Podcasts about wagnerian

Music was an integral part of statecraft and identity formation in the Third Reich. Structured thematically and semiotically around the Wagnerian tetralogy of the Ring cycle, Hitler's Twilight of the Gods: Music and the Orchestration of War and Genocide in Europe (U Toronto Press, 2025) provides a sonic read of the Second World War and the Holocaust. Alexandra Birch sheds light on the specific type of music promoted under Nazism, linked to larger Teutonic mythologies and histories espoused in rhetoric and personal styling. The book explores the musical fixation of the command as it was extended to the ordinary troops of the Wehrmacht and SS in instances of musical sadism and destruction during the Holocaust. It reveals how, in constructing what was "German," this process also intentionally fashioned a subaltern other with an assigned set of music and aesthetics. The book draws on analysis of testimony and perpetrator documents to reveal the execution of this binary identity and the inclusion of music even in extreme genocidal conditions. From drinking games in the interwar period, to musical sadism in the Holocaust, to the final delusions of the command in collapse, Hitler's Twilight of the Gods illuminates how music was a component of camaraderie, identity, masculinity, and warfare. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/military-history

Music was an integral part of statecraft and identity formation in the Third Reich. Structured thematically and semiotically around the Wagnerian tetralogy of the Ring cycle, Hitler's Twilight of the Gods: Music and the Orchestration of War and Genocide in Europe (U Toronto Press, 2025) provides a sonic read of the Second World War and the Holocaust. Alexandra Birch sheds light on the specific type of music promoted under Nazism, linked to larger Teutonic mythologies and histories espoused in rhetoric and personal styling. The book explores the musical fixation of the command as it was extended to the ordinary troops of the Wehrmacht and SS in instances of musical sadism and destruction during the Holocaust. It reveals how, in constructing what was "German," this process also intentionally fashioned a subaltern other with an assigned set of music and aesthetics. The book draws on analysis of testimony and perpetrator documents to reveal the execution of this binary identity and the inclusion of music even in extreme genocidal conditions. From drinking games in the interwar period, to musical sadism in the Holocaust, to the final delusions of the command in collapse, Hitler's Twilight of the Gods illuminates how music was a component of camaraderie, identity, masculinity, and warfare. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

Music was an integral part of statecraft and identity formation in the Third Reich. Structured thematically and semiotically around the Wagnerian tetralogy of the Ring cycle, Hitler's Twilight of the Gods: Music and the Orchestration of War and Genocide in Europe (U Toronto Press, 2025) provides a sonic read of the Second World War and the Holocaust. Alexandra Birch sheds light on the specific type of music promoted under Nazism, linked to larger Teutonic mythologies and histories espoused in rhetoric and personal styling. The book explores the musical fixation of the command as it was extended to the ordinary troops of the Wehrmacht and SS in instances of musical sadism and destruction during the Holocaust. It reveals how, in constructing what was "German," this process also intentionally fashioned a subaltern other with an assigned set of music and aesthetics. The book draws on analysis of testimony and perpetrator documents to reveal the execution of this binary identity and the inclusion of music even in extreme genocidal conditions. From drinking games in the interwar period, to musical sadism in the Holocaust, to the final delusions of the command in collapse, Hitler's Twilight of the Gods illuminates how music was a component of camaraderie, identity, masculinity, and warfare. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/german-studies

Music was an integral part of statecraft and identity formation in the Third Reich. Structured thematically and semiotically around the Wagnerian tetralogy of the Ring cycle, Hitler's Twilight of the Gods: Music and the Orchestration of War and Genocide in Europe (U Toronto Press, 2025) provides a sonic read of the Second World War and the Holocaust. Alexandra Birch sheds light on the specific type of music promoted under Nazism, linked to larger Teutonic mythologies and histories espoused in rhetoric and personal styling. The book explores the musical fixation of the command as it was extended to the ordinary troops of the Wehrmacht and SS in instances of musical sadism and destruction during the Holocaust. It reveals how, in constructing what was "German," this process also intentionally fashioned a subaltern other with an assigned set of music and aesthetics. The book draws on analysis of testimony and perpetrator documents to reveal the execution of this binary identity and the inclusion of music even in extreme genocidal conditions. From drinking games in the interwar period, to musical sadism in the Holocaust, to the final delusions of the command in collapse, Hitler's Twilight of the Gods illuminates how music was a component of camaraderie, identity, masculinity, and warfare. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/genocide-studies

Music was an integral part of statecraft and identity formation in the Third Reich. Structured thematically and semiotically around the Wagnerian tetralogy of the Ring cycle, Hitler's Twilight of the Gods: Music and the Orchestration of War and Genocide in Europe (U Toronto Press, 2025) provides a sonic read of the Second World War and the Holocaust. Alexandra Birch sheds light on the specific type of music promoted under Nazism, linked to larger Teutonic mythologies and histories espoused in rhetoric and personal styling. The book explores the musical fixation of the command as it was extended to the ordinary troops of the Wehrmacht and SS in instances of musical sadism and destruction during the Holocaust. It reveals how, in constructing what was "German," this process also intentionally fashioned a subaltern other with an assigned set of music and aesthetics. The book draws on analysis of testimony and perpetrator documents to reveal the execution of this binary identity and the inclusion of music even in extreme genocidal conditions. From drinking games in the interwar period, to musical sadism in the Holocaust, to the final delusions of the command in collapse, Hitler's Twilight of the Gods illuminates how music was a component of camaraderie, identity, masculinity, and warfare. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/music

Have beings from outer space landed in Heck's Pantry? Will Falk stop the inhuman aural assault on Parabellum City? How come I don't get no bassoon solo in the commercial? Listen to find out!A Song of Brass and Ash, episode 126 of This Gun in My Hand, was blown until it was windy by Rob Northrup. This episode and all others are available on Youtube with automatically-generated closed captions of dialog. Visit http://ThisGuninMyHand.blogspot.com for credits, show notes, archives, and to buy my books, such as Sisyphus, Eat Your Heart Out, available in paperback and ebook from Amazon. How do I get to Carnegie Hall? This Gun in My Hand!Show Notes:1. When searching for a sad trombone sound on freesound dot org, I found this cache of 91 twisted and screwed public domain trombone sounds by user PhonosUPF, most of them sounding nothing like a trombone. I'm not using all of them here, but they inspired this episode.https://freesound.org/search/?q=phonosupf+trombone2. The Hall of Justice shown in the 1970s Super Friends cartoon was based on the design of Cincinnati Union Terminal.3. I can't tell if the Zurich Baroque Ensemble's recording of Marcello's Oboe Concerto in F Minor includes bassoon as Jojo claims.4. Young James Marshall Hendrix carried his guitar with him everywhere he could, to school and to friends' houses, practicing all day. 5. This Gun in My Hand podcast has existed longer than the Confederate States of America.Credits:The opening music clip was from The Sun Sets at Dawn (1950), and the closing music was from Killer Bait (1949), both films in the public domain. Most of the music and sound effects used in the episode are modified or incomplete versions of the originals.The nineteen sound effects named below were created by PhonosUPF.https://freesound.org/search/?q=phonosupf+tromboneIn order of appearance in this episode, they were:1. Trombone grave (501269)2. Trombone grave 33. Trombone grave 24. Trombone metal 25. Trombone grave (490995)6. Trombone stretching 137. Trombone signal 138. Trombone sequence9. Trombone stretching 610. Trombone percussion11. Trombone blow 212. Trombone set13. Trombone blow14. Trombone signal 1415. Trombone grave 516. Wagnerian trombones17? Trombone melody 18. Trombone glissandi19. Trombone metal 5Sound Effect Title: footsteps cellar.wavLicense: Public Domainhttps://freesound.org/people/gecop/sounds/545030/Sound Effect Title: R10-56-Footsteps on Metal Staircase.wavLicense: Public Domainhttps://freesound.org/people/craigsmith/sounds/480641/Sound Effect Title: muted cornet 2.wav by thatjeffcarterLicense: Creative Commons Attribution 4.0https://freesound.org/s/185435/ Sound Effect Title: tuba frullato by PhonosUPF License: Public Domainhttps://freesound.org/s/501504/ Music Title: Oboe Concerto in F MinorComposed by Alessandro MarcelloPerformed by The Zurich Baroque EnsembleComposition and recording are in public domain.https://musopen.org/music/45546-concerto-for-oboe-orchestra/Sound Effect Title: Clarinet- ORTF Stereo Pair (NT-5's)-01.wav by debuddingLicense: Public Domainhttps://freesound.org/s/44361/ Sound Effect Title: Banging Metal Lid by wolfdoctor License: Public Domainhttps://freesound.org/s/520074/ The image accompanying this episode is a modified detail of the public domain cover of the 1951 novel Blues for the Prince written by Bart Spicer, artist unknown.

