said, checking her natural 
impulse to reach out to me. "But now that I think about it...." She 
grinned.

"All right, all right," I said. "Enough teasing the ex-
boyfriend."

"Okay, I'll quit."

I glanced at her sidelong.

"I _do_ think you'll like the book, though. Maybe...." She 
faltered, but then went on in a stronger voice. "Maybe Kendall 
has a copy."

I nodded, my mood turning subdued.

"How is she?"

I didn't want to hurt Gina's feelings by rubbing her nose in 
Kendall's happiness, so I hedged. "She's okay." 

Gina knew me well enough to recognize my hesitation for what it 
was, so she changed the subject. As we walked toward the dorms, 
we talked about other things, all of them innocuous. When we 
reached the Carrick breezeway, we paused and looked at each other 
awkwardly.

"It was good seeing you," she said at last.

"It was good seeing you, too."

She smiled diffidently.

I smiled in return, although I probably looked just as 
uncomfortable.

"Okay... well... I guess I'll see you around," she said.

"Yeah. Seeya 'round."

We lingered for a moment before she turned to leave. I watched 
her go, but she didn't look back. I could see the tenseness in 
her shoulders, how stiffly she held them, fighting the urge to 
look back. I smiled to myself wistfully, and headed into my own 
building.

I hate to admit it, but two days later, I walked out of English 
class and loitered, my eyes searching the faces streaming down 
the hall from the direction of Gina's classroom. When I saw her, 
I hastily looked down and pretended to study my watch.

"Hi," she said from right in front of me.

I looked up in feigned surprise.

She smiled wryly. "Don't try to fool me," she said. "I know you 
too well."

"Was I that obvious?" I asked, my cheeks heating.

"Maybe a little. But...."

I looked a question at her.

"Okay, maybe I was hoping you'd be here."

"You were?!" I hastily schooled my expression and cleared my 
throat. Then, deliberately nonchalant: "I mean... you were?"

Her dark eyes sparkled.

I laughed, an admission of guilt. "All right, you got me."

"Now, what should I do with you?" she asked archly.

It took every ounce of willpower not to tell her what I was 
_really_ thinking: that I wanted her to take me back. But I knew 
she wouldn't. More importantly, I knew that our relationship had 
changed, and that we could _never_ go back. I didn't want to 
admit it, but I was too honest to deceive myself. So I didn't say 
anything, and I could see the silent thanks in her eyes. I nodded 
in recognition and she smiled.

"Were you headed back to Carrick?" she asked, changing the 
subject.

"Yeah. You?"

She nodded, and we began walking. On the way, we talked about her 
work at the hospital, and my house plans. Our goodbyes in the 
breezeway weren't _quite_ as awkward as before, but they were 
still hesitant and unfamiliar.

The following Monday, I didn't even pretend to be doing something 
else as I waited for her. When she saw me, her eyes lit up, and 
we fell into step together. Our conversation was a bit easier, 
less stilted and artificial. We talked about her chemistry 
professor, and intramural soccer. When we reached the breezeway, 
we lingered a moment and then said our goodbyes, promising to see 
each other in two days.

I didn't tell Kendall about spending time with Gina, since I knew 
it would just cause trouble. Gina and I had been friends far too 
long to simply throw it all away in the blink of an eye.

I understood why we couldn't be boyfriend-girlfriend, but I guess 
I wasn't willing to give up her friendship. In a way, I think I 
craved it. I definitely still loved her, but I also liked her. I 
knew she still loved me, but I hadn't been very likeable toward 
the end of our relationship, and I wanted to make up for that.

At first, I worried about doing it for the wrong reasons, for 
_selfish_ reasons. But then I realized that I honestly wanted 
Gina to be happy. And knowing I wasn't bitter or resentful went a 
long way toward that. So I quelled my longing and heartache, and 
I gave her what she wanted--friendship--with no strings attached, 
and no ulterior motives.

Seeing her in the afternoons weighed on my conscience, though. 
And it made me think of Felicia. I didn't like keeping things 
from Kendall, but I also didn't want to face her disappointment, 
or worse, her wrath.

To complicate matters, I could make a good argument for both 
sides: telling her or _not_ telling her. As I thought about each, 
I chuckled--the world wasn't as black and white as I'd once 
thought. I saw shades of gray all around me, from my own actions 
with Gina and Felicia, to people like T.J. and Regan.

"What's so funny?" Christy asked as she knelt in front of her 
refrigerator.

I started to lie, but then decided not to. Instead, I thought I'd 
be mature--_before_ I made a mess of things--and ask her advice. 
"Would you be upset if you found out your boyfriend was talking 
to his ex-girlfriend?"

She set down a bag of carrots and looked up at me.

For a moment, I was taken aback by the piercing familiarity of 
her eyes. _So different from Gina's, yet so alike,_ I thought.

"I think the boyfriend in question better have a good 
explanation," she said. "If I ever found out about it, that is."

"Huh?"

She stood and smoothed her hands over her Bermuda shorts, 
gathering her thoughts. It was a familiar gesture, and I smiled 
as she did it. Finally, she looked at me--_studied_ me, really. 
"Do you want to keep talking about this in abstract terms," she 
asked, "or do you want to tell me about you and Gina?"

I blushed guiltily.

She merely cocked her head to the side, her blonde hair falling 
across her face as she gazed at me calmly, inquisitively.

So I told her about meeting Gina in the hallway, and our 
subsequent meetings, our _deliberate_ meetings.

"So you're still friends after all?" she asked when I finished.

"Yeah," I said, relief coloring my tone. "I know I wasn't the 
only one who made mistakes, but I did so many things wrong 
that...." I trailed off and shrugged. "Anyway, I don't know why 
it's so important that we're still friends, but I guess it is. To 
me _and_ to her."

Christy nodded in understanding.

"But the thing is," I continued, "I don't want to tell Kendall 
about it. She'll just be upset, and I don't want to worry her. I 
mean, I _know_ I'm never going to get back together with Gina. 
Gina knows it too. But that doesn't mean we can't be friends. We 
were friends _before_ we were boyfriend-girlfriend, so why can't 
we be friends _after?_"

"Why indeed?" Christy said seriously.

"But I feel guilty for not telling Kendall. I don't like hiding 
things from her"--I thought of Felicia and felt a sharper pang of 
guilt--"but I don't want to cause more pain or hurt feelings."

"Are you willing to _live_ with the guilt?" Christy asked 
pointedly.

I paused to consider for a moment.

"Confession is good for the soul, but _bad_ for relationships," 
she said in the silence.

I looked a question at her.

"Why do you think the Catholics have Confession?" she asked. "But 
it's with a _priest_, not your spouse. That _is_ something I like 
about the Church. I can confess my sins to God and receive 
forgiveness without ruining my relationship."

I nodded.

"For instance, do you think I don't feel guilty about spending so 
much time with you, when I should be writing to Simon?"

I blinked.

"I do." She dithered, nervously smoothing her shorts. "You and I 
are more than friends," she said softly, "and I spend a lot of 
time alone with you. It's almost as if--" She shook her head in 
agitation.

I silently admitted that I hadn't thought about it much, and 
admonished myself for being so self-centered.

"Oh, don't worry about it," she said, reading my change in mood, 
"it's something I have to deal with. It's not a sin to have a guy 
friend, but I do feel guilty for spending so much time with you. 
I'd never _tell_ Simon about it, though, since it would just make 
him upset. He's not really a jealous person, but why borrow 
trouble?"

"No kidding," I said earnestly.

"You're in the same situation with Gina and Kendall. So why 
borrow trouble?"

"But what if Kendall finds out?" I asked, thinking about more 
than just Gina.

"That's a risk you'll have to take, if you're going to keep 
seeing Gina. But if Kendall knows about it, you'll either have to 
live with its effects on your relationship, or stop seeing Gina 
altogether."

I nodded soberly.

"Neither of those things are really good alternatives, are they?" 
she said.

"No, not really."

"Then if you know that Gina isn't a threat to your relationship 
with Kendall, you'll just have to live with the guilt."

"'Confession is good for the soul, but bad for relationships,'" I 
quoted, and she smiled. "So who do I confess to?" I asked. "A 
priest?"

"Now that's _another_ thing I don't really like about the 
Catholic Church," she said, her eyes sparkling with amused self-
reproach. "A priest has sworn a vow to protect the sanctity of 
Confession, but I've known some priests I wouldn't trust with my 
bra size, much less my innermost secrets. So why shouldn't it 
just be someone you trust?"

"Someone like you," I said.

"If you trust me," she said matter-of-factly.

"'Trust isn't a thing for half-measures,'" I said, quoting her a 
second time. "And I trust you."

She actually blushed. Softly: "Thank you."

"I trust Wren too," I added.

Christy looked up sharply. When she saw my knowing expression, 
her cheeks turned rosy, despite her golden tan. She started to 
stutter a question, but I held up a placating hand.

"Let's just say that the three of us have an interesting 
relationship," I said. "If I tell either of you something, the 
other's going to know about it soon enough." I shrugged 
philosophically. "That's okay, though. I mean, I've had a bit of 
experience with girls who're as close as you are."

"I guess you have," Christy said softly.

"And besides, I'm not blind."

"Did Wren tell you?" she asked, oblique yet direct.

"I kinda figured it out on my own, but yeah, we talked about it."

"When you took her home for Spring Break," she said, a statement 
rather than a question.

I nodded.

"She didn't tell me _that_ part of your couch adventure," Christy 
said, smiling ruefully.

"You don't mind that I know?"

She shook her head. "I guess I knew you knew," she said. "In the 
back of my mind, at least. I hadn't _admitted_ it to myself, 
though. But you're right, you're not blind, and after your 
relationship with Kendall and Gina...." She let her words trail 
off, her meaning clear. Then she smiled wistfully. "And now 
you've discovered _another_ thing I don't really like about the 
Catholic Church."

I suppressed a mental image of her and Wren lying together, nude, 
disheveled, and thoroughly sated.

"How did you learn so much about me?" Christy asked, not 
expecting an answer. "So many deep, dark secrets...."

"I don't think they're dark," I said, mastering my treacherous 
imagination. "Deep, maybe, but that's because most people 
wouldn't understand them."

"And you do?"

"I don't understand about Laurence," I said frankly, wincing 
inwardly as pain tightened her eyes. "I've never lost someone I 
loved. But I understand how Trip's dealt with it, and I can learn 
from him. And when it comes to the other things...."

"When it comes to Wren and me having sex, you mean," she said, 
removing the veil of ambiguity entirely.

I nodded, chuckling. "And when it comes to that, I understand 
completely. I may've made a mess out of my relationship with 
Gina," I said, "but that doesn't mean I don't understand a thing 
or two about how girls work. Now, _applying_ that knowledge is 
another thing entirely," I added with a self-deprecating laugh, 
"not to mention actually listening to my own advice. But...." I 
shrugged helplessly.

We stood in silence for a moment. Then, almost subconsciously, we 
moved together. I wrapped her in my arms and rested my cheek on 
her head.

"Just look at me," she said when she finally stepped back, wiping 
her damp eyes. "I'm a mess."

I shook my head, firmly.

"And this started off as a conversation about you and Gina," she 
said with forced good humor. "Some friend _I_ am, hijacking your 
conversation for my own ends. Now, where were we?"

"I think we were doing what friends do," I said.

"Oh, and what's that?" she asked disingenuously.

"Listening."

"For a guy with such a good eye, you're a pretty good listener 
too," she said, smiling with genuine warmth.

"I try. You're not so bad yourself, though."

"Just listen to us! Now come on, let's get a snack. We've got to 
get to class. So, do you want carrots or celery?"

I looked at her deadpan.

"Well, you can't blame me for trying," she said in mock 
exasperation, her mood brightening for real.

After she packed our snacks, we headed to the A&A building in 
companionable silence, both of us lost in thought. I was thinking 
about the truth--and guilt--and I eventually decided that I 
wouldn't tell Kendall about my time with Gina. If it came up, I'd 
deal with it then, but I didn't want to make trouble where I 
didn't have to.

Felicia was a different matter altogether, and a much larger 
betrayal. But Felicia was also months in the past, and hadn't 
been part of my life since. So I decided that Christy was right: 
I'd simply have to live with my guilt. Telling Kendall would only 
make things worse. Besides, if I had to live with the guilt, I 
wasn't likely to cheat again. I chuckled darkly at the thought, 
and hoped it was true.

