Gerald and I lay on our backs the living room floor, a bowl of popcorn between us, overstuffed pillows behind our heads. We had been Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum for most of the afternoon and now into evening, loving every minute of it.

It turns out the enormous pants were designed to be pulled all the way up so the crotch fit snugly. The waistline rose to chest height, the pant cuffs falling just below the knees. We looked retarded, but they fit great. We had on our loose shirts, collars identifying us as Dum & Dee, our beanies giving us a terminal case of hat hair, our bumblebee-striped legs stretched out before us, disappearing into our brown clown shoes. We clunked our toes lightly together, my right hand holding Tweedle-Gerald's left. I wore the yellow tie, by the way, Ger had on the black tie.

The end credits of the movie began to roll on the screen before us. We had just watched a typical cheesy love story, couple meets, couple falls in love, couple breaks up, couple gets back together, et cetera. The only difference was that the couple was two high school boys. The end scene showed them courageously dancing together at their prom. As the music faded, I heard a soft sniffling. "Gerald? Are you crying?"

"Maybe a little."

"You jerk. That wasn't worth crying over."

"Why not?? It was beautiful. What with the dying grandma in the hospital accepting the kid when his father wouldn't, and the teacher who stood up for--"

"You're crying in a Tweedle-Dee suit, dude."

Gerald looked at himself. "Oh, yeah. Kinda ruins the image, doesn't it?" He laughed a little at that.

"Time for something new!" I hopped over to the video library and grabbed a selection at random. "This looks kind of cool. Let's try this one." I popped it into the VCR and rejoined Gerald on the carpet.

"What's this one?", he asked me.

"Some kind of action-adventure movie, I guess. Big, hunky guy on the cover. I think it's a spy flick. It's called 'Falcon something'."

In another few minutes we found out the Falcon movie was not a spy thriller. "Holy shit...", Gerald whispered.

"Son of a jumpin' bitch", I muttered. "It's long enough to have it's own zip code." Gerald let go of my hand, began kneading the carpet under curled fingers. "You want me to turn it off?", I asked. He shook his head briskly. I moved closer to him. "Is this video turning you on?"

He nodded quickly. "A--a little."

I had no idea. Another one of my fantasies I was convinced would never happen. The roles were reversed, but I could live with that. I leaned over and whispered in Gerald's ear. "Keep your eyes on the screen."

"No problem", he whispered back.

Lightly, I unfastened the three big buttons at the top of Gerald's clown pants. Slowly, I slid my hand down to the top of his tights. Slipping my fingertips under the waistband, I began to work my way downward. Gerald's head twisted around to look at me with widening eyes. "Wh-what are you doing??"

With one index finger, I guided his face back to face front. "Eyes on the screen", I said. Gerald swallowed hard and dug his fingernails into the carpet, but let me continue. With the tips of my fingers, I began to stroke his member. He inhaled sharply as I fingered his balls and brought him to a full erection. On the screen, chiseled hard bodies writhed and toyed with each other. Gerald kept watching on the TV, his eyes wide beyond blinking. I flattened my hand out and pressed my palm against his penis, pushing it against the warmth of his abdomen. Slowly, I began to stroke him in easy circles. One, two, three times.

Gerald gasped, his eyes shutting involuntarily, his mouth hanging open. Gathering a rhythm, I stroked him steadily, feeling his body grow warmer and warmer beside me, and under my hand. In mid-rub, I switched from circular strokes to an up and down motion. I could see from the way his clown shoes were bobbing back and forth that Gerald was clenching and unclenching his toes. His shoulders tightened and he reached out with one hand and grasped my arm.

My fingers curled down and clutched his testicles, squeezing them in time with the steady pumping pressure I applied to his dick. He began to pant in irregular gasps. His eyes rolled upwards and his grip on my arm tightened. "How long can you hold on, Tweedle-Dee?", I asked.

"I-I-I--", was all he could get out. I increased the speed of my pumping hand. "Dickie, I'm gonna--gonna--"

I smiled. "Who's Dickie?"

Gerald's back began to arch. "Whu-whu-whu-what--??"

I switched back to circular strokes, my fingers becoming moist with his precum. "Call me Tweedle-Dum. Go on."