With Lew SmoleySupport the show

With Lew SmoleySupport the show

With Lew SmoleySupport the show

Nationalism, patriotism, cultural identity, a sense of home; these are concepts and ideas whose popularity have ebbed and flowed throughout history. Nationalism has been seen as a natural expression of cultural identity and pride, and it also has been at the core of virulent racism and xenophobia. Patriotism has been used as a cudgel by all sides of the political spectrum for good and evil, and a sense of home has led to cultural explosions and also to some of the bloodiest wars of all time. For Bedrich Smetana, these concepts were extremely multi-layered. He was a proud Bohemian nationalist for much of his life, but he also barely spoke Czech(German was the lingua franca among educated classes in Prague), and he was also disenchanted with the Prague musical establishment due to their cool reception of his Wagnerian/Lisztian style. He even left Prague for a time to work in Gothenburg Sweden, writing curtly to his parents: “Prague did not wish to acknowledge me, so I left it.” But only 6 years later, he wrote again to a friend: "My home has rooted itself into my heart so much that only there do I find real contentment. It is to this that I will sacrifice myself." Stirred to patriotic and nationalistic sentiments, Smetana began studying the Czech language in earnest, and his second opera, The Bartered Bride, became the first Czech opera to enter the mainstream repertoire around Europe. It was a piece fully in Czech style, and even though Smetana battled to the end of his life with different members of the Prague musical establishment, he is still thought of today as the founder of the Czech national sound. This is even before we begin talking about the topic for today, Ma Vlast, which is commonly translated to My Fatherland, My Country, or My Homeland. Ma Vlast is a massive, nearly hour and a half long work that amalgamates Wagnerian and Listzian ideas of a tone poem along with nationalistic music that has stirred not only the Czech soul but the souls of people all around the world. As Semyon Bychkov, the great Russian conductor and current Music Director of the Czech Philharmonic says: “The core subject of this piece is home and the meaning of home; everything else is the gravy.” Today on the show we'll begin by talking about Smetana's tragic experience of deafness, and then we'll go through each movement of his huge piece, talking about the msuic from the perspecitve of nationalism and also Wagnerian ideas of leitmotifs as well as orchestration and style. Join us! Recording: Czech Philharmonic conducted by Rafael Kubelik

Living the nightmare; hungering for a normal life. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “If your heart starts the fight, you can lose without regret.”  (Thursday Night) It was well past the descent of Night's veil when the Havenstone jet landed outside of New York City. Naomi and team gathered us up and led us to the main building downtown. An unlooked for conflict developed. Naomi's team was there to present me to Hayden. Rachel's team was still focused on securing my wellbeing and they didn't like the attitude Naomi's squad was giving off. With Buffy (Helena was in a different car), there was no concealing Rachel's hostility toward the latest group of SD ladies. The new group was treating me like a 'package', not a Head of House, and that infuriated my First too. All of that ill-will simmered as we made our way to Havenstone. The situation was compounded by the elevator ride. Naomi, her team, Buffy, Rachel and I went into the first elevator. By the time we made it to the top few floors, it was clear that the rest were not immediately following along. The situation ratcheted up to nasty when Naomi demanded Buffy's firearm. Buffy looked ready to use it. "Buffy; gun," I held out my hand, palm up. Buffy reluctantly handed it over. I walked over to the nearest trash can, dropped out the clip, chambered out the first round then dumped the entirety into the trash receptacle. "If they touched it, the weapon would be fouled and not fit for a true Amazon," I explained to Buffy. "Best to save your noble tool the indignity and dispense with it instead." Buffy snorted with amusement, Naomi's crew pretended not to care while Rachel was deeply disturbed. It took a perfunctory gesture to stop Buffy outside Hayden's office. In I went to face Hayden, Katrina, Saint Marie and Troika of House Šauška alone. Šauška was the 'sister goddess' of Ishara; together they formed Ishtar in later incarnations. I didn't believe Troika was here for any sister solidarity this time around. "Why did you do this? Start a war; is this your hatred of Amazon culture shining through, trying to get us all killed in some global struggle against the other Secret Societies?" Hayden opened up with in an even tone. "No," I kept it succinct. They waited for more of an explanation. "Do you have anything you can say to defend your actions?" Troika glared. "I don't need to defend my actions," I regarded her as if she was of alien origin. "The actions speak for themselves." "Why don't you explain it to us, Ishara?" Saint Marie rumbled. Insulted yet again. As an equal, I warranted the use of my first name. "Do I have your permission to fully and completely lay out my reasoning without everyone closing in like a pack of hyenas on a leopard?" I looked to Hayden; not happy. She gave a curt nod. It wasn't like running away would get me far. "I will speak slowly because all of you appear to have become incredibly stupid," I started. "My parent and carrier of my Amazon ancestor's genetic heritage was murdered. The leader of the Amazon Security Detail identified herself, Then they were fired upon. Somehow you do not see those actions as Casus Belli. [cause for war] There are three possible reasons for your blindness: you are all cowards who bully behind closed doors, but fold up like gutless wonders when a true challenge presents itself. Or, the male penis renders you incapable of intelligent thought and induces irrational and unsustainable hostile deductions in your though processes. Or, you want me and the line of Ishara dead and are willing to accept any accident of fate that will render us so," I laid things out for them. "Or, you were in pain over your father's loss and used Havenstone as a tool to lash out at your perceived foes without concern for what price the other houses would have to pay for your personal vendetta," Hayden suggested. "Your gender bias is appalling, High Priestess  Saint James," I shook my head. "Have I been such an out of control, emotional male that yours is the logical assumption for how events unfolded?" I smirked. "Except for the meeting where I learned your secret; only Katrina caught that. I've risked death three times for Amazons; yet I hate all of you enough to kill those people and myself. Besides,  Saint James, your opinion has been rendered irrelevant." "You will call me Hayden," Hayden simmered. "I will when you and your lackeys get around to calling me Cáel," I countered. "I don't like being insulted any more than you do. I could keep up this childishness forever, but, as I was pointing out, we don't have forever. War is coming. Between my father's murder and my threats to the Condotteiri and Seven Pillars' emissaries, I've guaranteed that. Apologizing won't do any good. They won't believe you. Offering me up won't do any good. They think you hold male life to be worthless; the truth of which I am personally witnessing here and now. They are coming for you no matter what you wish. The best chance for an alliance rests with me. I can establish truly good will with the Nine Clans, Illuminati and the Earth  and  Sky. Without me, they don't trust you enough to do any good. I'm sure only Katrina believes this; I did all that alliance-building for Havenstone. I am House Ishara and the fate of the Amazons is my fate. Yet here I am, being