Then I took heart: I hadn't cheated with Wren, despite the 
opportunity we both knew had existed. That was partly her 
determination not to sleep with me, but I also realized that a 
part of Wren secretly _wanted_ me to overcome her objections. I 
think she respected me even more for not _trying_, and that was 
one of the foundations of our deepening friendship.

When Christy and I reached the A&A building, I held the door for 
her, and she smiled up at me, her eyes mischievous.

"Were you just thinking about Wren?" she asked.

I looked at her quizzically. "How could you tell?"

"You're not so Mysterious after all," she said.

"You're still a Bunny, though," I teased.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"You tell me," I shot back, suppressing a grin.

She rolled her eyes. Then, much to my surprise, she rose on 
tiptoe and kissed my cheek. I stood rooted to the spot, and 
stared dumbly as she grinned and took a step back. With a girlish 
laugh, she turned and walked away. I put my hand to my cheek--the 
feeling of her lips still vivid in my mind--and followed her with 
my eyes until she turned a corner and disappeared with a playful 
wave.

-----

When I wasn't spending time with Gina (or being kissed by 
Christy!), my life was relatively normal. Busy, but normal. I 
studied for class, I did my homework, and I worked on projects. 
Kendall and I spent time together on Thursday afternoons, or by 
the pool with Trip and Abby, relaxing and doing school work.

Our intramural soccer team practiced and played games, and Jeff 
was a wonder to behold. I kept up my instrument lessons with 
Earl, and I was getting close to the required flight time for my 
IFR certificate.

During Professor Joska's office hours, we reviewed my plans for 
the Franklin houses. From minor things like base molding to major 
things like HVAC ducting, Joska was both a font of knowledge and 
a source of endless frustration. As always, he was unforgiving, 
and reinforced his dissatisfaction with his ubiquitous "You'll 
have to do better than this."

I finally snapped.

I ranted and raved for five minutes--and called him every name in 
the book in the process--while he listened in stony silence, his 
expression unreadable. Finally, I wound down and took a deep, 
shuddering breath.

"Are you quite through, Mr. Hughes?" he finally asked.

Embarrassment replaced the fury heating my cheeks. Worse, fear 
prickled my skin, and I was convinced that he'd kick me out of 
the architecture program. After a moment to steel my nerves for 
the coming verdict, I nodded.

"Then please," he said calmly, "have a seat."

Surprised and chagrined, I retrieved my overturned chair and sat 
down.

He gazed at me for a long moment, and the claws of fear in my 
belly drew tight. Finally, he sat forward and laced his fingers 
together.

I glanced down in anxious, dejected silence.

"Mr. Hughes, you need to learn to control your emotions, at least 
when someone critiques your work."

At his unruffled tone, I looked up in surprise, and a spark of 
hope flickered to life somewhere deep inside me.

"You're entirely correct that architecture is about emotion and 
creativity and beauty," he continued, oblivious to my reaction, 
"but it's also about discipline and attention to detail. You've 
come a long way since last autumn, but you still have a long way 
to go. I drive you hard because I see your potential. Your 
_unrealized_ potential, I might add."

He negligently indicated the drawings between us on the desk. 
"These mistakes are trifling. They're beneath your level of 
ability. Like your class work, they show flashes of brilliance 
shackled by mediocrity. I won't accept mediocrity, Mr. Hughes. I 
expect perfection from you. But more important, you should expect 
it from yourself."

I looked at him and blinked, my eyes stinging. Was he going to 
give me the axe? Was he just toying with me? Or was he...?

He gazed at me without malice. "Michelangelo said, 'Lord, grant 
that I may always desire more than I can accomplish,' What do you 
think he meant by that?"

I shrugged, confused but determined not to show it.

"I think he meant that he always strove for perfection, even 
though he knew he'd never achieve it. He said to himself, 'I'll 
have to do better than this.'" After a long silence to let his 
words sink in, Joska held my gaze. "Until you learn to say that 
to yourself, Mr. Hughes, I'll say it for you. And judging by your 
recent work, I'm going to be saying it a lot."

As his words registered, I realized that he _wasn't_ going to 
kick me out of the program, and a wave of relief washed over me. 
I still had to deal with my outburst, though, and I felt more 
ashamed than ever.

"I don't criticize your work out of any personal animus," Joska 
continued. "I simply tell you where it needs improvement. You 
have a wealth of talent and a surprisingly good eye, but what you 
_don't_ have is experience and an uncompromising attention to 
detail. I can give you the former, but you'll have to learn the 
latter for yourself."

I nodded jerkily.

"Very well," he said. "I think we've worked enough for tonight. 
For the _week_, as a matter of fact. Take a break and study for 
your midterms. Afterward, we'll resume work on your house 
drawings. You show a lot of promise, Mr. Hughes, but you have a 
long way yet to go. It's up to you whether you succeed or not."

"I understand, sir," I said immediately, the first time I'd 
spoken since my tirade.

"Good," he said, surprising me. "Then quit complaining about the 
standards I require. My comments aren't personal, and I'm making 
allowances for your relative lack of experience."

"Thank you," I said, humbled.

"You're welcome. Now, take your drawings and don't touch them for 
at least a week. After midterms, we'll return to work."

I stood to roll the drawings. After I gathered the rest of my 
things, I walked to the door. Before I opened it, however, I took 
a deep breath, turned, and squared my shoulders. "Professor 
Joska?"

"Yes?" he said, looking up.

"I... I'm sorry I got angry. I know you're just trying to teach me 
how to do things, and I shouldn't've gotten so upset. I... I just 
hate getting things wrong, and I think I'm more angry with myself 
than anyone else. So I'm sorry. It...." I swallowed hard. "It won't 
happen again."

Surprisingly, his lips quirked up in a smile and he actually 
_chuckled_. "Oh, I doubt that. I'm an unforgiving master, Mr. 
Hughes. I demand excellence, and I have no patience for anything 
less. That wears hard on a man. You're not the first young 
architecture student to curse me, and I daresay you won't be the 
last. I will say that you're one of the few to actually 
_apologize_, and for that, I commend you." He paused for a moment 
to let his words sink in.

"I don't do this to be liked by my students, Mr. Hughes, much 
less loved," he continued. "I do it for the love of architecture 
and the pursuit of perfection. As long as you're willing to 
partake of that love and share in that pursuit, you're welcome to 
curse me and call me whatever names you like."

I summoned all the dignity I could muster. "I think 'sir' would 
be appropriate." I held my breath, waiting for his response, and 
almost jumped when he barked a laugh.

"You never cease to amaze me, Mr. Hughes," he said, shaking his 
head in wonder. Then he smiled, almost paternally. "We'll return 
to the plans after exams. Until then, enjoy your respite. Good 
evening."

"Good evening, sir," I said, and left his office.

My heart thudded in my ears and my blood sang with the 
aftereffects of adrenaline, but I had a sneaking suspicion that 
maybe Professor Joska was human after all.

With a bemused grin, I shook my head.

_Naaah!_

-----

My relationship with Gina had returned to normal--normal for two 
friends, at least--although we only saw each other after class, 
for the time it took to walk from the Humanities building to the 
Carrick breezeway. Neither of us mentioned the break-up, and our 
conversations delicately skirted Regan and Kendall, but we talked 
like friends.

I wanted to ask if she was seeing someone--a guy--but I couldn't 
bring myself to. She didn't say, but I didn't think she was. I 
also wanted to ask if she had stopped doing cocaine, but I 
decided not to. I didn't want to seem like a narc, or worse, like 
I was trying to run her life.

So we talked about other things, safe things. But when she 
glanced at me one day with an anxious look in her eye, I let the 
conversation die. She was obviously gathering her courage, so I 
waited and walked in silence.

"Paul?" she said at last. "There's something I want to tell you, 
but I don't want you to get upset."

"Okay," I said as calmly as I could.

"I... I'm transferring to another university."

A fist gripped my heart.

"It doesn't have anything to do with you," she added in a rush. 
"These last couple of weeks have been... really nice... but this is 
what I've always wanted."

"UCLA," I said, without acrimony.

She turned and looked up at me, her eyes beseeching. "Paul, 
you've got to understand, I--"

"I _do_ understand," I said, surprising myself. Then I forced a 
smile. "You always did want to go there."

"I should've listened to you when we were still in high school," 
she said, sullen and apologetic at the same time. "But...." She 
shrugged.

"You came here because you loved me, and you wanted to make me 
happy," I said in the ensuing silence. "There's nothing wrong 
with that. I'm just sorry I dragged you here."

"You didn't 'drag' me here, Paul," she said sternly. "I'm a grown 
woman, and I can make decisions for myself." When the forced 
timbre of her voice registered, she blushed. "Okay, maybe I don't 
make the best decisions when I'm emotional."

"Neither do I," I said, more heavily than I intended. The thought 
of not being able to see Gina scared me to death, but I didn't 
want to criticize her decision, especially out of selfish fear. 
"I'm happy for you," I said at last.

"Do you mean it?" she asked, her eyes brightening hopefully.

I smiled and nodded. Fortunately, she couldn't read the turmoil 
behind my pasted-on expression.

"I applied for a fall transfer," she said. In a softer tone: "I 
did it right after... you know." The cloud passed from her 
expression and she looked up in excitement. "I didn't hear back 
from them until today. You're the first person I told."

My eyebrows shot up. "Even Regan?"

She shifted guiltily. "Well, I didn't _tell_ Regan, but she got a 
letter too."

"Got a letter?" I repeated, puzzled. Then I Got It, and the wind 
whooshed from my lungs. "Regan's going with you?"

"With Rod's arrest and all...," Gina began, but then trailed off. 
"I guess maybe she's running away too."

"Are you _really_ running away?" I asked seriously. "Or are you 
doing what you should've done in the first place?"

She looked at me and blinked.

"Gina, look," I said, "I loved you--still do, actually--more than 
anyone in the whole world. All I ever wanted was for you to be 
happy. I was happy with you here in Knoxville, but you were 
right, I came here because of the architecture program, and 
because of Kendall. It's not that I didn't think about what you 
wanted, but...." I sighed, and my shoulders slumped. "I was 
selfish, I guess."

"I was selfish too," she said. "I spent more time with Regan 
and the sorority than with you. I was just so frustrated, and I 
didn't know what to do. And I never should've gone with Regan... 
that night. I guess...." She fell silent, quiet and repentant. "I 
guess we _both_ made a mess of things. And I'm sorry."

I paused for a moment, gathering my thoughts. "I don't _want_ you 
to go to UCLA, but it's what _you_ want to do. And I guess I just 
want you to be happy, Gina. I love you more than I'll ever be 
able to tell you, and two thousand miles won't do a thing to 
change that."

Her dark, liquid eyes softened and she reached for me. She pulled 
back when she realized what she'd done, and we looked at each 
other for a shocked moment. Finally, she laughed, her eyes 
glinting with moisture. It was either laugh or cry, so I decided 
to make the best of a bad situation. We ended up hugging each 
other, the flow of students silently breaking around as we stood 
in the Humanities plaza, the statue of _Europa and the Bull_ 
looming above us.

"I'm happy for you," I said at last, releasing her from my arms.

She wiped her cheeks and smiled. "Thank you."

"I'm gonna miss you, though."

She sniffed and nodded, too emotional for words.

"Now c'mon," I said, my arm going over her shoulders with old 
familiarity, "people are gonna think we're boyfriend-girlfriend 
if we don't watch it."

"Let 'em," she said cavalierly. "But you're much better than 
that."

I turned to look down at her, my eyebrows lifted in question.

"You're my _friend_," she said.
 
Back at the dorms, we stopped and gazed at each other for a 
moment. Her tears had dried, but her eyes still held the 
anticipated pain of our separation.

"I really am happy for you," I said at last. I think I was trying 
to convince myself as much as her. "I know you'll do well at 
UCLA." I forced a laugh. "Besides, _someone_ needs to keep Regan 
out of trouble."

Gina smiled, her eyes tight, as if fighting back a fresh round of 
tears.

"I love you, Gina Coulter. I always will. I'm sorry I screwed 
things up--" at her reproachful look, I amended my words "--I'm 
sorry _we_ screwed things up, but you'll always be my friend."

"Thank you," she said, stepping into my arms.

We stood together a long time, neither of us willing to let the 
other go. In a way, it was goodbye. I knew I'd see her again, but 
we'd never again share that sense of closeness, of _oneness_. My 
stomach felt leaden, but I was determined not to let her know it.

_And that's what friends are for, right? Putting someone else's 
needs ahead of your own?_

I kept telling myself that as we silently said goodbye.