Ger's hand shot up and clutched my shoulder. "Tw-Twee-Tweedle-D-D-D-Duuumm, please, I c-can't hold out much longer--!"

"Don't shoot yet", I said, knowing how intense this must be for him. I was hard as a rock myself, my own balls buzzing. I could only imagine what my clown twin was going through. I massaged him with vertical tugs again, increasing in pressure but decreasing in speed. Squeeze. Pull. Squeeze. Pull. Squeeze. Pull.

Gerald was fairly writhing. "C-c-c-can't ho-old on--", he wheezed.

I pumped a bit harder, and leaned right against his ear, whispering so quietly, "Do you love me, Tweedle-Dee?"

"YES!!", Gerald shouted. "Yes, I LOVE you, Tweedle-Dum!!"

I released my grip and Tweedle-Gerald fired. Boy-howdy, did he fire. After a convulsive near-minute, he stopped twitching and collapsed backwards onto the rug. When I drew my hand back out of his pants, it was thoroughly coated in his juices. After mopping myself off, I lay beside him, one hand supporting my head, and stroked his chest with the other. "Well, I just bet the downstairs neighbors loved that little outburst. They're gonna think something came through the looking glass here in Rick's apartment and held an orgy."

Propped up on my elbow, I continued to rub Gerald's chest and watched the Falcon video. I muted the sound (no big loss) and for a while all that could be heard was the sound of Gerald's somewhat irregular breathing. Before long, he sat up partway and looked at me, a lopsided grin on his face. "Well, Tweedle-Dee?", I asked him. "Did you like that?"

Silently, he reached over to me and undid the buttons on my clown pants. With a sly smile, he said, "Keep your eyes on the screen."

Rick got home Sunday evening, and we were there to greet him. He made a big deal out of "preparing us" for his next assignment, which was for a children's publisher. We listened intently, doing our best to pretend to be both surprised and irritated by the fact that we'd be called upon to dress up as storybook characters.

Rick opened up the parcel to find the note from Hal, and the two neatly-folded costumes beneath their protective bubble wrap. He laid them out for us, telling us to be there the following afternoon immediately after my paper route to be put through our modeling paces. We reluctantly agreed, shuffling out the door, trying to suppress our smiles.

As Rick began to move the costumes to the bedroom wardrobe chest, he called after us, "So, did you have a fun weekend here--Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum?"

We froze. Slowly, we turned around to see Rick holding the costumes aloft, gently swinging them on their hangers. "These didn't arrive here smelling like April-Fresh Downy, now did they, fellas?"

Gerald shoved my arm. "Go! Go!!"

As we ran down the hallway and out to freedom, I called back, "We'll see you tomorrow afternoon, Rick!" We ran all the way back to my place. I glanced back once to see Rick looking down on us from his window. I couldn't really tell because of the way we were running, but I think he was laughing.

Gerald was in heaven. In fact, I wasn't sure I had ever seen him quite so happy, on a modeling shoot or off. "Okay, fellas, I release you from your labors", Rick said.

"Take more!", Gerald gushed.

"Six rolls is a limit even for me", Rick said. "You're done already."

Gerald flopped his arms at his sides like a little kid and said, "Awww, man--!" We had been posing for the last couple hours as firemen. Rick had put together shiny black costumes made entirely of rubber, with the broad yellow stripe and big yellow boots. We had posed with prop axes, hoses, even a mock hydrant made from styrofoam. I had fun, but not near as much as Gerald. I was ready to get out of the costume and into my uniform, or preferably something a bit cooler and less rubber.

I started for the bedroom, and Gerald called after me, "Dickie, wait!" I stopped. "Leave it on, maybe? Just for a little while longer?"

I rolled my eyes but conceded. "Oh, okaaaayy. For you."

We flopped down on the furniture, myself on the couch, Gerald in a chair. He tipped back his fire helmet with one finger. "What are these fireman pictures gonna be for, Rick?"

"Oh, I dunno, a PSA on fire safety or something. Maybe payment for a really good kid who's been an excellent model."

Gerald whirled around in his chair. "Oh, man! You mean it??" Rick nodded as Gerald whooped and babbled his gratitude.

I peeled off my fireman's jacket and threw it onto a nearby footstool. In attempt to bring my buddy back down to earth, I said, "Say, you got any big plans coming up in the next couple of weeks, Ger?"