insulted, being treated like a traitor; an infantile traitor at that, and being informed you will not honor your oaths and obligations to me," I shook my head. "Are there any other issues to discuss, or can I go home now? I'm beat." "You will be housed downstairs for your own safety," Hayden informed me. "Unless you arrest me, I'm going home," I shrugged. "Not only do I not want your protection, I have ceased to trust you. You do not treat me like a sister. Instead you accuse me of atrocities against MY people and layer on the petty insults. Goodnight." I made to leave so Saint Marie interposed herself. "That wasn't a request, Ishara," Hayden murmured with menace. "Beat me up," I chuckled, "and you will be more screwed than you know." The Golden Mare and I locked gazes. I tried to move around her so she put a hand on my chest. "Welcome to the consequences of being known liars and bigots, ladies." "I am tiring of your insolence," Saint Marie growled. "Runners'," Katrina sighed with melancholy amusement. "What about them?" Troika mocked. "The majority of the 'Runners' aren't going to see this as the Council punishing Cáel for starting the upcoming conflict," Katrina chided her cohorts. "They are going to see the Full-blooded shutting down the Only House letting them in. Going to war? They are willing to fight and die for our cause. They assume we are too," Katrina regaled her unwilling audience. "Pleased with yourself, Ish; Cáel," Hayden's eyes narrowed. "He has almost nothing to do with it, Sisters," Katrina chortled. "We were the ones who promised to let the 'Runners' join the houses then reneged on that promise. The worst you can say about Cáel was that only after we picked out, loaded and handed him the gun, did he use it for what it was intended for." "We are not punishing him for this 'Runner' insult," Troika spat. She meant my 'hasty' inductions. "Then why are we punishing him; and thank you for making Cáel's point for him; 'Runner' insult indeed. Since your disgraceful attitude is overwhelmingly common, the 'Runners' are not going to believe your excuse for dealing with Cáel." "Katrina," Hayden cautioned. "Hayden, as your 'First Bearer of the Sun Spear through the Halls of Night and Death', I am required to give you this news," Katrina bowed her head in reverence. "I tell you Cáel's actions have been a lightning rod for the 'Runners'. He gives them hope where there was none. Putting Cáel down will have repercussions you do not understand. They will then 'Know' for a certainty we look down on them and treat them little better than slaves; which is the truth," Katrina responded to the others. "Not only are we going to war, we are successfully convincing half our population that they Cannot trust the Council to spend their lives wisely." "How dare you?" Saint Marie seethed at me. "Are you seriously blaming me for keeping the oaths the rest of you made in my name; while Ishara was dead to the Council?" I laughed. "The 'Runners' are your idea, Saint Marie, not mine. You promised to bring them into the Houses ; and didn't. You lied and I chose to not perpetuate that lie, thus honoring my ancestors, my founder and my Goddess." "Do I need to remind you who Ishara is? The Goddess of Oaths; particularly military oaths," I added. "In case you missed it, I am implying that you have failed your ancestors;” and I went flying. Damn, Saint Marie was fast. I rolled as best as I could, ending bumping into Hayden's desk. No one said a word which I found tragically consistent. My follow-up pain wasn't 'Mare' induced. Spiritual flames consumed me internal organs, causing me to cry out in torment and vomit copious amounts of something. I was cradled inside a horror film as first my esophagus, then stomach and finally my intestines seemed to flush forth from my lips. The stench was beyond horrid; putrid and corrupt combined with the atrocious odor of bloated flesh left to rot in the Sun for weeks. Considering the minimal amount I had eaten on the flight home, I was even more baffled by what felt like 100 liter quantity of discharge. When the ordeal eventually ended, I half-rose then flopped backwards into darkness. I hurt. I hurt in the same way you have 'pins and needles', except mine were industrial capacity and giving it 110%. My head was resting at a slight incline and someone was flipping a lock of my bangs on and off my forehead. I opened my eyes into infinity; seriously worse agony consumed my brain pan. "That is too much for you to know, Cáel," she murmured. Those eyes had been feminine, just not in a human way and definitely filled with more joy and suffering than could be granted by a thousand lifetimes. The pain faded, so I tried the whole eye thing again. At the top of the lap that cradled my head was a really nice pair of boobs clothed in thin wool; lush, mature, yet firm like a young virgin's. "Thank you," she lilted. Mind-reading? "Do I want to know what has happened to me?" I groaned. I reached for a boob because if it was a toxin-induced delusion, what was the worst that can happen? "Careful, I haven't been with a male in 1800 years, my Preciously Odd Amazon," she laughed. "I like challenges," I bantered with my mental conjuration. Definitely mind-reading. "I am not the creation of your fevered dreams, my Cáel," she flicked my nose. "I have pushed you near death to place a curse on the Host. As a side benefit, I am able to have metaphysical contact with you." "To date you, I have to have a near-death experience? I don't know if I should admire 1800 years of male common sense, or that last guy who risked everything for one night with you," I shrugged. "So much compassion; and so little fear," she petted my scalp. "Since you clearly aren't getting into the name game and I am more than happy to doubt everything I've experienced in the past five minutes," I smiled at her, "what am I supposed to do?" "You know," she smiled back. "No, I don't," I insisted. "Something extra-concise that doesn't come from a fortune cookie." "I've always wanted to eat a fortune cookie," she looked away. "I'll start walking around with one in my pocket so next time you nearly kill me, you can indulge," I offered. "Save my people, Cáel," she placed her hand over my eyes. "Save their spirits." "A bit of help would be nice," I pressed forward blindly. "I've given you help," she whispered on my lips. Since I didn't consider that to be helpful, I opted to give a gentle twist to her nipple. Either something was really going on inside my head, acting as a conduit between me and something else, or I was experiencing a psychotic break with reality. If it was the former, I was a Class-A idiot. If it was the latter, it was me being me, rolling the dice with the pretty girl. "I wanted you to be brave," she laughed melodically, the echo of every woman I'd ever given a reason to sing out with joy, "yet now I find myself wishing you would expend a tiny bit more caution on my behalf." Sensing my dissatisfaction, she added "I cannot give you 'the' truth, so I will give you 'a' truth. Nothing is set in the future while much is foreseen." "As long as you know I've disappointed every women I've ever been with," I reminded her, my eyes still shielded and her lips tantalizingly close to mine. "Oh, you like to think you are selfish, Cáel Nyilas of Vranus and Ishara, but you justifiably take pride in the sensuality you bring to so many women's lives," she pointed out. "Many lovers are far more truthful yet far less giving," she said. "Pain heals while an education is forever," I countered. Another joyous note. "It is time for you to wake up, my Cáel," she sighed. "Go now." Wakefulness required a return to the putrid qualities of my current surroundings. I forced myself to my knees. No one did anything; no reaction, or assistance, so it fell to me to save myself. "What; what was that?" Troika nearly retched at the stench. Katrina stood, visibly pale and shaken. "Hayden?" Katrina requested of her