-----

In a way, I actually _was_ happy that Gina was going to UCLA--we 
could still be friends, but I wouldn't have the pressure of 
hiding it. Writing letters wouldn't make me feel as guilty as 
actually spending time together. At the thought of writing a 
letter, though, I had an idea.

Gina's birthday was days away, but I didn't have _any_ idea what 
to get her. In the past, I gave her things a boyfriend would. But 
those days were gone, and I didn't want to give her something too 
intimate. I didn't want to give her something too generic either, 
or worse, not give her anything at all. A letter, however...

That weekend I sat down and wrote a letter to her. I poured my 
heart into it, telling her how I felt about our break-up, painful 
as it was, and how I enjoyed our newly rekindled friendship. I 
told her how much I still loved her, and why. I told her what a 
wonderful person she was, and why I was lucky to know her.

On her birthday, I gave her the letter without explanation, 
telling her to read it later, alone. When my phone rang that 
evening, I knew it was her. She cried and told me how much she 
loved me, and how happy she was that I wasn't upset. She talked 
about how excited she was, and how nervous.

When we finally said goodbye, I felt a mixture of sadness and 
hope: sad that we'd never be together again, but hopeful that 
she'd finally be happy. After I hung up, I stood quietly in the 
foyer for several heartbeats. Behind me, T.J.'s door opened, and 
I stiffened.

"I don't mean to be nosey," he said, "but was that Gina?"

Without turning, I wiped my eyes and nodded.

"How is she?"

"She's good," I said, my emotions tightly controlled, although I 
still didn't dare turn around. "She's transferring to UCLA for 
the fall."

"It's an okay school," he said. "They've got a good football 
team, at least. Good for her."

I nodded.

"I always liked Gina," he mused. "More than Kendall. And a lot 
more than that Felicia girl. Man, she was a head case. I'm glad 
you dumped her."

I clenched my fists in shame and guilt, and turned to regard him.

When he saw the look in my eye, he shifted nervously. "Just 
kidding."

"It's okay, T.J.," I said, letting the tension flow through my 
shoulders. As if draining from my body, I felt it course down my 
arms and out through my fingertips. Finally, I looked at him 
calmly. "I'd better go," I said at last, nodding toward my room. 
"I've got drawings to work on."

"Sure, man, no problem," he said.

After I closed my door, I stood there for a moment, lost in 
thought. Instead of returning to my sketchpad, I pulled out my 
weights and stripped to my shorts. I watched myself in the mirror 
as I did curls and then military presses, but my thoughts were a 
million miles away.

-----

As I shut Siobhan's office door behind us, Wren turned and gave 
me a speculative look. We had just finished modeling, and I 
deliberately avoided looking at her body, gazing calmly into her 
eyes instead. When she still didn't say anything, I raised my 
eyebrows. She tried to look sultry, but I mustered as much 
equanimity as I could. Finally, she cracked.

"Why do you have to be so damned self-assured?" she said, piqued 
and trying not to be amused.

I laughed, a release of tension. "What're you talking about?"

"I'm trying to look seductive," she said. Then she cupped her 
breasts and lifted them. "Don't these do anything for you?"

"I think they're beautiful," I said. "But I thought we agreed...."

"I know what we agreed," she said irritably. "But could you at 
least look at me and drool every once in a while? Or make a pass 
at me? Or get a hard-on? Or... _something?_"

I fought not to grin.

It was contagious, though, and she broke into a smile of her own.

"Now, what're you ranting about?"

"I want you to do something," she said at last, "and I thought I 
could... you know... flirt you into it."

"Why don't you just _ask_ me?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "What fun would that be?"

With a laugh, I reached for my clothes.

She tried to look cross, but she couldn't pull it off. Instead, 
she started getting dressed as well.

"Okay," I finally asked, "what do you want me to do?"

She looked at me, her hazel eyes wide in feigned innocence. 
"You'd do something for li'l ol' me?"

I rolled my eyes. "You need to get laid," I said matter-of-
factly. "I think you're stuck in 'flirt mode.'"

She started to protest, but then blushed guiltily.

"What," I asked, grinning, "are your batteries dead?"

"No," she said with mock petulance.

I snapped my fingers in sudden understanding. "Ah, I get it. 
Christy's been working on her portfolio for her review. And she's 
been too busy to--" I made a vague motion with my fingers "--you 
know. Right?"

"That's none of your business," Wren said as haughtily as she 
could. Then she cracked a rueful smile. "Is it that obvious?"

"No," I said with a laugh and a headshake, "I just know you." A 
moment later: "The offer's still open if you wanna join Kendall 
and me."

She shook her head. "I _want_ to, but...."

"I understand," I said.

She thanked me with her eyes.

"So what is it you wanted?" I asked, tactfully changing the 
subject.

"Well, you noticed that Christy's been working on her portfolio a 
lot, but Siobhan isn't the only reason."

I looked a question at her.

"The 22nd will be one year since Laurence was killed," she said 
matter-of-factly. "So that's why Christy's been spending so much 
time on her portfolio."

"I _thought_ I noticed something...," I said absently, trailing 
off. "But I guess I wasn't paying enough attention."

"You don't hear her crying at night," Wren said, trying to take 
the sting out of my self-criticism.

Our eyes locked and I nodded solemnly.

"I was thinking...," Wren continued, "maybe we could throw another 
party? I think she needs it now more than ever."

"I'll take care of everything," I said.

-----

Once again, Trip insisted on paying for the party. Abby offered 
to let us have it at her house, and Luke was more than happy to 
cook. He managed to find shrimp, although he complained about 
their size. They were _fresh_, though, and that's what he wanted, 
so he happily commandeered the Evans's kitchen and made gumbo. To 
counter the heat--of the weather _and_ the food--he made 
strawberry daiquiris, complete with fresh strawberries.

The gumbo was fantastic, the pool was refreshing, and the girls 
looked great in bikinis. Luke's new girlfriend, Natasha, even got 
a little drunk, and wanted to go topless. He tried to convince 
the rest of the girls to join her, but Abby quickly squelched the 
idea. (To most of the guys' muted disappointment, she objected 
_before_ Natasha removed her top.) We managed to have a good time 
anyway, and it was a welcome break from the grind of school.

Unfortunately, the grind returned full force the following 
Monday, and my life was even busier than usual. Trip wanted to 
get the demolition started on our houses, so I worked feverishly 
on the plans. Joska was as hardnosed as ever, but he never 
mentioned my tirade. At times, I still wanted to pull my hair out 
and shout at him, but I never did.

For his part, he tirelessly reviewed my drawings, and I found 
that I was taking up about half of his office hours every day. No 
one ever interrupted us, and I eventually learned that he'd told 
his secretary to hold all calls and visitors. I resented his 
brutal criticism, but I was silently grateful that he dedicated 
so much time to helping me.

Trip, curse his soul, was happy that Joska had taken an interest 
in our project. It meant we wouldn't have to pay an architect to 
review the plans. I don't think he truly understood what I had to 
go through in order to save a couple hundred dollars. I didn't 
exactly _resent_ Trip's happiness, but I definitely had a short 
temper for a while.

Trip bore it with equanimity, and I realized that he was 
supporting me in his own way. His mix tapes were upbeat and high-
energy, and he never complained when I snapped at him. He was 
more than happy to bring me dinner at the design labs, and he 
made sure I always ate breakfast. Between him and Christy, I was 
better-fed than I'd ever been, and it bothered me that I might be 
gaining weight. But I had too many other things on my mind, all 
more important.

The Friday before my birthday, Professor Joska sat back and gazed 
at my latest drawings with something close to satisfaction. I'd 
been in the design lab until two in the morning, but I was 
finally happy with my work.

"What do you think?" he asked after a moment.

"I think they're ready," I said.

For thirty minutes, he grilled me on every aspect of the 
renovation, from the drawings themselves to the building codes. I 
answered every question, defended my decisions, and explained my 
reasoning. I'd spent nearly a month on the plans, and I knew them 
better than I'd ever known anything. Finally, Joska sat back and 
laced his fingers across his midsection.

"Mr. Hughes, you've done an excellent job."

"Thank you, sir."

"Mind, you still have a long way to go before I'm willing to turn 
you loose on the world, but this is a promising beginning."

With that, he took out a pen and signed the drawings. I watched 
in near-exhaustion as his name flowed onto the paper, followed by 
the date. Then he reached into his desk drawer and withdrew a 
seal. With the same meticulous care that he did everything else, 
he stamped his seal next to his signature on each drawing.

I felt a sense of triumph as I watched him do it. I'd fully 
expected him to be grudging or even surly about it, but he seemed 
to be enjoying himself. When he was done, he looked up and held 
my eyes. Then he stood and extended his hand. Almost formally, I 
rose as well, and we shook hands over the signed and sealed 
drawings.

"Congratulations, Mr. Hughes," he said.

"Thank you, sir."

"Now, I should probably let you get back to the design lab. I 
understand the rest of your team is working on their American 
Pavilion drawings."

I nodded tiredly. On top of all my work on the renovation 
drawings, I still had to finish a project for class. I sighed. 
Then I gathered my things and turned to go. At the door, Joska 
stopped me with a word, and I turned.

"It doesn't get any easier, Mr. Hughes," he said softly. "Are you 
sure you want to be an architect?"

"More than anything in the world. Right now, more than sleep, and 
that's saying a lot."

"Very well, then," he said. "I'll stop by the labs later to see 
how everyone's doing."

"I'm sure we'll be there," I said wearily.

"I'm sure you will. Good evening."

I merely nodded in farewell and headed out.

We ended up working till well after midnight. My drawings were 
barely half-finished, though, since I'd been working on the 
renovation plans instead. I still had to critique my teammates' 
drawings as well, but fortunately, theirs were in pretty good 
shape.

I went to the design lab on Saturday too. Kendall spent most of 
the morning with me, studying psychology. She left before lunch, 
bound for the library to continue studying with a group from her 
class. Surprisingly, Christy showed up a little later. Even more 
surprising, she arrived with a picnic basket.

"I hope you're hungry," she said cheerfully, unpacking her 
basket. "Trip said you were over here, so I offered to bring you 
some food. I've got peanut butter and banana sandwiches, granola, 
grapes, an apple, a plum, and some yogurt for dessert."

I looked at her, my eyes heavy from lack of sleep.

"Come on, put down your pencil and eat. What do you want to drink? 
I've got water, apple juice, and Coke."

"Coke, please," I said. "I could use the caffeine."

"Coke it is," she said with a flourish. "Now here," she 
continued, unwrapping the wax paper from a sandwich, "you eat 
while I cut up your apple."

With a slightly bemused expression, I watched her lay food in 
front of me. I _was_ hungry, though, and started eating with more 
energy than I thought I had in me. By the time I was done, I'd 
polished off two sandwiches, the granola, the grapes, the apple, 
and two Cokes. Afterward, Christy cleaned up and then took out 
her sketchpad, obviously planning to draw as I worked.

"Thanks," I said simply.

She smiled, her eyes shining warmly. "That's what friends are 
for."

-----

For my nineteenth birthday, I slept late. Happy birthday to me.

I'd been at the design lab till three in the morning, but I was 
finished with my project drawings and critiques. Unfortunately, 
the phone woke me before I really wanted to get up. It was my 
parents, calling to wish me a happy birthday. I talked to them 
for a while but then returned to bed, intent on getting another 
few hours' sleep.

T.J. banged on my door and woke me a little later. "Happy 
birthday, dude," he said, grinning as he held out the phone. I 
hadn't even heard it ring.

It was Susan, also calling to wish me a happy birthday. We talked 
for a while, about... I don't remember what. When I hung up, I 
stumbled back to bed, but the ringing phone convinced me that I 
wasn't going to get any more sleep, no matter how much I wanted 
to.

"Hi," Kendall's voice said.

"Hi yourself. What's up?"

"Happy birthday. Can I come up?"

"Thanks. Um... sure," I said. "Lemme jump in the shower and then 
I'll meet you in the lobby. Fifteen minutes?"

"I'll be there," she said cheerfully.

We spent the day together and then went out to dinner. I wanted 
to get a hotel for the night (I'd obviously recovered enough that 
I was horny), but Kendall insisted on going back to her 
apartment. When she unlocked the door and the apartment was dark, 
I should've realized that something was up. But I didn't, and I 
nearly jumped out of my skin when someone flicked on the lights 
and everyone yelled "Surprise!"

"Happy birthday, darling," Kendall whispered in my ear. Then she 
kissed my cheek and beamed at my poleaxed expression.

