-----BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE----- Best Day Yet -*- Copyright 1998 by Ellen Hayes. Any resemblance between the writings in this work, and any actual persons or places, living or dead, are purely coincidental, except when used for satirical purposes. This work contains adult situations, adult language, adult concepts, and possibly sex. If you are legally not allowed to read materials containing such things, then you will be breaking the law by reading this. I am not responsible. Continuing to read this document, or storing it or reproducing it in any format means that you explicitly affirm that you are legally allowed to possess and read such materials in your city, county/parish, state, and country. All rights reserved. See the bottom for distribution rights. Best Day Yet *** Tom was having one of those days again. This time, the dean of the college had called him in and told him that since he flunked everything Friday, that he was being expelled, effective immediately. His protests did no good, and he found himself outside the office, the door slamming in his face. His wife showed up, and he told her about it as she walked with him through the corridors and to their room. He opened the door, and walked into something that had a great resemblance to his parent's bedroom. His wife was already dressed for bed, and she got him in, and kissed him on the cheek, and went to sleep. He was going to, but he was trying to remember something, until it finally came to him: where was "Paul!" Tom gasped as he sat up in bed. Paul, in the bed on the other side of the room, sat up with a high pitched noise of confusion. When both of them realized that Paul was in a nightgown, Paul made an identical noise and fell back down, pulling the covers up over his neck. "Paul, we have got to have a talk," Tom said, before an emergency message made its way through his nervous system. Tom jumped off the bed and began fighting his way into a pair of jeans. "In, just, a couple, of, damnit, minutes. Don't go anywhere!" With that, Tom rushed out the door and down the hall and through the door and towards the urinal and "Ahhhhhhhhhh..." Bliss. The bliss of piss. After Tom had recovered from his bliss, he headed back to the room. "I have got to have a talk with that boy," he told himself. "There's something rotten in Denmark, damn me for an Englishman if there isn't," he explained to the floor. "You're confusing me, Paul. Take it in very sloooowww smmmmaalll sentences. My head hurts." Tom decided that an aspirin, or maybe three, would be a good idea. He got up off the bed to go find some. "Do we have any aspirin?" he asked when he couldn't find any. "Uh, in my, in, uh," stuttered Paul, and dug through something until he held up a bottle. Tom held out his hands in a catching pose, and Paul tossed it straight to him. "So," Tom started when he sat back down on the bed, a large mug of water clutched firmly in his hand. "You dress up like a girl, right?" "I, uh, yeah, I-" "'Yes' is good. 'Yes' is short. 'Yes' does not hurt my brain." "Uh, yes," said Paul, who was blushing so hard it looked like he had a sunburn. A bad sunburn. "Why? No!" he corrected, even though it hurt his head. "You want to do it because... because you want to be a girl?" Tom guessed. "I dunno," said Paul, and he was going to explain when Tom held up his hand. "That's good. Now..." They walked down the stairs to the Trough, known to school officials and parents as the dorm cafeteria. Tom was having a hard time explaining things to Paul. "Look," Tom said patiently, "I don't care, okay? I do not care. Wear whatever you want, alright? Just don't do it where you could get caught, okay?" "But what about-" "I was drunk last night, and not thinking," he explained for the fourth time. "Not thinking. If I was thinking, I would have done something else." Paul looked like he was going to sulk, or maybe cry. Tom quickly continued, hoping this time he would get through. "Because neither of us want to get caught with you being my roommate and wearing that stuff. Because nobody would understand that you, and by extension me, are not gay. See?" Tom nodded in what someone else would have called sympathetic magic, or perhaps linguo-kinetic manipulation. A little intake of breath from Paul told Tom that he had finally gotten the gist of it. They were sitting down, talking about anything else by mutual unspoken consent, when Bill, one of Tom's friends from chem lab, stopped by the table. "So who was that babe you were with last night?" "Which one?" Tom lied reflexively. Paul went sort of pale, Tom noted out of the corner of his eye. "That one at the concert? Hoo, nice one. I thought you were gonna give it a rest for a while when Carol lost her mind," Tom appreciated the sympathy, "but I guess not. Where'd you find her?" "Asian mail order bride," he lied again, this time getting a laugh. "See?" Tom was constitutionally incapable of letting anything be. "Yeah, yeah, okay, I got the hint." Paul sighed. "Well, that's why we have to be careful. Right?" Paul sighed again. "Right." *** Distribution: No part of this work may be distributed as an original work by another person or group. Permission is given to redistribute this by electronic means, as long as the entirety of the work (from the BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE header to the END PGP SIGNATURE footer) is distributed, and credit is given to the original author, me. Archiving is permitted provided no fee is charged for access. All rights reserved. "Tallyho!" \ / @>--,--'-- ehayes@nym.alias.net + vicki .sig Ellen Hayes --=(*)=(*)=-- Renaissance Woman ==[-------- + virus 9.1a http://www.geocities.com/WestHollywood/Heights/5734/ -----BEGIN PGP SIGNATURE----- Version: 2.6.2 iQCVAwUBNR9gIXYDebnvyV1VAQHmAwP/cPaXGinsen8+EW0iMQbenygfdlx2oYhk NFeTuy9+yf/pN5lLmADa7oT0sHBdvPq7mgmpcPrQ/ZV9fIw2rCfaZ6mSzGIJBHCh BRrgjR/DWlTofiaV4jLen8uWlha31mIQ0WmoFgwR9lhrjxjSj+3CNsT8q6oIXA70 AAOFo+NCi7Y= =I0yT -----END PGP SIGNATURE-----