leader. "Cáel, what have you done?" Hayden snapped. She also stood up so she could look down at me from her desk. I mumbled something. Even I wasn't sure what I was trying to say. The last touch of a lady far chillier than the one in Chicago caressed me and I knew the gist of what had happened. Why was I the one suffering at the hands of my Goddess? I was the easiest to get at because I was already devoted to her, her chosen children and I was Patron and Head of the house dedicated to her honor. The forecasted ass-kicking wasn't aimed at me, though. I was the necromantic shotgun barrel into this reality. Too many bitches had spat on me, her hand-picked patsy and punching bag, and her temper was beyond sending some vague signs and portents to the Host. I didn't know the particulars of this curse, yet I didn't doubt for a second it was both fiendishly evil and well-deserved. My jacket, shirt and tie were goners. The lower part of my tie which had been thoroughly drenched in my vomit was already decaying into filth, soon passing into nothingness. I tried speaking again. "Having exhibited no faith in me, you have committed apostasy to Ishara," issued the words from my acid-scared throat. "You are condemned to live with that choice. Good night." I fumbled and stumbled to Hayden's door, weakly opened one of the two double doors and left. The confrontation I had departed outside remained in force; Naomi and detail versus Rachel and Buffy. Helena, and a former 'Runner' named Madori who worked at Havenstone HQ with us, had not been sent up. "I am going home," I rasped. With no orders to keep me there, Naomi let me pass. Rachel and Buffy closed in. "Boss, you smell like;” Buffy searched for words. "A red tide," Rachel said. "All those dead fish floating on the water for days and days; it is that level of horrible smell." "Rachel," I stated as we got on the elevator, "thank you for the loyalty, intelligence and understanding you have given me in this trying time." "I am a member of the Host, Ishara. I would do no less for Hayden herself; but you are welcome," she sighed. "How about we postpone our date night until I've cleared up a few things with the Council and Ishara?" I suggested. Rachel nodded. I briefly talked to Helena over the phone, went with Buffy to the basement where she checked out a car then sat back as she drove me home. I must have looked like a disaster because Buffy didn't give me an ounce of grief. Home was home now. There was a house with my name on it now, but it wasn't my hearth; this mid-town, 'just above the poverty line' apartment was definitely home now. I would suspect that business travel was like a clothes dryer; you mystically pulled out less clothes than you put in. I was coming back with twice the amount of luggage I had departed with Odette would be home in an hour, so it was me and Timothy for a bit. "Hey Bro," Timothy greeted me. He set down one of those fanciful Asian vegetable mish-mashes that he liked from time to time, stood up and gave me a hug. "How bad was it?" "Let's just say I finished it up this evening by vomiting all over the Big Boss's rug, and that was the highlight of the trip," I mumbled. "That would explain your bare-chested look," Timothy snorted. I had been so out of it, I had spaced on the need to put on clothes like a normal human being. "Something to eat?" "Nah, my insides were spewed forth, so I'm foregoing food for a while," I mumbled. That reminded me. I went to the bathroom and gargled repeatedly with mouthwash. I could still smell the aromatic abomination, but at least I couldn't taste it anymore. "Do we want to go down the lists of women who have called you?" Timothy was trying to cheer me up. I wanted to be cheered up so I told him to go right ahead. Brooke and Libra; an immediate call back with the briefest of details; no weekend date for Brooke and I yet. Jason, the bar-back I had met chasing down Katy Lee, had called. I dialed his number and we had a short chat. He and his buddies were coming along well, I was invited back any time, and the Latin Kings had gotten the message because they hadn't been around since. I requested he and his friends keep their eyes open just in case and I'd be around for another pick-up game soon enough. Since most of those LK's were dead and the remainder scattered, I wasn't worried about Jason. Nikita; I called and she 'agreed' to come over. I was too fatigued to fight her off. Ulyssa called and I had to inform her that this weekend didn't look good for me; funeral and all. I initiated contact with Nicole. She was still wrapping up some of my business in Chicago and would be gone until Saturday morning. Timothy crashed for the evening, I was nibbling on some of his fodder and the doorbell rang. A check at the peephole revealed Nikita. She came in, hugged and I could sense something was definitely wrong. We were back to first date material. We hadn't been separated long enough; crap. I gave us space on the sofa. "That was incredibly fast," I groaned. "What tipped them off?" "What do you mean?" Nikita tried to scoot down the sofa to me. I held her off with one hand. "I am hardly one to uphold honesty in a relationship, but I normally consider it a selfish endeavor and not done for the benefit of a third, unrelated party," I sadly met her eyes. "Cáel, what do you?" Nikita stammered. "You are not a very good liar," I pointed out. "You are wearing a wire of some kind?" "Have you done something wrong?" Nikita evaded. "My loss," I moped. "All I wanted was the semblance of a normal life and now that's gone down the tubes." "Nikita, what do you want to drink?" I restarted the whole fiasco. Drinks were served and we kept to our separate ends of the sofa talking about mindless shit until Odette showed up. Then I could politely show Nikita the door and be with someone who did care about me. We made slow, passionate love. I gave her orgasms and giggles with the added benefit I felt more human when we finally fell asleep. (Friday) The morning started out with the same routine. I pulled up various routes for my bike ride into work, chose none of them and off I went in the pre-dawn dark blue/grey sky. I came within 20 seconds of my best time, so I was feeling pretty positive about what lay ahead. Security was a full 180 from their normally sour selves. "Good morning, Cáel Ishara," the security team (not Security Detail) leader greeted me. That was part 'thanks for letting my sister 'Runners' into a house' and 'maybe pick me next time.' "Good morning, Wilma Draper," I nodded back. I went to the counter and leaned in. I needed to fortify my supportive base and I knew how to do it. "You do realize I don't choose who joins House Ishara, don't you?" I addressed her softly yet loud enough for the two closest security women to hear. "You do not?" the woman appeared perplexed. "No," I shook my head in the negative. At that moment she wondered if this was a trick of the Council. Good girl. "The senior Amazons of House Ishara chose the next candidates. I make the ritual appeal to Ishara, of course. Selection remains in the hands of former 'Runners' who nominate the 'Runners' who have proven themselves. I was inspired to initiate Buffy and Helena because I had enough faith in them to believe they knew Havenstone and what House Ishara needed. The Amazons in the second ritual were all Buffy and Helena's choices. I think those two and the latest group Ishara has approved of, will make the perfect judges for picking future 'Runners' of accomplishment and worth; not only for House Ishara, but for the new Amazons who have risked everything for our People," I piled on the propaganda. She nodded. The two closest security guards nodded as well. Off I went to the gun range. With less than a minute worth of words, I had reinforced my perfection. I wasn't a male. I was a male with a passel of hardcore, praiseworthy Amazons working around me, insulating me from committing any errors and making all the