All of our friends were there, and even some other familiar faces 
like Billy, Samantha, and Antonio.

"We totally had you fooled," Luke boasted, shoving a drink into 
my hand.

Trip merely grinned over his shoulder.

"Did you two have anything to do with this?" I asked them.

"We all did," Trip said, "but it was mostly Kendall."

I turned to smile at her. "Thank you," I said softly.

She smiled, her deep blue eyes sparkling.

"C'mon, Loverboy," T.J. shouted from across the room, "say 
something!"

The din quieted and everyone looked at me expectantly.

"Um... thank you all for coming," I said hesitantly, lamely.

"Shoot," T.J. said, "we wouldn't've missed this for the world. 
You shoulda _saw_ the look on your face."

I smiled bashfully, the face in question heating.

With that, someone turned up the stereo and the party began in 
earnest. I was surprised by the number of people who'd managed to 
cram into the tiny apartment, but with the alcohol flowing, 
everyone was in a good mood. Even my exhaustion faded away as 
Trip's party music and Luke's rum concoction worked their magic.

Since it was a Sunday, we couldn't party all night long. Things 
wound down around eleven o'clock, and the last guests trickled 
out around midnight. Wren and Christy stuck around to help clean 
up. When we were done, they said their goodnights and left. Trip 
and Abby lingered a while longer, but then got up to leave.

"We're gonna spend the night in my room," he said. "You know, to 
give you and Kendall some privacy for the, ahem, _real_ birthday 
celebration."

I'm sure I blushed suitably, as intended.

Trip winked at me, a little buzzed. "C'mon, Abs," he said, 
cupping her ass (much to her surprise), "let's go. We've got our 
own celebrating to do."

Abby turned bright red.

Trip merely laughed. "Happy birthday, dude," he said at last. 
Then he stepped forward and hugged me.

I slapped his back and thanked him quietly.

"All right," he said. "We'll see you two at breakfast tomorrow. 
Try to get some sleep in between... you know."

Abby elbowed him in the ribs.

After a few more goodbyes, they headed out and Kendall shut the 
door. Then she leaned against it, a seductive gleam in her eye. I 
felt an answering twitch in my pants. I'd been so busy with my 
various projects that we hadn't had much time together, and I was 
beginning to feel the lack.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I asked.

Her answering smile was the best present of all.

-----

The next day I returned to my suite after lunch to find an 
envelope and a gift-wrapped present leaning against my door. I 
looked around, as if I might spot who had put them there, but the 
foyer was empty. In my room, I opened the envelope first. It was 
from Gina, a simple lavender card with her monogram in silver.

_Paul, you mean more to me than I'll ever be able to tell you. 
I'm sorry I made so many mistakes, and I hope you can forgive me. 
I'll never forget our time together, and I'll always cherish your 
friendship. My ring hangs near my heart, reminding me of you. I 
know you can't wear yours, and I understand why, but think of me 
whenever you use these... Love always, Gina._

After a long, silent moment, I blinked to clear my eyes and then 
opened the present. It was a set of Faber-Castell technical pens-
-an _expensive_ set at that.

I set the box on my desk and idly ran my finger over the texture 
of the card. The faint scent of Gina's perfume lingered in the 
air, from where her wrist had brushed the paper as she wrote. I 
stood at the window, but my eyes were far, far away. I wondered 
if I'd ever get over her. I wondered if I _wanted_ to.

_Love is about more than sex,_ Susan's words echoed in my mind. 
Then I mentally chided myself. _Love is also about communication, 
and trust, and respect. So why did Gina have to break up with me 
to make me remember that?_

Maybe I'd paid so much attention to the sex that I'd forgotten 
about the rest. If for nothing else, I owed Gina for reminding me 
what was truly important in life.

-----

With three weeks remaining until the end of the quarter, 
everything seemed to go into high gear. Professors doled out 
last-minute assignments, and began reviewing for final exams. We 
also began the familiar routine of advising and registration, 
with the added burden of housing request forms for the following 
school year.

On top of all that, I was studying my dog-eared FAR/AIM to get 
ready for my IFR Practical Test, the first step in getting my 
instrument certification. When I mentioned it to Earl, he took me 
aside.

"I'm sorry, Paul," he said in a quiet, earnest voice, "but I 
don't think you're ready."

I blinked in surprise.

"I'm sure you'd pass your Practical and Oral tests, but book-
learning isn't your problem. You need more practice in the air," 
he said bluntly. "Your situational awareness is good, your 
instrument interpretation is good, and you've got a light touch 
on the yoke. But you haven't done enough VOR navigation or ILS 
approaches, and you definitely don't have enough systems failure 
experience."

I jerked a nod, my jaw clenched. I wanted to argue with him, but 
I kept my mouth shut instead.

"All that takes time and practice. These're skills you can't 
learn from a book. You just have to _do_ it, over and over, until 
you get it right. And I'm sorry, you're just not ready yet." At 
my look of frustration, he continued. "Don't worry. It takes most 
pilots a year to get their ticket."

_But I'm not most pilots,_ I thought sullenly. Then I chastised 
myself: _And what makes you think _that_?_ "I understand," I said 
aloud.

When I got back to my room, I moped around for a while, angry and 
discouraged. I started to change into my workout clothes, but 
then had a better idea--a _mature_ idea. I acted on it for a 
change, and picked up the phone.

"Hi, Mom," I said when she answered, "is Dad there?"

"Is everything okay?" she asked immediately.

"Yeah, sure," I lied. After a pause: "I mean... no, not really. I 
just got some bad news and I guess I want to talk to Dad about 
it."

"Sure. Hold on a second."

My dad came to the phone a moment later. "What's going on?"

"Life sucks," I said, dejected and sounding like it. Then I told 
him what Earl had said. "I want to kick and scream and shout that 
life just isn't fair, but that won't do me any good. And Earl's 
probably right," I added. "I _hate_ admitting it, too, which is 
even worse."

To my surprise, my dad chuckled. "Don't worry about it, Paul. You 
just need practice, that's all."

"That's easy for you to say," I said. "You've got thousands of 
hours, and this is all easy for you. Besides, you've already 
_got_ your IFR certification."

"And several others besides," he added, "but that doesn't mean I 
didn't have to _earn_ them in the first place."

"I guess," I said, more admission than evasion. "To make matters 
worse, though, I've just about used up all of the flight time 
Susan gave me, so I'll have to start paying for it now."

"We might be able to help out," he said. "After all, if you're 
paying for school next year, then--"

"No," I said, more abruptly than I intended. My face heated as I 
heard my tone. "Um... sorry, Dad," I said. Calmer: "I didn't call 
to beg for money. I'll figure out how to pay for the flight time 
and lessons. I guess I just called to complain to somebody who'd 
understand."

He laughed softly. "Oh, I understand. Flight training was a 
little different for me, but I remember what it was like...."

We talked for thirty minutes about everything from instrument 
navigation to the differences between civilian and military 
aviation. At least I didn't have to learn to shoot rockets and 
drop bombs (although an image of Rod's Porsche came to mind as I 
thought about it). When I finally hung up, I didn't feel any less 
dejected, but at least I realized that I wasn't the only one 
who'd ever made mistakes or not learned something as quickly as I 
wanted.

-----

Aside from my disappointment with my IFR certification, my life 
was pretty good. Very, _very_ busy, but good. The intramural 
soccer season came to an end, and our team made it to the 
quarterfinals. Unfortunately, we lost to a team from Clement 
Hall.

Kendall and I went on a double date with Trip and Abby to see 
Billy's musical, _1776_, and had a great time. Billy even invited 
us backstage afterward, and introduced Trip and the girls to his 
friend, Jamie.

The renovation plans were in the hands of the subcontractors for 
bids on materials. Demolition work on the bungalows had begun, 
and Trip made several trips home to check the progress. According 
to his schedule, we were a little behind, but the renovations on 
the Colonial Revival weren't as extensive as expected, so we 
could make up time there.

I was worried about advising for the fall quarter, though, since 
it came with an added complication: a permanent faculty advisor. 
I hoped I'd be assigned to someone like Professor Ledbetter, but 
I knew what was going to happen before I even got the card for my 
appointment.

"Welcome, Mr. Hughes," Professor Joska said as I sat down across 
from him.

"I thought you just ran the advising center," I said.

"Oh, I do," he said, entirely too congenial, "but I advise a 
limited number of Design students as well."

"Of course," I said, as laconically as I could.

"I take comfort from the fact that McDonald's is always hiring, 
so you're here because you _want_ to be."

I felt my face heating.

He merely gazed at me, a challenge in his eyes.

"The only McDonald's application I'll need is the one to write my 
graduation speech on," I said at last, with hard-learned self-
control keeping even _more_ bravado from my voice.

"We'll see, Mr. Hughes," he said. "We'll see." Then he took out a 
note pad, and turned businesslike. He wrote a list of times and 
section numbers on it. "These are my Design Strategy sections. 
And you'll need to take Professor Littleton for your Architecture 
History classes; these are the relevant sections. In addition, 
we're introducing a new computer class for architects; Professor 
Liang is teaching it, and I want you to take it. Do you have any 
experience with computers?"

"Yes, sir, I do," I said. "I actually own one." _Thank you, 
Susan!_

"Excellent. You'll undoubtedly do well."

Once again, I felt my face heating, but out of humility, instead 
of the more-common embarrassment.

"You'll need to take a history elective--I suggest Western 
Civilization--and Physics--"

"Actually, sir," I interrupted, "I have AP credit for Physics. So 
I'll probably take an elective."

"Which one?"

"I don't really know. I was thinking about interior design, since 
I enjoy human factors so much."

"An excellent idea, Mr. Hughes," Joska said. Without even looking 
at the timetable, he began writing. "Here is a list of professors 
and their sections." He finished the first page and turned to 
another. "And here is a list of books you need to read over the 
summer."

My eyebrows shot up. Joska's handwriting was neat and precise--he 
_was_ an architect--and I could easily read it upside down. 
Surprisingly, the list was full of biographies: Leone Battista 
Alberti, Andrea Palladio, Christopher Wren, Louis Sullivan, and 
several more.

"I think that should be enough for now," he said, tearing off the 
note pages and handing them over. "Are you planning to model for 
Professor O'Riordan's classes next autumn?"

Once again, my eyebrows rose involuntarily; I'd never told him 
_whose_ classes I modeled for. I shouldn't have been surprised, 
though, since he seemed to know everything _else_ about my 
college career. Eventually, I composed myself enough to answer, 
"Yes, sir."

"Good. You'll need the time to relax; you're going to be very 
busy next year." With that, he withdrew a sheaf of papers from 
his top desk drawer. "I have one final task for you--these are 
scholarships for which you should apply."

For once, my eyebrows stayed put. Instead, my jaw dropped. "S-
scholarships?"

"Of course," he said. "You'll have to submit drawings, an essay, 
and your transcript for two of them, but just your transcript and 
an essay for the third. Use your Gateway Arch drawings, as well 
as your Sunsphere and American Pavilion drawings, since the 
World's Fair architecture is currently getting so much 
attention."

I blinked in disbelief. My grades alone should place me in the 
running for academic scholarships, but design scholarships were a 
competition, a _hard-fought_ competition at that.

"Make an appointment with my secretary when you have your 
schedule worked out."

I nodded, speechless.

"And I'll need to review your scholarship applications before you 
send them out."

Another nod.

"You have a lot to do in a short period of time, Mr. Hughes."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." With that, I took the cue and 
gathered the papers. When I walked into the hall, I simply stood 
there. _Holy shit,_ I thought, _what happened to the pitiless 
professor who hated my guts? And who was _that_ guy?_ I wondered, 
looking back.

-----

Trip stuck his head through my open door and cleared his throat. 
I looked up from my computer, the screen glowing with a half-
finished scholarship essay.

"What's up?" I said.

"You up for some pizza?"

I shrugged. I didn't feel like doing anything, much less walking 
down to the Strip. I'd been up late every night, studying or 
writing, and I was exhausted.

"Luke and Jeff and I were gonna talk about housing, and we need 
you, of course."

Trip and I had talked about living together in the fall, but we 
hadn't made any definite plans.

"Jeff's girlfriend is a student worker in the Housing office," he 
said, "and she thinks she can get us our first choice. But we 
need to have the forms in by Monday. So, are you up for it?"

"I guess," I said at last.

Over pizza and beer, we filled out the forms. Audaciously, Trip 
suggested that we apply for the Apartment Residence Hall--Andy 
Holt Apartments (where Kendall and Abby lived). It was usually 
filled with juniors and seniors, and since we were mere 
sophomores-to-be, I didn't think we had a chance.