"Not really, why?"

"I got my school's senior prom weekend coming up week after next. No date, no real urge to ask a girl I don't care about and then drop megabucks to put on a show of being a straight kid."

"Hey, that's our prom weekend, too", Gerald said. "And yeah, I'm in the same boat. I keep telling people I don't like the whole prom thing, kind of to set up my not being there. You wanna make it a costume and movie night, maybe?" He turned in his seat, "I mean, if that's okay with you, Rick."

Rick set down his rolls of film to be processed and gave us a hard look. He looked like he was gearing up to tell us something he'd been waiting to say for a while. "You guys really deserve an official senior prom. You've earned it." He paused, looking around the room. "Tell you what, why don't we set you two up with tuxes and you can meet here for a real-live boy-meets-boy dream prom evening."

Both Ger and I lit up at that suggestion. "Rick, you mean it??"

"Just let me be there before you make any final decisions on your tuxedos, fellas." Gerald sat up, a finger raised as if to pose a vital question. Rick cut him off. "And no, your tuxes can NOT be made of rubber."

Gerald sank back into his seat, propping his big yellow boots up in front of him. "Was worth a shot."

Rick sat at Franco's Formal Wear, legs crossed, his foot swinging nervously. This place had too many uncomfortable memories, being where he had rented his tux for his own senior prom. The senior prom with the punchbowl incident. Now Dickie was behind one of those dressing room doors trying on his own formal evening wear for the big night.

Rick stared out the window, tired of flipping through endless magazines with their full-color pages glowing about what the well-dressed and infinitely rich were wearing to their school dances and wedding this year. He turned quickly at the sound of the dressing room door opening.

"Well? What do you think?" Dickie stood with his arms wide, dressed in a baby blue tuxedo with slightly darker trim, ruffled shirt front with blue tinge, and gleaming black tuxedo shoes. Rick stared at him for a moment, his eyes looking through his paper boy protégé and into the past.

With a straight face and flat tone, Rick said, "We've got to do better than that."

Rick searched furiously. He was back at his second apartment now. He knew so many repeated trips back and forth were probably not a smart thing to do, but he couldn't help himself. What he needed to track down what he was looking for couldn't be found at the other place.

He knew this was not part of the original plan. For all intents and purposes, he had already achieved, if not exceeded, his original goal. Further involvement at this point could jeopardize everything he'd so painstakingly worked for. But he couldn't help himself. Of late the feelings of dread about his own senior prom was fading, but it did not leave a vacuum. It left Rick with a feeling of emptiness, as if he had not only not even attended his senior prom, it was as though he had not even bothered to try.

Rick had already helped Dickie find a far more appropriate--and dashing--tux, much to the paper boy's protests. Rick had also assisted Gerald with his final selection, ensuring that the two boys would make a beautifully handsome couple. Provided he could find what he was looking for.

Rick poured over old yearbooks, age-old school newspapers, and did extensive searching online. He had heard whispered rumors during his junior and senior year of high school, mostly as the butt of jokes made by the more popular or less secure kids. Every school had its own prom. But there was another prom. A secret prom, one that was well-hidden, even better organized and carefully chaperoned. Back at number 37, there was a snowball's chance in hell he was going to find it. But here, at the second apartment, the secrets were more readily available if he could learn where to look. And he would learn.

Dickie and Gerald would have a wonderful senior prom.

I stood before the door to apartment 37, looking sharp but feeling nervous as hell. Rick had convinced me to choose a simple black tuxedo, with an electric blue tie and matching cummerbund. I'd had my doubts, but I had to admit, it worked okay.

It had taken some time to get away from my parents (after posing for like eighty pictures of me in my tux). I finally made my great escape from Alcatraz only after promising to bring my date, "Geraldine", home after the dance. Too bad she was destined to get too tired or maybe get an upset tummy and have to bow out. I hadn't decided which yet.

I straightened my tie, knocked on Rick's door. He opened up, saying, "Well here he is now." He took a step back and ushered me inside. He looked me over and clicking his tongue, said, "Man, don't you ever cleanup nice." Rick was dressed to the nines in a striking dark blue suit and red tie. If he looked dorky, he could pass for Clark Kent. As it was he looked incredibly handsome.