important decisions while I behaved like a bobble-headed doll. The range was back to 'normal' except I could smell the chemicals this time out. Whatever concrete and surface coating substances they had used to repair my grenade-inspired damage left my nose with a terrible itch. I had a gun selection today. I had no instructor yet was hopeful. I packed up my 40 caliber, my back-up 3 80, the combat shotgun and my Personal Defense weapon then headed out. I patiently waited behind one of the stations, soaking up the view of medium gray yoga pants worn by a woman who presented a meticulously crafted, awesome bubble-butt to the world. After she finished off one magazine, the Amazons looked over her shoulder at me. Horn-dog time. The woman smiled as she motioned me forward. We put my weapons on the stand and prepared for school. "I am Wiesława of House Živa," she smirked playfully. By the Almighty, she had a thick Polish accent, rich lips, russet hair and 'come hither' eyes. I was prepping for some early 'nookie' time. "Hello, I am Ash Ketchum and I have an unhealthy relationship with free-roaming, anthropomorphic creatures," I replied as we clasped forearms Amazon-style. As Wiesława was trying to puzzle that out, an Amazon from an adjoining booth came over and punched me in the arm. I couldn't even recall this one's name though I knew that face and physique. "Stop that, Cáel," the woman chastised me. "She's new here." "I thought he was bringing me more weapons to use. Was this male being insolent?" Wiesława tried to put things in their proper place. "Should he be disciplined?" At least she wasn't taking me being beaten as her Goddess-given right. "No, Wiesława. This is Cáel Ishara, Head of House Ishara, he brought those weapons for His use and most likely came to your station looking for instruction," the unnamed Amazon stated. "Does this mean we are passed that whole 'grenade launcher' thing?" I inquired of the women. "We are not sure. For now we have decided to not pre-judge you since you remain consistently combative no matter what. Constanza is recovering," she tacked on. "Good," I grinned. "How soon can she return to duty? I imagine she makes a lousy patient." Pause. The 'Constanza' bit had been a test. I had a feeling that my emotional tendency to spare lives and show mercy was getting around. It wasn't the Amazon way, though it did mean Constanza would remain alive for a while longer when it was generally accepted she should not. "She will have to retrain her vision. Her doctors are hopeful," the woman responded. "That is for the best. I do hope there are no ill intentions toward Pamela," I warned her. "Such a vengeance would be personal and I would feel no obligation to treat those criminals as I would my fellow Amazons; are we clear?" "It has been made expressly clear that this issue is at an end," she bowed slightly. "Let us commit this to the 'nothingness'," was my suggestion. The two Amazons twitched. That was a phrase straight out of their cultural playbook. Both nodded, the familiar Amazon left and I turned back to Wiesława. "Do you still want a go at training me?" I asked the Pole. "Yes; yes, I would like that," she gave me a bright, toothy white smile. "I find you interesting." Off I went again. Wiesława was diligent and definitely 'hands-on'. Twenty minutes into the training one of my familiar SD firing partners showed up. "Don't let him take his clothes off," Felicité teased me. Her Congolese French contrasted erotically with Wiesława's Polish. "His clothes come off?" Wiesława seemed puzzled. "How is that accomplished?" "A deeply scientific, psychological process," Felicité teased my latest friend/fish in the barrel. "Cáel, take off your clothes," she commanded me. I gave her a haughty, condescending glare. "Please." My biking shirt came off first then my biking slippers and finally the shorts. "Your turn," I regarded Wiesława. She shot a look to Felicité. Her sports bra was millimeters from exposing her goodies when my Congolese tormentor stepped in. "You don't have to take off your clothes for him," she intervened. "But I like seeing you ladies naked," I protested. Felicité patted my package. "We like seeing you naked too. Now put on your pants before a hot shell casing creates yet another incident," Felicité teased me again. A great chasm of misunderstanding had been bridged since Friday. The grenade-launcher was part of it, yet I think Rachel and Velma were far more constructive than I could have been. Velma had seen me in crisis mode. I hadn't panicked. I had seen to my partner (though she was an inconsequential female) and been cool throughout the process in Katrina's office as Velma and her four team members had overheard. Rachel, Charlotte, Mona and Tiger Lily had probably given a different story; less professional and more human. That must have worked in my favor. A stone-cold bad-ass would have been more worrisome; a challenge. No, I had been shaken, irrational, brave and grieving. I had fought an assassin of the Nine Clans and not lost (thus not an embarrassment to a culture I didn't really belong to; until that moment). I had insulted the Condotteiri and the Seven Pillars, who were universally hated. I had been nice to the Earth  and  Sky and Illuminati, who they didn't like much, but could be handy if a war did break out. I had been 'friendly' to the Egyptians and Nine Clans, who the Amazon rank and file did approve of. The SD had no doubts; they were looking at a war. Unlike their leadership, the Security Detail was anticipating this, even anxious for the test. Fighting is what they spent their whole lives training for. Thirty years had passed since the last major clash between Havenstone and the others. For the youngest, this was the ultimate chance to prove their training had been perfect. For the oldest members of the SD, this was the culmination of a lifetime's devotion. 'Take themselves to the cliffs'? Not now. Now came the chance to make every burn, bullet hole, stab wound and piece of shrapnel worth it. Their Host lavished care and resources on the Security Detail; their Warrior Elite; and they were about to reward that glorification with a fervor only female's with 3000 years of martial tradition could match. Like me? Allowable yet not required. Respect me? Constanza was their lesson on respect. Obedience? No. Rachel had most assuredly related my contact with the 'Runners' and Buffy, so they could hit me like they could no other Head of Household; as long as it was 'appropriate'. Since they were not forced to give me full equality, they could stomach my 'almost' equality. Think of it as being able to punch your manager at work in the arm whenever you thought they were doing something stupid. Imagine how much worker morale would benefit. By stepping up and taking a punch, or two, I bought myself and House Ishara much more respect than a snippy insistence on etiquette would have ever done. Bringing 'Runners' into a First House? The SD wasn't jumping for joy. Here, the SD's sense of superiority worked in Ishara's favor. What did it matter to them that a few 'Runners' had been exalted to Full-blooded status? SD was the best of the best. That they were the best of the 'best available until now' hadn't occurred to them yet. All that circled back to Felicité playing with me, no one taking exception to me making a play for Wiesława and the return of the firing range to an educational platform for me. As I had told Oneida, 'defeat starts in the mind'. Along with that came 'Victory starts with a plan', and 'seize the moment'. I was aiming for seizing victory in the flesh. I bent over to put my pants back on. Since Felicité was departing for jobs-unknown, I ran the pants, and my hand, along Wiesława's inner right thigh. By the look in her eyes when I was finished, she didn't mind in the slightest. At the end of my allotted time period, my marksmanship had improved and Wiesława was mine for the taking. What bothered me was that