"Hey," Trip said optimistically, "even if Meredith _can't_ get us 
our first choice, we'll still get Morrill."

"She's pretty sure she can get what we want," Jeff said.

"But what if I don't want to live with you _couillons?_" Luke 
asked, grinning.

"Just shut the fuck up and fill out the form," Jeff said. "You 
dumb, hairy fuck," he added under his breath.

"Skinny freak," Luke shot back.

Trip and I merely grinned at each other. I was excited by the 
prospect of having an apartment, not to mention living with the 
three of them. We all got along, and we knew each other well 
enough that we'd quickly settle any disputes.

"Do I need to fill out another form for our fifth roommate?" Luke 
asked, holding up his right hand meaningfully.

"_Dude_," Jeff said, indignant, "if you start that shit, I'm not 
gonna room with you."

"Hey," Luke shot back, "I'm not lucky enough to have a girlfriend 
who's a nympho."

At that, Jeff's face turned bright red.

"Some of us have to do things the old-fashioned way," Luke 
continued.

"You've got a girlfriend," Jeff said.

"Yeah," Luke said, "but we don't do it three times a day, you 
oversexed freak."

"_Three_ times a day?" Trip said.

Jeff turned a deeper shade of scarlet.

"Three times a day," Luke confirmed.

"Not _every_ day," Jeff said.

Luke rolled his eyes. "Still... you go through a box of rubbers in 
less than a week. And besides...."

With a hidden sigh, I realized that I'd been in my own little 
world for the past weeks--_months_ even. I had no idea what they 
were talking about, although the gist was obvious enough. Aside 
from soccer practice and meals, I hadn't talked to Luke and Jeff 
very much, and I regretted that.

"You've been busy with other things," Trip said in an aside, 
sensing my mood. He shrugged. "We all have. It happens."

"I guess."

"Don't worry about it," he said confidently. "The guys knew you 
were working on the house plans, and they didn't care that you 
were busy. You were there when we needed you." He smiled. "Trust 
me."

We looked up as the volume at the table rose.

"We'd better break this up," he said, grinning. To Luke and Jeff, 
louder: "C'mon, y'all, let's get these forms filled out."

"Fucking gross," Jeff muttered, looking askance at Luke. "I can't 
believe you tried to _touch_ me with that hand."

"Don't listen to him, _mon cher_," Luke said, kissing the back of 
the hand in question. "He doesn't mean it. He _loves_ you."

"Ugh!" Jeff protested.

"Guys!" Trip called sharply.

With chagrined looks, Luke and Jeff returned to their forms. 
Trip and I merely shared a dubious headshake and returned to our 
own.

I was looking forward to living with them, but it was going to be 
an adventure!

-----

The final weeks of the quarter were grueling. I had a paper due 
in English class, but I'd only written half of it. I had flat-out 
skipped a museum viewing for Art History, so I'd have to fake it 
when I wrote the report. And I hadn't spent _nearly_ enough time 
studying for Calculus. On the bright side, I was as prepared as 
I'd ever be for my architecture finals.

Through a ruthless, almost Darwinian process, I learned what I 
could skip and what I had to pay attention to. English and Art 
History were fun courses, but they weren't directly related to my 
degree. I'd even been picking and choosing which Calculus 
homework to do, based upon where I needed the practice.

So as exam week began I was struggling to play catch-up. I 
finished my English paper, but I was counting on Professor 
Feller's lax grading for at least half a letter grade, perhaps 
more. Christy had diligently quizzed me on Art History, although 
I was still weak on the French Impressionists. Fortunately, late 
nights with my Calculus book gave me hope that I might pull out a 
B.

In the end, I did better in Calculus (an A-), and worse in 
English and Art History. Professor Feller hadn't been impressed 
with my paper, and had given me a B-. I'd confused _Monet_ with 
_Manet_ on Dr. Bertrand's exam, and missed an entire series of 
questions, which dropped my score to a 72, barely a C.

The English paper wasn't enough to pull my overall grade below an 
A, but the Art History exam dropped my grade to a B. Combined 
with Calculus and three As in my architecture classes, I was 
still assured of making the Dean's List, but the solitary B 
rankled (and put a dent in my hitherto perfect GPA).

-----

With exams over, I was exhausted and relieved at the same time. 
Unfortunately, I still had to pack my things and move out of the 
dorm. Campus had already begun to empty, and still more students 
would leave over the weekend. Some would stay for the summer 
quarter, but most of my friends had jobs or other plans.

The move-out deadline was the following Tuesday, but Trip and I 
decided to skip the rush. We weren't in a tremendous hurry, 
though, since the renovation crews were scheduled to begin after 
the Fourth of July holiday.

Gina's parents had arrived earlier in the week, after her last 
exam. She and Regan were moving to Los Angeles, where they had 
jobs in a hospital, courtesy of Regan's father. Before Gina left, 
we got together one final time, to say goodbye--goodbye for who 
knew how long. We lingered over our farewells, both promising to 
write. When we finally parted, I felt an emptiness I couldn't 
describe.

On Saturday, T.J. and Glen packed their things and loaded Glen's 
pick-up truck. T.J. even laughed and joked with me as though we 
were lifelong friends. Glen had to suppress a smirk at my 
expression, but he shook my hand and nodded solemnly--silent 
approval for how far T.J. and I had come.

Billy actually hugged me and had to blink back tears when he said 
goodbye, telling me I'd been "the best roommate ever." Jeff moved 
home the same day, and Luke's parents arrived the following 
morning.

Wren and I drove Christy to the airport, where she bid us a 
tearful farewell. She planned to visit Simon in England for a 
month, and promised to bring us back souvenirs. Wren's parents 
arrived later that afternoon, and her mother lamented our "break-
up." Wren had told her that we were still friends, though, so I 
helped them load their car.

My family was already at the Pines, but they called Sunday 
evening. I thought I could fit my belongings in the Land Cruiser, 
but they insisted on flying back to Atlanta and driving to 
Knoxville in the station wagon, "just in case." I hadn't even 
begun to pack, though, and my room was a disaster.

Monday morning, I awoke to an empty suite and began planning my 
day: packing, packing, and more packing. As I began, I wondered 
how I'd acquired so much junk. Worse, I wanted to keep most of 
it. Several hours later I was busily pulling books and sketchpads 
from my shelf when Trip stuck his head through my open door.

"Man, this place looks worse than _my_ room," he said.

I stood in the middle of a circle of boxes, crates, laundry 
baskets, and duffel bags. It looked like a tornado had struck.

"Are you up for some lunch?" he asked.

I _needed_ to finish packing, but I _wanted_ to take a break. 
Besides, I had skipped breakfast, and at the mention of food, my 
stomach noisily reminded me of the fact.  "Sure," I said at last.

Kendall and Abby had also decided to stay until Tuesday, but they 
were still packing, so they declined our lunch invitation.

"What're your plans for tonight?" Trip asked afterward.

I shrugged. "Nothing, really. Why? What's up?"

"Abby mentioned this really nice Italian restaurant, so I thought 
we could get dressed up and take the girls to dinner. Then, since 
they have the apartment to themselves, we can hang out there. So, 
are you up for it?"

"_Absolutely_. After the week I've had-- Hell, after the _month_ 
I've had, I could use a good party, even if it's only the four of 
us."

"Six o'clock? I'll make the reservations, you drive?"

"Let me call Kendall to make sure she doesn't have plans," I 
said, "but yeah, that sounds good."

Kendall didn't have plans, of course, and Abby had already 
mentioned the possibility, so she had her dress laid out. I told 
her we'd pick them up at five thirty and then I went back to work 
on my room. At five o'clock I showered and shaved (high and low), 
and donned my suit. Trip knocked on my door as I was tying my 
tie.

"You ready?" he asked.

I slung my jacket over my shoulder in reply. Ten minutes later, 
we picked up the girls. Kendall was wearing her form-fitting 
silver dress, and looked fantastic. Trip did a double-take, 
although he hid it well. Abby's light blue outfit was more 
conservative, but the dress clung to her body in all the right 
places.

The Italian restaurant was dim and full of old-world ambiance, 
and a corner of my mind noted the northern influence of Venice in 
the design. While I was still staring at the architecture, Trip 
ordered a bottle of white wine. Chagrined, I dragged my 
attention back to the booth. Kendall smiled and leaned close.

"You're so cute," she whispered affectionately. "Everywhere we 
go, you're always looking at the architecture."

I grinned guiltily.

Her eyes glittered with a smile as she turned to her menu. My 
answering smile died as she sighed almost imperceptibly. A moment 
later I realized why--the menu was full of seafood dishes.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" I asked her in a low voice.

"I'll be fine," she said. "I'm sure I can find something."

"Is everything okay?" Trip asked.

"Kendall doesn't eat seafood," I said.

"I like shrimp," she said, almost defensively.

"Well then," Trip said without hesitation, "let's see what kind 
of shrimp dish we can find."

Kendall eventually settled on shrimp scampi, and smiled her 
thanks as she folded her menu. By contrast, I _loved_ seafood, 
and had a hard time choosing. I was still trying to decide when 
the waiter returned with our wine. I finally chose a Venetian 
fish and polenta dish, which sounded delicious. After the waiter 
took our orders and left, Trip lifted his glass in a toast.

"To best friends and beautiful women," he said with a mischievous 
grin. "May we always hold on to 'em!"

Abby blushed, Kendall grinned, and I laughed outright, but we all 
raised our glasses and drank. Aside from a few other diners, we 
had the restaurant to ourselves, so we relaxed, ordered a second 
bottle of wine as the salads arrived, and proceeded to enjoy 
ourselves.

Since I had to drive us home, I stopped drinking wine after my 
second glass. Kendall was already tipsy, and didn't seem inclined 
to stay sober. That was fine by me, since she usually got horny 
when she was drunk.

Trip seemed to be plying Abby with wine as well, and he met my 
eyes as he finished filling the girls' glasses. With a smile and 
an arched eyebrow, he seemed to ask, "Are you up for it?"

I smiled roguishly.

When the girls went to the bathroom together, he confirmed my 
suspicions.

"I hope you don't mind," he said, indicating the wine. "I figure 
the girls'll have fun."

"Sounds good to me," I said. When he grew serious, though, I 
followed suit.

"We're pretty good friends, right?" he said, an opening line for 
more to follow.

"_Best_ friends."

"I think so too. So d'you mind if I ask you something? Well, it's 
more like a favor."

"Sure, shoot," I said.

"Abby told me--" he looked around to make sure no one could 
overhear "--that you and Kendall are nudists."

I felt my heart quicken, but I nodded as calmly as I could.

"I hope you don't mind that she told me," he said, 
uncharacteristically nervous.

I shook my head, but kept my mouth shut and tried to figure out 
where the conversation was going.

"Anyway... I was thinking... I really want Abby to loosen up a bit. 
She's not a prude when we're alone, but she's not very 
adventurous in public. You know?"

I nodded.

"She's a great girl, but I wish she was more open-minded. And I 
was kinda hoping we could do something with you and Kendall 
tonight."

At that, my heart began to race in earnest. The phrase "do 
something" could mean anything from--

"Maybe after dinner, we could go back to the apartment and... you 
know... get naked or something."

"Get naked or something?" I echoed, unsure of what else to say.

"Yeah, you know," he said. "I mean, _I_ don't have a problem with 
it. And since you and Kendall are nudists, I figured you wouldn't 
have a problem with it. So I kinda wanted Abby to get comfortable 
and all, without worrying about Phoebe or Vivian coming home, or 
anything else."

"Ah, I get it."

"I just thought it'd be cool to sit around naked and talk or 
something," he said. "But there's no way Abby would agree unless... 
you know," he added, nodding at the wine. "Like I said, she's 
normally pretty reserved, but.... Anyway, what do you think?"

"Sure, I'm game," I said, visions of Abby's lithe body already 
filling my imagination. Then I sobered. Trip had been on sports 
teams all his life, so he was probably used to seeing other guys 
in the showers. But there's a big difference between the locker 
room and being nude with friends, especially _female_ friends. 
"Are you sure about this?" I asked at last.

He nodded immediately. "I've been thinking about it ever since 
Abby told me about you and Kendall." Then he blushed. "And this 
isn't just an excuse to see Kendall naked, even though...." He shut 
his mouth with a clomp and covered his embarrassment by taking a 
drink of wine.

"That's all right," I said, laughing to ease his mind. "I don't 
mind other guys looking at Kendall. I mean, I know you're cool."