"You look pretty good yourself", I commented.

Rick smiled, a slight half-bow acknowledging my compliment. Then, "There's somebody here waiting for you."

Nervously, I walked into the living room, where Gerald sat waiting. As I entered, he leapt to his feet, looking no less nervous than I did. He too was in a simple black tux, with a matching tie and cummerbund of deep canary yellow. He looked incredible. I was speechless at first, then managed a meek, "H-hey. You been waiting long?"

"I only just got here." He walked over to me, all smiles. "God, Dickie, you look beautiful." Gently, he kissed me. Gerald took one step back, then lightly fingered my tie. "Love you in electric blue, man."

I smiled, still unused to open shows of adoration. "You always look good in yellow", I said back. Remembering what I had with me, I produced a small plastic florist's box. "Oh! I know we didn't talk about anything like this, but I thought, well, you know, this being our senior prom and all, we should do things right." I opened the box to reveal a small yellow rose boutonniere. It was accented with a thin, electric blue ribbon that matched my tuxedo.

Gerald's face lit up and he said softly, "Thanks, man."

Carefully, I pinned the flower to his lapel, commenting, "A yellow rose means--"

"--friendship", he finished. "Yeah, I know." He kissed me on the cheek after I finished pinning his boutonniere in place. "Here's to friendship." Then he held up one finger. Hold on. He jumped back to the couch where he'd been sitting and returned with an identical floral box. "Guess great minds think alike." He popped his own box open to reveal what I presume was a white rose skillfully tinged to a brilliant blue. Around it's base was a twist of tinsel of a deep canary yellow hue. Gerald pinned it to my lapel, and for a moment we just stood there, hands in pockets, looking at each other, awkwardly shuffling our feet.

Then, from across the room, the faint tinkling of bells. We turned to see Rick with a white towel swung over one arm. "Gentlemen, dinner is served."

We walked over to the dining area to find a remarkable sight. All signs of Rick's ramshackle kitchen had vanished. The cluttered corkboard of messages and outgoing bills was gone. The table, polished and shining, was devoid of any ongoing art projects, strips of photo negatives or invoices. No post-it notes adorned the light overhead. Instead, all was dimly lit and delightful. Two white taper candles burned softly upon the table, straddling an intricate floral centerpiece. White cloth placemats held gleaming china plates and burnished silverware, with small place cards indicating our seats across from each other. A bottle of St. Julian's sparkling grape juice (the fake champagne stuff, which I preferred) sat chilling in a silver ice bucket beside the table. A wooden tray jack with all the fixings for an authentic Caesar's salad set waiting for a command to begin preparations. The scintillating smell of some grand entree roasting to perfection wafted from the oven just out of sight.

I turned to my mentor almost in tears. "Rick, you've outdone yourself. I don't know what to say."

Rick stepped boldly over to the table and pulled the chairs out. "Say only that you are hungry, sir." I was famished. I was so nervous about my first real prom that I hadn't eaten all day. My appetite was not going to be disappointed.

Dinner was nothing short of spectacular. Rick had thought of everything, from the atmosphere of soft background music to the teeny-tiny cups of sorbet (which Gerald insisted on referring to as "crushed popsicle") between courses. As we greedily scarfed our dessert of chocolate fondue, I gushed around bites, "Rick, this is so fantastic. I had no idea you could cook."

"Don't be too impressed", he said ruefully. "Most of this I got from Langstrom's Food Service."

"So you really can't cook", Gerald said.

"No, but I can heat up and serve with the best of 'em", he winked. "Now why don't you boys go amuse yourselves in the next room while I clean up."

Gerald and I moved back the living room furniture and began to rifle through Rick's record collection for suitable dancing music. "What are you guys doing??", Rick said as he emerged from the kitchen.

"We were just finding some good dancing music", Gerald explained. "It wouldn't be prom night if you can't dance with your date."

Rick snatched the Foreigner album out of my hands. "Ohhhh, no no no no", he chastised.

"Rick", I pleaded, "it's not like we were gonna break anything. We just wanted to--"

"Come with me", Rick said, turning off lights. "You want to dance, I know just the place."

"Where's that?", I asked him.

"The prom, of course."