it felt too easy somehow. Weird huh; that 'easy' would bother me. "You don't hang around men much?" I questioned the Pole as the weapons were being put away. "No," she sighed. "The last male in my hold died eight years ago. That is one reason I was re-assigned here," she informed me. "What department are you with?" I asked as we waited on the elevator. "Security Detail," she answered. "Fantastic," I murmured. "Elsa is a great boss. The two of us get along great." "Really? That is good news," Wiesława sounded upbeat. "How close are you?" Hint, hint. "Like the Cobra and the Mongoose," I grinned. Into the elevator we went. "I'll let you figure out which is which." "You are the Cobra," she patted my thinly covered cock. Yay! No personal boundaries. Less I forget I was still on the list of approved prey animals the door opened on the first floor and Brielle, her buddy, and Oneida stepped onboard. I had no clue where Wiesława was supposed to go. I guessed she was along for the ride. "Good morning, Cáel," Brielle greeted me before licking my left nipple. Wiesława was confused; could she have been licking me, and getting licked by me, half an hour ago? "What are you doing?" Oneida squawked. "Yum; someone has been to the gun range this morning," Brielle smiled at me. "Oh, and; sorry about your paternal person," she hastily added. "They are called Fathers," I sighed. To defuse Oneida, I slipped a hand to the small over her back then wiggled three fingers between the top of her skirt and panties. It was 'dangerous' enough to give her pause before going after the other women. "It is good to see your new, exalted status hasn't gone to your head, Cáel Ishara," Brielle looked very naughty. "Sisters first, last and always," I responded. "I'm not going to take credit for my ancestors being kick ass." "They must have been very courageous women," Wiesława stated. I snorted. "Wiesława, my Ishara lineage goes down the male side of the family, so those lethal ancestors were all male," I chided her. "When the Dacian-Thracians moved into the region, they joined with those tribes fighting the Celts. Later, they joined with the Dacian kings and fought against the Romans. Germans, Avars, Bulgars and finally the Magyars came their way; my ancestors impressed them all enough to be accepted. I know this because my Father's name was Nyilas, which means Archer in the Magyar tongue. We were fighters under the Arpad dynasty the same way we had gone to war with our Amazon War leaders thousands of years earlier. I also know this because of my bloodline; if the female folk had been raped, the bloodline would have perished," I explained. "Where exactly was your family from?" Wiesława inquired. "My grandfather said we Nyilas' were from Székelys Lands in Northern Romania," I replied. "My great-grandfather grew up under the Romanian King, hated it and died fighting as a Hungarian soldier against the Soviets in World War II," I continued. "That is why my great-grandmother took her children and came to America. They had lost their homeland in her opinion. Dad said she was bitter until the day she died," I sighed over my forerunners intransience. "She even wanted to be buried at her home town of Szászrégen," I let them know. "That never happened." The elevator door opened, I waved good-bye to friends new and old then raced to Katrina's bathroom. Katrina was at her desk, working away. "Cáel," Katrina acknowledged my passage with a wave of her hand. "Hayden and I have been examining a list of possible; " "That boat has sailed, Katrina," I cut her off. "I'll take care of my business without Hayden's help, thank you very much. I know you tried to warn her. I should have known there was no use dealing with the Council in any way, shape, or form. There isn't." I paused. "Tell your allies that there will be many in House Ishara and Warrior-Fathers too." "Aren't you worried in the least?" Katrina requested. "We both know that some of these bitches want to face their end like the lead characters in a Wagnerian opera. All we can do is remind them they are traitors to their Race, not patriots to some modern day concoction of a cult of gender blood purity," I stated, "as we work to save our people." "Those 'Old Guard' broads have forgotten what an Amazon is supposed to be," I explained. "And a man is going to show us the way?" Katrina studied me with emotionless intent. "Yes," I muttered. "A man who prefers love over hate and counts his worth by the lives he saves, not the one's he takes." "Do you ever fear this 'softness' will weaken your masculinity?" Katrina mused. That hurt; not because of her words, which could be true for any man. It hurt because the bastion against such thinking had just died. "My only fear is that I won't live up to my father's example," I responded. "Not only as a man and a father in my time, but as a human being," I delved into the wounded portion of my soul. "He never went to college, served in the military, or even got into a fight until that last minute of his life. He covered for co-workers with family issues, never failed to answer a call out to work in inclement weather, and did all that normal boring shit few here even understand. He let me be weak and let me be strong. His greatest lesson was that no matter where my life led, I had to take responsibility for it. The strong ask for help. The weak ask for someone to do the task for them. Love is not a word. Love is the star you chart your life by. The worst weakness is letting fear stop you from pursuing what you want. That is what I have to measure up to," I finished. In the interim, several of the new hires showed up and were observing the spiel. "I would think he would be happy if you measured up to what you wanted out of life," Katrina said. "I aim to do both," I grinned. I went to the bathroom and quickly changed into my work attire. The meeting started on time with the additional of a gnat-bite; Dora was two minutes late. At the time, nothing seemed out of sorts to me. It was a day on the job with Rosette. Around 3:30 pm, Pamela stopped our knife training (her with her wand and me with my weighted, wooden blade). She went to the corner of the room, ran her finger along the central point and drew back a finger with dust on it. She raised the finger so I could clearly see it. "It's dust?" I shrugged. "Normally they do a much better job," Pamela noted and back to training we went. The nightmare became real with one phrase in common usage: 'I'll get to it when I can', one Runner told Desiree when Desiree gave her a task. One of the most fascinating things in my book about Havenstone was that it hummed along like a well-oiled, organic machine. Tasks were completed, back-ups were always on call, and promptness wasn't a virtue; I was the absolutely expected. "What did you say?" Desiree asked for confirmation. "I said I'll get right on it," the woman sighed. I caught the look in Desiree's eyes. Something was wrong, but she couldn't put a name to it. Oaths and obligations; the lubricant for patently lethal Amazon society. Those words tossed out without too much consideration were now fraying around the edges. This wasn't the Plague, boils, lesions, leprosy, rickets, or the Home Loan bubble bursting. Those you could fight. How did you counter the devaluation of someone's word? Ishara's curse was crawling toward a very bad end unless I did something, but what? Personal respect would remain. Hierarchy? Amazons would begin to question why they were prioritizing their lives around someone they didn't know, or knew and didn't like. We weren't at that final destination, yet it was coming, and best of all, every woman in the company had a weapon, or quick access to one. A phone call grabbed me before I went in for the 'end of day' meeting. It was Brooke. "Christopher Cáel-umbos," I murmured. "Economy Class Oriental tours. How may I help you?" Laughter; and more than Brooke's. "Libra and I were getting ready to head out to the