He looked immensely relieved.

"Besides," I added, "she looks fantastic in that dress."

"_I'll_ say," he said automatically.

With the barest hint of a smile, I delivered the coup de grace: 
"You should see her _out_ of it."

Trip rewarded me by choking on his wine.

"Are you okay?" Abby asked as she and Kendall returned.

Still coughing, Trip nodded. Then he cast a reproachful glance at 
me. "I'm fine," he said at last. "I just swallowed when I 
should've breathed." After another accusing glance my way--
answered by a smug grin--we slid out of the booth to let the 
girls sit.

The rest of the meal flew past, the wine flowing and the 
conversation rife with sexual innuendo. Both girls were tipsy, 
and Trip had a healthy buzz as well. I was mostly sober, but I 
was thoroughly enjoying myself.

Finally, Trip sat back and put his arm around Abby. His hand hung 
over her shoulder, and with studied casualness, he began 
caressing her cloth-covered nipple. Her eyes flew wide, and 
Kendall abruptly stopped talking.

"So, how about some champagne," I suggested in the lull.

Abby was shocked, but she was drunk enough that she didn't move 
his hand.

While Trip summoned the waiter and ordered a bottle of Asti 
Spumante, Kendall glanced at me, confused. I leaned over, my lips 
close to her ear as I explained. When I sat back, her face was 
flushed with excitement.

"Really?" she asked quietly.

I nodded.

"Wow."

I darted a glance at Trip. He saw me out of the corner of his 
eye. When he lifted an eyebrow in question, I nodded as 
surreptitiously as I could. His answering smile was goofy and 
excited.

The waiter brought the spumante and glasses, poured, and then 
departed. Trip made another toast, and we all drank. Then he 
whispered something in Abby's ear. She flushed, her eyelashes 
fluttering. In one long swallow, she finished her spumante, her 
hand delicately going to her nose as the bubbles tickled.

"Why don't we finish this bottle and head home," I suggested, my 
hand working its way up Kendall's thigh to the warmth at their 
juncture.

At that point the minutes dragged by, of course. Fortunately, 
Trip called for the check as soon as we finished the bottle. He 
absolutely refused to let me pay for my half of the meal, though, 
and I'm ashamed to say that I didn't argue as hard as I should 
have.

After the girls took a quick trip to the ladies' room, we left. 
We stopped at a liquor store near campus, and Trip emerged with 
two more bottles of Asti Spumante. Kendall and Abby were feeling 
no pain, though, so I didn't think we'd need much.

During the short drive back to the apartment, I worried about 
what Trip and I were doing. Kendall was obviously willing, but 
Abby seemed nervous and reluctant. She was going along because 
she loved Trip, and because she was buzzed. But I reminded myself 
that alcohol doesn't make people do things they don't want to. 
Besides, Trip and I weren't planning to _force_ anyone to do 
anything. We were simply going to take off our clothes and relax.

Still, the sexual energy fairly crackled around us, and I was 
secretly hoping that Trip might be open to a foursome. I 
definitely wasn't bored with Kendall, but the idea of having sex 
with a new girl was almost overpowering. I ruthlessly suppressed 
the impulse, though. In the first place, I had no idea how to 
broach the subject. In the second, going from friends to nudists 
to swingers in one night was probably more than Trip and Abby 
were ready for.

At the apartment building we pulled into the parking lot and 
quickly found a space. Trip and I shoved the wine bottles under 
our sport coats as we headed inside. Upstairs, I put one bottle 
in the freezer and the other in the refrigerator for later. Then 
I returned to the living room, where Trip was taking off his 
coat.

"Boy, it sure is hot out there," he said, dramatically loosening 
his tie.

"Why don't you change into something comfortable," I suggested.

"I wish I'd brought something with me," he said with a theatrical 
shrug. "But you know, it's too bad we have to wear clothes at 
all."

The situation was turning into a scene from a bad movie, so I 
took over. "We're all friends here," I said to nods all around. 
"And you know that Kendall and I are nudists, right?"

Abby snuck a glance at Trip, who had the presence of mind to 
appear surprised.

"Well, we are," I said to him, playing my part.

"Oh, okay," he said. "That's cool."

"And since we're all friends," I continued, "why don't we get... 
um... comfortable? Without our clothes, I mean." I looked at Trip 
and deliberately repeated his favorite phrase. "Are you up for 
it?"

At that, Kendall fought to suppress a tipsy laugh.

I tried not to glare at her, but when she darted a meaningful 
glance at the bulge of my erection, I felt my face warming. _Am I 
"up" for it? Indeed!_

Kendall lost her battle and burst into giggles. Fortunately, that 
was the perfect thing to do, since it defused the tension in the 
air.

"Come on, Abby," Trip said when we finally composed ourselves. 
"It'll be fun. We're all friends. And besides, we've got the 
apartment to ourselves, so no one will barge in."

She looked dubious.

"It'll be fine, Abby," Kendall said. "You'll get used to it. 
Besides, it's nothing the guys haven't seen before." With that, 
she turned her back to me and swept her hair aside so I could 
lower her zipper. It hissed down her back, revealing her smooth, 
tanned skin.

"C'mon, Abs," Trip said. Then, insidiously, he pulled her close 
and kissed her bare shoulder.

I watched her resistance crumble as he planted kisses up her neck 
to her ear. There, he whispered something. After a long moment of 
indecision, she nodded.

Kendall had been watching as intently as I, and she smiled at me 
over her shoulder. Then she wriggled, and her dress slid down her 
arms. Trip's eyes nearly bugged out when he saw her breasts. Then 
he stifled a gasp as she shimmied and pushed the dress over her 
hips. A moment later, she stepped out of her panties, tossing 
them aside. At that, Trip _did_ gasp.

He looked at me, eyes wide, and I had to hide a chuckle as he 
swallowed hard. I guess Abby hadn't gone so far as to tell him 
that Kendall shaved her pussy. With another silent gulp, he 
looked away. Fortunately, his composure returned as he focused on 
Abby's zipper. After he lowered it, she let the dress fall to the 
floor.

Hesitantly, she turned to face him, and unfastened her bra. It 
came loose and she shrugged free of it. As she gazed up at Trip, 
I took a moment to study her breasts, which were round and firm, 
though smallish, and capped by brown nipples. Kendall discreetly 
cleared her throat, drawing my attention away. I'd been staring, 
and I felt my face heat at the realization. Kendall merely 
grinned, her blue eyes full of laughter.

When I turned back to Trip and Abby, they were still facing each 
other, but Abby had removed her panties. Trip reached for his tie 
but then stopped, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

I hid a smirk as he tried not to look down at the bulge of his 
hard-on.

"Um...," he said at last, "I just thought of something." He looked 
at me, his eyes round with apprehension. "Can I talk to you for a 
minute? Alone?"

I nodded, and we stepped into the kitchen.

"One thing I didn't think of...," he began guiltily.

I knew what he was about to say, but I was having fun watching 
him work up to it, so I kept my mouth shut.

He grimaced in accusation when he realized what I was doing.

"Hey, this was your bright idea," I said at last.

"Yeah, but I guess I didn't think it through."

Smugly, I shook my head.

"Okay, Mr. Nudist Colony, what--"

"_Camp_," I interjected, suppressing a grin.

He looked a question at me.

"We call them nudist _camps_."

He rolled his eyes. "I'll get you back for this," he said without 
heat. Then he laughed. "Okay, man," he finally asked, "what do 
you do if you've got a hard-on?"

I chuckled, low and dark. "I dunno," I fibbed, "it's never 
happened to me."

"My _ass_."

"Okay," I admitted with a laugh, "you got me."

"So what are we supposed to do? I mean, I really wanna do this, 
but...." He finished with a helpless shrug.

"Just ignore it, man," I said, taking pity on him at last. "I 
mean, it happens sometimes. It's natural, you know? So let's just 
pretend we're not sporting woodies. Okay?"

"But what about the girls?"

"I don't think they're gonna get hard-ons," I said with a 
straight face.

He automatically started to agree, but then realized what I'd 
said.

My lips quirked up in a smile as he scowled.

"I really will get you back for this," he threatened as ominously 
as he could. Then he laughed, the release of tension almost 
palpable.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "Seriously. I don't think the 
girls'll say anything. Kendall certainly won't." I suspected that 
her reaction would be _delight_, rather than shock. "And can you 
imagine _Abby_ saying anything?"

He barked a laugh. "No way, man."

With that, it was my turn to clap _him_ on the shoulder, despite 
our six-inch height difference. "Now come on, my horny, soon-to-
be-nudist friend--"

He grinned at me sidelong.

"--let's not keep the girls waiting."

Back in the living room, Abby and Kendall were sitting on the 
couch. I didn't want to make Abby any more nervous than she 
obviously was, though, so I barely spared her a glance.

"What took you so long?" Kendall asked, all sweetness and 
innocence.

"We had to discuss something that came up," I deadpanned.

Beside me, Trip tried not to snort with laughter, but he quickly 
succumbed. Kendall, as sharp as ever, started giggling. I tried 
to look nonplussed when Abby turned to me for answers, but she 
figured it out a moment later, and her cheeks turned rosy. As she 
hid her eyes behind her hand, I took the opportunity to study her 
body.

Her breasts were smaller than Gina's, but very attractive. Her 
stomach was flat and trim, and her hips flared to smooth thighs. 
She had her legs crossed demurely, though, so I could only see 
the top of her dark bush.

When I finally looked away, Kendall was smiling at me. I arched 
an eyebrow, as if to ask, "What?" She rolled her eyes, silently 
saying, "_You_ know." I grinned in admission and then turned to 
Trip.

"Are you okay, buddy?" I asked solicitously, slapping him on the 
back.

He straightened, his face red from laughter. "I mean it," he 
said, chuckling as he wiped his eyes, "I'm gonna get you for 
this."

I shrugged with lighthearted unconcern.

"I thought we were going to get comfortable," Kendall said from 
the couch.

Trip and I looked at each other.

"Well," he said at last, "here goes."

Neither of us looked directly at the other as we took off our 
clothes, but I was acutely aware of his presence. When he finally 
stood after removing his socks, our eyes met. Out of my 
peripheral vision, I could tell that his dick was hard. Mine was 
too, and he pointedly avoided glancing down.

"So far, so good," he said.

I nodded, smiling. "Let's see if the wine's cold yet."

It wasn't, so we used the simple expedient of dropping an ice 
cube in each cup. Our erections didn't flag as we went through 
the mundane task of opening and pouring the wine. With a silent, 
jaded chuckle, I realized that I was probably just as excited as 
he, albeit for different reasons.

A part of me--a _small_ part, admittedly--still thought he might 
agree if I suggested swapping girlfriends. But Abby would never 
go for it, and I hadn't even discussed it with Kendall, although 
I didn't think she'd object.

The girls were talking quietly as we returned with the cups of 
wine. They looked up, and Abby immediately averted her eyes. 
Kendall, on the other hand, discreetly glanced between our 
erections, no doubt comparing the two. (I hadn't done more than 
glance sidelong at Trip's dick, but it looked about the same size 
as mine.)

I handed Kendall her cup of spumante and then sank to the floor 
next to her, my erection jutting upward as I sat cross-legged. 
Trip sat next to Abby, also on the floor.

"So," he asked, "what should we talk about?"

"Why don't we talk about the first thing that comes up?" Abby 
suggested with too-deliberate casualness.

It was _my_ turn to choke with laughter, but I was hardly alone. 
When we recovered, Abby grinned, shy and clever. Then she looked 
at Trip, although her eyes carefully avoided his erection.

For the next thirty minutes, we drank and talked, the tension 
easing as the wine flowed. The alcohol was making inroads on 
Abby's inhibitions, and she let her eyes roam a little freer. 
Trip wasn't completely relaxed, but he was getting used to being 
nude.

As we talked about everyday things, our erections gradually 
flagged. My dick never softened completely, though, and neither 
did Trip's. Not surprisingly, the slightest things were likely to 
make us hard.

We each had several incidents, from things as random as a snippet 
of conversation or a gesture. Each time it happened, we kept 
talking. But we definitely _noticed_, whether we acknowledged it 
or not, and the sexual tension was almost palpable.

When we emptied the bottle, Kendall and Abby excused themselves 
to use the bathroom. Trip gestured for me to join him in the 
kitchen.

"Dude," he said, obviously buzzed, "I hope you don't think I'm 
gay or anything, but do you shave... you know... down there?"

I felt my face heating, but nodded nonetheless.