Hamptons and wanted to give you one last chance to come along," Brooke pleaded. An impressive dicking indeed. Thousands of reasons not to go; safety, responsibility, risk for other; "Sure, I'd love to come along. Can you pick me up at Havenstone at 6:10 pm? We'll make a quick run to my place to pick up some stuff and then head out, unless that's too late?" I offered. "See you then, Cáel," Brooke purred. "See you," Libra called out as well. It was a loathsome indicator of how out of control my life was ;  that me, a working class kid, was going on a romp with two rich, high society girls to some mansion for a weekend of hedonistic fun; because that was more 'normal' than my week had been. I entered the meeting, took my teasing and made for the gym. This hour was devoted to a hardcore workout and nothing but. Rapid repetitions, quick shifts, rolling through the muscle groups. Even a few of the dedicated lifters gave me appreciative looks. I didn't have the time today. I hit the showers and made the doors before I hit a snag. Security held me up yet again. They seemed nervous, so I asked and got a bottled water and made some jokes. These ladies were going to be my allies, damn it, before I was done. Troika caught up with me a minute later. She extended a handful of round, brownish-yellow balls in a necklace. Each ball had a symbol inscribed on it. "We received this and a message this morning," she snapped. "We have decided to reject it." "It is horse-hoof," Pamela whispered in my ear. The gears went spinning. There was one person I knew who would send me keratin scrimshaw jewelry. Those nasty bitches were piling on the stupid. I looked it over; it was old, maybe going as far back as Timur aka Tamerlane to the English-speaking world. The 'cord' was made of hair; probably horse tail hair. I had no reciprocal gift to offer; absolutely nothing this valuable. But wait, I did! Somewhere there was a Havenstone bureau, department, or office that hung on to the artifacts ALL the Houses had accumulated over the passage of years. Some of that shit was mine; Ishara's. Our house had expired before the colonies became states. That still equated to a long period of pack-ratting. I'd put a minion on it right away! I'd pray that they didn't have plans for the weekend; later. "It arrived this morning and you are only giving it to me now?" I grumbled. "That message was meant for me, not for any of the rest of you. Where is the rest of it? Oh, and you're on the list." "It was consumed in its examination," Troika blatantly lied. "You have a visual copy," Pamela sounded bored. "Give it to him." "I do not carry such things around on a handheld device," Troika parried. "Ah; that's theft," Pamela gave a slender grin. "Just so we are clear." "If Cáel Ishara wished to put forth such an accusation to Hayden, I will be prepared to defend my actions," Troika gave a hostile glare right back. "That won't be necessary," I snorted. "I'm good. Pamela, I'm out for the weekend. Have fun." I turned and walked away. "Count the days, Troika," Pamela menaced. "I'm not afraid," she countered. "I don't care, but in 21 days, Cáel's ban on internal conflict will be at an end. Like me, he will not go to a corrupted Hayden for justice. We will be exacting it in our own way and in our own time. That you should worry about," Pamela gave a tilt of the head, a feral grin and joined me in departing. In Hittite, she said;  "A matron, 21 Runners and one archaic mistake," Troika joked. In Hittite, she said; "But how many more 'Runners' can he recruit between now and then?" one of Troika's bodyguards worried. "More than enough to raise your daughters after you are all gone and forgotten," Pamela shouted over her shoulder. (Starting Friday Evening in the Wrong Damn Place) Waiting outside for me were two beauties and a small car. I hefted my bike, detached the front wheel for easier storage and climbed into the Lilliputian backseat. "Sorry," Libra in the passenger seat sounded embarrassed. "I'm not sure Brooke and I thought this through. Do you have a seat belt?" She was referring to the rear-mounted cup holder I was sitting in. "This is not rated for human occupation," I grinned back. What that really meant was there were three conflicting emotions pulling events along. Wanting me to fuck them; the easy one. Loyalty to your social/sorority sister; the relationship under stress. Me being a 'suitable' human being; the one that they were both stumbling toward which made the second emotional force such a problem. Had I solely been a fuck toy for either one, the other could have gracefully exited the field (with the occasional sharing). I was far from 'husband' material yet I was closing in on being the 'crossing a crowded club to greet me' kind of guy; already passed the 'not embarrassed to introduce me to their friends' phase. "You can sit in my lap," Brooke offered. With her driving and our height differential; we'd be lucky to be pulled by the PD before we wrecked. "How about you drive, I sit in Libra's seat and she sits in my lap?" I offered. "That's no fun," Brooke shot me a pout. "It sounds like fun for me," Libra giggled. "Now Libra remember, for the seat belt to be effective, you will have to sit facing me;” I sighed. "Facing you?" she winked. "Yes; facing me naked," I assured her. "Hey!" Brooke protested. "How come she gets to be naked in your lap?" "Otherwise me being naked would be pretty pointless," I explained. "Libra," Brooke demanded, "you get to drive." Petty arguments and playful exchanges followed. I left a message for Timothy and Odette, letting them know I was heading out to some address on the far end of Long Island. I even shot myself in the foot with the Nerf gun and told Timothy so he'd feel better. Brooke and Libra were dressed similarly. Red and khaki almost 'short-shorts', white/yellow bikini tops under white wife-beaters covered with a denim shirt (sleeves rolled up) and white cargo short-sleeved shirt, tennis socks and canvas shoes. In a way, I was a victim of my own success. Both ladies wanted to fuck me bad, but their desire to prove to me I was more than a fuck toy meant I didn't get sex at my place. If you are a girl, that will make much more sense. The car ride out was an issue. If I drove, Brooke and Libra promised to put on a Sapphic display for the ages. If Libra drove, I promised to publically molest Brooke at every stop. The reverse went for Brooke driving. The solution was that the girls would take turns driving and I would be a truly diligent cunnilinguist, with a strong background as an anatomically astute Braille harpsichord player. Our destination turned out to be the hamlet of Sagaponack, aka the most expensive place to live in the United States. Why was I doing this to myself? For starters, Brooke thought our host, Brennan Sulkanen, lived in one of those $50+ million homes; funny, I thought those were called estates. The girls laughed when I told them that. My utter lack of forethought, underutilized intelligence gathering capabilities, and even not acting my age were coming back to chew a huge hunk off my heine now. Brennan was a fraternity brother of Trent; warning indicator #1. Brennan didn't actually do anything, but his father was loaded; situation getting worse. Brennan was the youngest of the three sons from the first marriage with three other children from two other marriages waiting in the wings. A quick search revealed that the third and current Mrs. Sulkanen, was very elegant for a thirty-two year old lady. His current Mom being the same age as his oldest brother could be an issue. I was living proof how good parenting could help build up a child. Improper parenting; could do the opposite. Nothing was guaranteed though. "So, why are we going to Brennan's?" I hazarded to inquire as we cruised down Highway 27 through East Patchogue. In the back of my mind, I realized I was due south of scenic Doebridge and their frisky policewomen/Stasi law enforcers. "Oh, we