"Why?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I just like the way it looks."

"It makes your dick look bigger." When he realized what he'd 
said, he turned beet red.

I did too, but I overcame my shock quicker than he did. "Don't 
worry about it," I said at last. "I mean, neither of us is gay, 
right?"

He fervently agreed.

"So don't worry about it. I mean, I can look at your dick without 
being a fag."

"Absolutely."

"So you can look at mine without being one either. Okay?"

He looked immensely relieved.

"That's one of the things about being a nudist," I said. "You've 
got to get used to other guys... dicks and all. So don't worry 
about asking me if I shave down there," I said, as nonchalantly 
as I could. "That's cool. Now come on, my curious, not-a-fag 
friend," I said, affably mocking him, "let's get the other bottle 
of wine."

As a thought struck him, he grinned.

"What?" I asked, opening the refrigerator.

"I was just thinking how fitting this is. Usually, _I'm_ the one 
who's confident and sure of himself," he said. "But now the 
shoe's on the other foot...," he said, trailing off with a grateful 
look. "I guess what I'm trying to say is thanks. Thanks for not 
laughing at me or being offended or just... getting weird."

I laughed good-naturedly. "You're welcome."

With that, we returned to the living room. As we drank and 
talked, Trip and Abby grew more relaxed--and buzzed--with Trip 
sitting on the easy chair while Abby perched on its wide arm, his 
arm comfortably around her waist. Kendall and I sat on the couch, 
her feet tucked beneath her as she leaned against my side, my arm 
draped around her.

The conversation barely faltered as our dicks swelled and shrank, 
but everyone was aware when it happened. By the time we emptied 
the bottle, Abby was definitely drunk, and Kendall had begun to 
speak deliberately. Trip seemed more buzzed than I was, but 
neither of us was really drunk, since we'd been shamelessly 
pouring more for the girls.

The end of the bottle signaled a general bathroom break, and when 
the girls returned to the living room, Trip took the opportunity 
to pull Abby into his lap. Kendall looked at me, her eyes 
unfocused by alcohol. Then she stumbled, and I stood to catch 
her.

"Oh my goodness," she said, "I'd better not have any more spu... 
spumante."

I hid a grin as I eased her down to the couch and then sat beside 
her.

Trip and Abby were oblivious, though, since he was kissing her. 
As Kendall and I watched, his hand brushed Abby's stomach and 
then cupped her breast. She didn't resist, and even whimpered as 
he tweaked her nipple. I took the opportunity to kiss Kendall, my 
palm covering her breast as our lips met. While Trip and Abby 
made out, Kendall and I did the same, my hands roaming freely.

A minute later I cracked an eyelid and glanced at the other 
couple. Trip was still cupping Abby's breast, gently twisting her 
nipple with thumb and forefinger. Kendall moaned softly against 
me, and I momentarily panicked; what if she caught me looking at 
the other couple? A quick glance confirmed that her eyes were 
shut, so I turned my one-eyed attention back to Trip and Abby.

When he dropped his hand to her thighs, she resisted. He was 
insistent, though, and she eventually let him spread her legs. He 
played with her pussy for a moment, and I shamelessly turned so I 
could open both eyes and get a better look. Her pussy was lightly 
furred, and I glimpsed a flash of pink as Trip's fingers slid 
along her slit.

I didn't want to get caught staring, though, so I returned my 
attention to Kendall. When I turned to face her, she immediately 
reached for my erection, gripping it without regard for the other 
couple. My fingers found her slit, and she moaned as I brushed 
her hooded clit.

Abby whimpered in growing passion as Trip teased her pussy, and 
over the next few minutes, I snuck a few quick glimpses. Her legs 
were spread completely, giving him easy access, and he was slowly 
thrusting his middle finger deep inside her.

Kendall broke our kiss momentarily, and I snapped my eyes shut. 
Fortunately, she didn't notice, and started planting kisses down 
my neck. I glanced at the other couple, and my eyes met Trip's. 
He turned red and immediately glanced away, but I kept looking at 
him.

When he realized it, he looked back and met my gaze. I winked, 
and a slow grin spread across his face. Abby clutched him, and he 
took a moment to kiss her forehead tenderly. But when he looked 
back at me, I held his eyes for a moment, silently telling him, 
"Watch this." Then I leaned down, my lips close to Kendall's ear.

"Spread your legs," I said.

She looked up, oblivious to Trip watching us. Her brow furrowed.

"Spread your legs," I repeated.

Without even asking why, she did, and Trip's eyes widened as he 
got an eyeful of Kendall's shaved, shiny pussy. She went back to 
planting kisses in the hollow of my neck, her fingers squeezing 
my cock.

We continued like that for ten or fifteen minutes. Every once in 
a while, I'd glance up to catch Trip looking at us, and we'd 
exchange grins. Judging by his expression, he was as turned on as 
I was, and seemed perfectly comfortable being both watcher _and_ 
watched.

Finally, however, Abby said something to him, and he withdrew his 
fingers from her pussy. She immediately closed her legs. I felt 
the mood change, and gently pushed Kendall away from my neck. She 
looked up in confusion.

For her part, Abby blushed, embarrassed by her behavior. I simply 
acted like it was an everyday occurrence.

"I'll be right back," she said to Trip.

Then she caught Kendall's eye, and the two of them went to the 
bathroom. Trip's dick was hard and very, very red. I spared a 
quick glance at my own manhood, which looked much the same.

"Abby sure has loosened up," he said after a moment. "I just wish 
she'd...."

"Wish she'd what?"

"Never mind," he said. "She never would."

"Would what?"

His eyes met mine and he gauged my reaction. "Kendall and Gina," 
he hinted.

I felt my brow crease.

"You know," he said, his expression trying to convey his meaning, 
"_Kendall and Gina_. How they... you know." He made a vague sex 
gesture with both hands. "But Abby'd never go for it," he 
continued. "So I know better than to even ask." He grew quiet, 
and I could see his imagination working overtime behind his eyes. 
"But wouldn't it be great if she would...," he mused quietly.

Before he could say anything else, the girls returned and Abby 
beckoned for him to stand.

"Abby and Trip are going to take our room," Kendall said to me as 
I rose in turn. "I'll make up one of the beds in the back bedroom 
and we can sleep there."

"Or _not_ sleep," I said.

Trip and Kendall both grinned, but Abby blushed at the overt 
mention of sex. Kendall was already horny from the wine, though, 
and making out had only inflamed her more, so she grew insistent. 
Trip and I shared a quizzical grin as she practically tugged me 
toward the back of the apartment.

"We'll see y'all in the morning," I called out.

"G'night," Trip called after us.

A moment later Kendall closed the bedroom door and pressed 
herself against me, her breasts flattening against my chest. We 
kissed passionately before she sank to her knees. I groaned as 
the heat and moisture of her mouth assaulted my manhood, her 
tongue flicking against the underside ridge.

She began bobbing her head back and forth, her lips tight around 
my shaft when she pulled back, open again to engulf me on the in-
stroke. Since I'd had an erection most of the night, I knew I 
wouldn't last long, and Kendall sensed my building orgasm.

She sucked me deep for a moment, her lips reaching nearly to the 
base of my shaft before she clamped them around me. Then she 
pulled back, her tongue working over my length. When my dick 
slipped from her lips, she flicked her tongue along the slit at 
the tip. My balls grew tight, and she began stroking.

I exploded with a grunt, a rope of white semen arcing to spatter 
her forehead, stretching from her hair to the tip of her nose. 
Two more blasts splattered her face, her smooth skin speckled 
with drops of semen. The fourth shot was stronger still, 
surprising me with its intensity, a thick jet of white trailing 
across her forehead and one closed eye.

She was careful to avoid the sensitive head, but she continued 
stroking me, gushes and drops flying everywhere. When my orgasm 
subsided, I felt an overpowering surge of lust. My dick seemed 
harder than ever, so I lifted Kendall to her feet and pushed her 
against the bed.

She sat abruptly and then lay back as I lifted her legs. I spread 
them and lowered my hips, my sperm-covered cock aimed at her 
pussy. I slid into her easily, the first few inches disappearing 
before I paused. She tensed, ready for the thrust that would bury 
my cock inside her. I lunged forward, and her breasts swayed with 
the force of my hips slamming into her.

As I fucked her, I gazed down at her body. Semen streaks and 
droplets shone pearlescent against the darker tan of her skin. 
Most of it had hit her face, but flying drops had landed on her 
breasts, stomach, and thighs.

The bed squeaked beneath us, but I didn't care who heard. After 
several minutes I threw Kendall's legs over my shoulders and bent 
her in half, my hips plunging down, slapping sounds filling the 
room as skin met skin. Her face contorted in ecstasy, shiny where 
she'd smeared my come over her skin.

Surprisingly, I came within minutes, pleasure exploding within my 
loins, the sensations racing along my nerves. I didn't shoot 
nearly as much as the first time, but I still filled the tight 
furnace of Kendall's pussy.

When I finally sat back on my haunches, I realized that I had 
scooted her halfway up the bed. Her chest rose and fell, her 
nipples hard, one of them shining with an errant droplet of 
semen. My own chest heaved as well, laboring to fill my lungs 
with oxygen.

"Wow," Kendall said at last, still a little dazed from the 
frenzied pounding.

I swallowed hard and merely nodded.

She wiped semen from her eye and tentatively opened it. Then she 
cocked an ear and grinned at me.

I looked at her in confusion for a moment, but then I heard it 
too: soft moans. They reached my ears from the next room, and 
rose in volume until Abby finally shrieked in passion. Kendall's 
grin only widened. Then she reached up and touched her face, my 
semen already turning sticky.

"Do you want me to get you a towel?"

She shook her head. "Let's just take a shower."

I nodded.

"I'm dru... drunk enough that I don't want to get sleepy." As if to 
punctuate her words, she yawned.

I yawned in turn and looked at my watch; it wasn't even midnight 
yet.

"I'm still very, _very_ horny, though," she said. "So if I fall 
asleep now, I might wake up and rape you in the middle of the 
night."

"You can't rape the willing," I said with a grin. Then I pulled 
her to her feet and we headed across the hall into the bathroom.

We teased each other in the shower, the hot water and steam doing 
wonders to reinvigorate us. After we dried off Kendall wrapped 
her towel around her head and opened the door. Trip emerged from 
the front bedroom as we stepped into the hall, and he paused. His 
dick hung semi-hard, shiny from recent use.

Kendall could see that he wanted to talk to me, so she turned and 
kissed my cheek. "Don't be long. I want you to fuck me again."

My face heated as she pirouetted for Trip's benefit and then shut 
the bedroom door behind her.

He paused, nervously collecting his thoughts.

"So," I asked, breaking the silence, "do you think Abby enjoyed 
herself?"

He nodded.

"She seemed to be getting used to it."

Another nod. Then he grinned bashfully. "When Abby heard you and 
Kendall... um... you know... earlier...."

I nodded in understanding.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "She started really getting into 
it, telling me what she wanted me to do. It was pretty intense."

"It sounded like it," I said, teasing him gently.

At that, it was his turn to blush. "Well, I'd better go to the 
bathroom and then get back to her," he said at last.

We exchanged friendly grins and stepped past each other.

Kendall was making the bed in our room, the towel still wrapped 
around her head. I moved behind her as she bent over to tuck in 
the top sheet, but she didn't even flinch when I teased her plump 
labia from behind. She was already wet with anticipation, and 
quickly finished with the sheets.

When she did, she turned and sank to her knees. My manhood 
hardened under her determined assault. I pulled the towel from 
around her head and ran my fingers through the damp heat of her 
hair. A few minutes later she pulled my dick from her mouth, 
kissed the underside, and looked up at me.

"What were you and Trip talking about?" she asked, smiling 
seductively. "As if I didn't already know."

I grinned, blushing. "Yeah, some of that."

"Are you going to invite him to join us?"

My heart raced. "Tonight?"

"No, not tonight," she said, planting a wet kiss on the underside 
of my cock. "But sometime."

"I don't know if Abby would go for that," I said hesitantly.

"Then she can watch as the two of you fuck me."

My eyebrows shot up.

Kendall was oblivious, planting kisses along my shaft, rubbing it 
over her cheeks. "I want two guys to fuck me at once," she said, 
her expression dreamy.

With a start, I realized that she was drunker than I'd thought.

"Two hard dicks, pumping into me," she mused. Then she looked up, 
her lips trailing along my cock, her eyes glassy with lust. "Trip 
could fuck me while I suck you."

I swallowed hard and nodded.

"And then you could take turns fucking me. Even better, I could 
ride you while he fucked me in the ass, like you all did to 
Elaine." She looked up again. "Did you know that Abby won't let 
him fuck her in the ass?" She made a moue. "I told her it feels 
good, but she thinks it's dirty." She shrugged in disbelief. 
"It's her loss."

With that, she plunged her lips over my cock, her fingers teasing 
my balls as she slowly fellated me. When she pulled back, she let 
my dick slip from her lips and grinned up at me.

"Abby doesn't swallow, either," she said.

Once again, I found myself dumbfounded at the amount of 
information women were willing to share with each other.

"She'll let Trip come in her mouth," Kendall added, kissing my 
glans, "but she spits it out." She shrugged. "If you've already 
got it in your mouth, why not go ahead and swallow? After all, 
it's only semen."

I nodded.

"If Trip came in my mouth, _I'd_ swallow," she said. Then her 
face lit up. "Or I could get you both to come on my face." She 
began sucking me again, her head bobbing as she impaled her mouth 
on my length. "Oh my goodness, Paul," she said at last, 
breathless from more than just sucking me, "I want Trip to fuck 
me. I want you to fuck me at the same time. I want two dicks 
filling me... mouth and pussy... pussy and ass." She looked up, her 
blue eyes round. "Can we do it? Can we ask him to join us? I want 
to have a threesome with another guy. Please?"

"Sure," I said, surprised by her enthusiasm.

"I love Abby," she said, rubbing my cock over her face, "but 
she's too reserved to do anything. I know you want to fuck her," 
she said without even sparing me a glance, "but she'd never do 
that. But do you think she'd be upset if I asked her to... oh, I 
dunno... let me _borrow_ Trip?"

"Yeah," I said with a frank laugh, "she might be."

Kendall frowned. Then she kissed the side of my shaft, lost in 
concentration. "You're probably right," she said at last. After a 
moment she brightened. "Maybe this summer...."

I hung on her words, my imagination racing.

She didn't complete her thought, though. Instead, she wrapped her 
lips around my shaft, her tongue working the underside of my 
glans.

I was still in shock. I knew she liked looking at other guys, but 
I didn't know that _Trip_ was among them. I guess I couldn't 
object, though.

"Oh my goodness," Kendall said at last, interrupting my thoughts, 
"I want Trip to go down on me while you fuck my face. Abby says 
he gives incredible head. Not that you don't," she added almost 
as an afterthought. "But the idea of two guys doing whatever I 
want... mmmmm... two long, thick, hard dicks... in me, on me...
pumping, 
thrusting, spurting.... You said you don't mind if I talk dirty," 
she finished, looking up at me past my erection. "Do you 
remember?"

"I remember," I said with a nod.

Her eyes grew far away, and she kissed her way down my dick and 
back. Then she took me as deep as she could, her lips straining 
to reach the base of my shaft. She couldn't quite get there, 
though, and had to content herself with all but the final inch. 
When she pulled back, she started talking again.

As she alternated between sucking and kissing me, she talked 
about how she wanted Trip and me to fuck her, to come on her 
face. She even added Kirk to the mix, and had all _three_ of us 
fucking her, every opening full. At the end of that fantasy, she 
had us standing in a semi-circle around her, jerking off until we 
came on her face and chest.

"After all," she said at last, "it's only fair. You get to fuck 
all the women you want, so why shouldn't I get the same chance? I 
get horny too, you know. I want three men to fuck me, their hard, 
rampant shafts throbbing with desire."

At that point, I had to stifle a laugh. She must have been 
hitting her secret stash of trashy romance novels if she was 
trotting out phrases like "rampant shafts throbbing with desire."

Still hiding a smile, I lifted her to her feet. She looked at me 
with dazed, drunken, wild eyes, which drooped closed as I kissed 
her. I tasted myself on her lips, along with a hint of wine. All 
the alcohol must have caught up with her at last.

"Fuck me, Paul," she said when we broke the kiss. Before I could 
even answer, she turned and knelt on the bed. She bent forward, 
her breasts bulging to the sides as she rested on her chest. Then 
she looked at me over her shoulder, her hands reaching back to 
spread her ass cheeks. "Fuck me, Paul."

I knelt on the bed behind her and scooted forward. When I probed 
her opening with the tip of my dick, she moaned.

"Fuck me in the ass," she said. With a drunken, theatric frown: 
"Poor Trip... he doesn't get to fuck Abby in the ass. She doesn't 
swallow either. Did I tell you that? He gives great head, though. 
She said he can make her come just by blowing on her. Wow."

I shook my head in quiet amazement. Then I eased forward, my 
glans spreading her inner labia.

"No, in my ass," Kendall said insistently. "I want you to fuck me 
in the ass."

"I have to get my dick lubricated," I said. Without ceremony, I 
gripped her hips and slid into her, burying my length in one long 
thrust.

She cried out softly, but grew silent as my dick raked along her 
inner walls. Then I began fucking her in earnest, the bed 
squeaking beneath us. When my dick was slippery enough, I pulled 
out and set the tip at the rosette of her sphincter. She groaned 
deep in her chest as I entered her in one long, steady stroke.

With long, even thrusts, I fucked her for five or ten minutes. I 
wasn't in danger of coming any time soon, so I took my time and 
enjoyed the tight heat of her ass. She began playing with her 
pussy and I felt her tense up in orgasm several minutes later. As 
she panted, she urged me to keep fucking her.

I wasn't about to disappoint her, so I rolled us to the side. 
After a bit of jockeying, we came to rest spoon-fashion, my dick 
still buried in her ass. I cupped her breasts as I continued 
pumping into her, tweaking her nipples and making her whimper 
with ecstasy.

She came again a few minutes later, her back arching as pleasure 
coursed through her. By the time I felt my own orgasm building, 
she was pushing back against me, eager to feel me fill her. With 
a grunt, I buried myself in her ass and spurted deep within her. 
She moaned, assaulted by aftershocks from her earlier climax. 
When my orgasm subsided, we held each other, panting from the 
exertion.

"Oh my goodness," she said at last.

"No kidding."

We held each other, my dick softening in her ass, our breathing 
slowly returning to normal. Then I kissed her shoulder and got 
up, bound for the bathroom to wash my dick. When I returned, I 
could easily hear the sounds of sex from the next room.

Kendall was still horny, and started sucking my dick. I didn't 
know if I was capable of another orgasm so soon after the last, 
but I wasn't going to pass up a good blowjob. I decided to return 
the favor, so I pulled her into a sixty-nine.

She bobbed up and down on my cock as I licked her pussy, which 
was still slippery from earlier. She came sooner than I thought 
she would, but it was a small, quick orgasm. I kept going, my 
face and chin covered in her juices.

I clenched my buttocks in exquisite pleasure as my glans passed 
the convulsive ring of muscle at the back of Kendall's throat. 
She kept going down, though, her throat surrounding the first 
inches of my cock as her lips sought the last.

I don't know how long we licked and sucked each other, but I 
eventually felt my balls draw tight with the familiar pressure of 
a building orgasm. Kendall sensed it too, and began plunging her 
supple lips over my shaft. My entire body stiffened when I 
erupted, and I half-stifled a deep groan.

When I finally came to my senses, I went limp, completely sated. 
Kendall kissed my cock for a few minutes and then swung her leg 
over my head. With a sigh, she turned around and collapsed beside 
me.

"Wow," she said at last, the word soft and deliberate.

As I held her, I felt her breathing grow deep and even, alcohol 
and exhaustion finally quenching the flames of passion. I lay 
awake for a long time afterward, though, thinking about the 
evening.

I'd known that Kendall was attracted to Kirk, but Trip was a 
surprise. I should have expected it, though. He _was_ a charming, 
handsome guy, and she was bound to hear about his good qualities 
from Abby--including how good he was in bed.

Gina had always been interested in me and me alone, with an 
occasional girl added for fun. She'd been with other guys, but 
she'd always come back to me. As I thought about her, I let my 
mind wander over our years together, smiling at some memories, 
frowning at others. We'd each made mistakes, but we were still 
friends. _True friends._

_And friends are harder to find than lovers,_ I reflected with a 
dark chuckle.

When I thought about the wisdom of that, I realized how lucky I 
was. Trip was definitely a friend--a _lifelong_ friend. Christy 
and Wren were friends as well, which I found oddly surprising, 
since I hadn't had many friendships with women--friendships 
without sex, at least. I really liked the two girls, and I knew 
we'd be friends the rest of our lives.

As I thought about the rest of my life, I took a deep, anxious 
breath. Soon, Trip and I would be hard at work on our houses. 
Kendall planned to spend the summer studying for the MCAT, and 
Abby had a job as a summer camp counselor. We'd all be busy 
making lives for ourselves, working toward our futures.

I could almost feel the pages of my life turning, the end of one 
chapter revealing the beginning of the next.

Unfortunately, Gina's chapter seemed to be over. I hoped she and 
Regan would be safe in Los Angeles, and I silently prayed she 
wouldn't fall victim to people like Rod, cocaine, or worse. No 
matter where she was, though, Gina would always hold a special 
place in my heart, and I wanted her to be safe and happy.

My relationship with Susan had changed as well. She was still a 
friend and a lover, but we had moved beyond just sex. I knew she 
yearned for companionship, for someone to share her life with, 
and I found it surprisingly easy to admit that I wasn't that 
person. Our chapter together definitely wasn't over, but we were 
writing a new one, where youth and discovery lead to maturity and 
growth.

Kendall and I were also writing a new chapter, and it was a 
welcome relief from the stress of trying to keep two girlfriends 
happy at once. I still had fantasies of a threesome with Wren (or 
Abby, or Dawn, or...), but I didn't want another girlfriend. And if 
Kendall had fantasies of a threesome with Trip or Kirk, then that 
was only fair.

My chapter with Trip was the beginning of my _professional_ life, 
but it foretold the end of my innocence. I'd never again be a 
first-year architecture student, where stupid mistakes simply 
cost a letter grade. In the real world, stupid mistakes cost 
money, or worse, lives. I couldn't afford the former, and I 
_definitely_ couldn't afford the latter.

With that, I turned my thoughts to the immediate future. In the 
morning, I'd pack up the remains of my youth, the remains of my 
freshman year in college. I looked forward to spending a few days 
at camp with my family, but it wouldn't be the same--Kendall 
would be there, but Gina would be in California.

After the Fourth of July, I'd move to Franklin and live with Trip 
in his garage apartment. I had no illusions about how hard I'd 
have to work, either, and the challenge seemed daunting. But I 
was willing to tackle it head-on, to survive it and maybe even 
learn a few things in the process.

With so much that had happened, and so much yet to come, I 
realized that I faced a pivotal point in my life. I snorted 
softly, an ironic smile flickering across my lips.

_I'll have to do better than this._

-----

Book 3 - The End

Look for the conclusion of the story in _Summer Camp - Book 4: 
Christy_, coming soon.

-----


AUTHOR'S AFTERWORD

Once again, I was wrong about the size of the book. When I split 
the erstwhile Book 3 into two parts, I thought each would be 
about fifteen chapters, and 200,000 words. Well, I was _half_ 
right. What can I say? I'm too fond of my own writing, I guess.

I did several things differently with Book 3, and I'm glad I did. 
Instead of the breakneck chapter-a-week pace, I slowed down and 
published a new chapter every three weeks or so. Because of the 
slower pace, I didn't burn out like I did at the end of Book 2. 
Avoiding burn-out is a good thing. Trust me.

I also expanded my reality team, a diverse group of people who 
give much-needed feedback and support. Each member brings a 
different perspective to the story, not to mention invaluable 
real-world experience. Since the reality team is mostly secret, I 
won't thank anyone by name, but you know who you are, and you 
know how much I appreciate your time, your advice, and your 
friendship.

Writing is hard work--and believe me when I tell you that it's 
_work_--but it's extremely rewarding. Through countless e-mails 
and Forum messages, I see how the story affects people's lives, 
and how everyone reacts in different ways. From laughter and 
enthusiasm to anger and frustration, I think I've managed to 
evoke every possible emotion. It's a heady feeling to know that 
something I created has such an impact on so many people.

I still haven't answered the two big questions, though. Who died? 
Who's the wife? Well, you'll have to read to find out... but you 
knew I was going to say that.

Thank you all for reading. I hope it never sounds trite when I 
say that, because I mean it from the bottom of my heart.

Nick Scipio
September 21, 2005
Southeastern US

-----

Copyright (c) 2005 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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