met in college when I came up for one of Trent's; that loser; frat functions," she told us. "He was very drunk and tried to hit on me," the tale continued. "How and where did he 'hit' on you?" I prodded. "He stumbled into the Ladies' room, knocked my drink over and tried to give me his, but I was insulted by his inebriated pawing and left," Brooke said. Lone drunk men DO stumble into Ladies' rooms; usually to vomit. Frat brothers hit on each other's girls; men are pigs. Greeks are pigs with tie pins and secret handshakes. Drunk people do not demolish another person's drink then offer up their own. The spilling of alcohol is a drink-worthy event which you can't do if you have given your drink away. Man math: Brennan stalked Brooke, ambushed her in the bathroom and tried to roofie her with his drink because our host was a dirt bag and a total ass-bandit. How had I failed to do some basic 4 1 1 on this bastard? Oh yeah, brought an extinct First House to life, multiple threats to my well-being, treated like crap by most of my co-workers and then my father was murdered. "I repeat; why are we going to this guy's house?" I asked. "He's been persistent ever since Trent bailed and he sounds so worried about me," she answered. "Oh, I don't want you to think I'm using you as Brennan-deterrent, Cáel," she added. "I wanted to get out of the city and be with you; and Libra." I was more than Brennan-deterrent alright. I was a 'Highway Closed Indefinitely' sign for his edification. This was okay with Brooke (and me) because of all the sex we were going to have. "Thanks," Libra teased her pal. My dilemma was that despite all the positive emotions wafting my way, I wasn't one of 'them' yet. I couldn't simply say 'this dude is a scumbag. Let's go somewhere else.' This was going to take some tact and pretty much annihilated my hopes for a weekend to unwind. I had to play nice and at the first opportunity pull our host aside and politely inform him that I was going to floss his teeth with his still functioning intestines if any of us partook of something we hadn't asked for, ended up in some spot we hadn't wanted to go to, and/or doing something we didn't want to do. My diplomatic approach was from some movie that was way before CGI. It was ('you' meaning 'me': 'I want you to be nice; until it is time; to not be nice.') I was going to give Brennan's survival instincts the benefit of the doubt. I felt certain he wasn't enchanted with the idea of personal pain and I was going to let him know there wasn't a bank account deep enough to protect him from my wrath. If there was ever any doubt; I'm an idiot. We pulled up to the gate right before eight. Yes; one of those nice wrought-iron, automatic opening double gates. Brooke answered the security screen and in we went. Two people, definitely staff, met us as we parked. There was six cars present already, all variations of the high-performance, turbo-charged, 'Daddy/Mommy don't love me so they gave me this deathtrap instead' ideal. Cargo space? Fuel efficiency? Excessive safety features? Not a concern for this crowd. There was a momentary bout of confusion as the male staffer came for my baggage. I thanked him. He looked at me funny. Brooke insisted the female staffer give directions to where her/Libra's luggage was going so I did the same with the guy. My stuff was not only not heading to Brooke's room, I was being banished to another branch of this sprawling villa. "Take my stuff to their room," I directed the man. "Sir, a different room has been set aside for the gentleman," he insisted. "Oh; okay," I nodded. I took my bags from him, much to his surprise, and followed the 'maid'. Brooke and Libra laughed at my obstinacy and tagged along. Our introduction to the 'pack' was delayed and, by his look, Brennan wasn't happy with my detour. I wasn't happy either, but for a different reason. "Brooke; Libra, right? Cecil?" he clearly was disrespecting me straight out of the gates. Brooke and Libra said 'hi'. I was a little less diplomatic and I was staring down the barrels of a serious crimp in my main battle plan. There were two dissipated young ladies, three men of the same caliber and two guys I identified hangers-on. Most likely rich; just not rich enough to be treated as equals by the majority. Then there was this one girl who was certainly the unsuspecting party favor. You can learn all kinds of thing about the darker side of male-female relationships at Spring Break if you pay attention. The vacation can be wonderful, but seeing fuck-head bottom-feeders getting girls wasted for the eternal glory of Girls Gone Wild and the ability to stick their prick into someplace it doesn't belong, and they haven't earned the right to be in, truly sucks. For the moment, I had to look past her. The focus of my anxiety was a couple, both African-American and from a different mold than everyone else there. I knew the guy because he was somewhat famous. "Hey Bitch," I replied in an off-handed manner. "What?" Brennan hammed up his confusion. The 'Home Alone' gasp. What had he done wrong? "What?" I responded. "Did you just call me a 'bitch'?" he clarified. "No," I lied. "I didn't even know you were talking to me. Hi, I'm Cáel Nyilas. Who are you again?" "I think you called me a bitch," Brennan watched his whole weekend plan to dispose of me coming gift wrapped here in the opening round. He looked to the 'famous' guy. I am an idiot. "Well, with your family money, I'm sure you can hire top notch Otolaryngologist to handle that hearing problem of yours," I grinned. "Orlando, what do you think Kibble here said?" Brennan indicated the guy. "Orlando Keyes," I smiled. "Man, you are one mean son of a bitch. That fighter from Ecuador; missed his name; you broke his left cheek with one hit during that MMA bout in New Orleans last Thanksgiving. The only thing almost as impressive was that guy managed to stand up afterwards." No, I wasn't buttering this guy up. There was no point. I only knew about him because the whole 'martial ardor' doesn't have to be yours to get some tail. Girls who like watching physical combat; MMA, Kick-boxing, Boxing, and the NHL (WWE if they are somewhat gullible); will jump on your bones at the completion of that match. "I think this cunt called you his bitch," Orlando came my way. I gently pushed Brooke and Libra aside to give me space. "You are mistaken," I kept smiling at Orlando. "I was calling that lady over there," I pointed at the lady he had been talking to, "my bitch for tonight. The acoustics in this place must suck." Outdoor pool; the Atlantic Ocean crashing less than 100 meters away; this place rocked. "You are going to die," Brennan laughed at me. Keyes kept coming. "Right, or left?" I asked him in a pleasant tone. He glared yet hesitated. "What does it matter?" Orlando studied me. He had stopped being a hired thug and returned to being a modern day gladiator. "I'm packing so I wanted to know which knee you can live without," I stated. "He's got a gun?" one of the other males mumbled. "Gun?" Orlando's eyes narrowed. "Knife," I corrected. At this point, everyone but Orlando and I felt better. In that snippet, Orlando and I exchanged a vital piece of information; I was going to hurt him. No matter what he did, I was going to put a knife into him. How did he know? I had warned him and I laughed at Death. I wasn't bluffing and Orlando made his life's work piercing his opponent's deceptions. "That's my fiancé," Orlando grumbled. I extended my hand. "I apologize then," I said as he shook my hand. "That was rude of me and uncalled for. Not only is she one of the classiest ladies here, she was hanging out with you, a man not known for accepting anything short of the perfect match. Besides," I whispered, "we both know who I was truly talking about." Orlando wasn't happy with me, or forgiven me. What he did accept was that I'd given him an out. I had backed down and apologized. Brennan was frowning. Orlando and I didn't care; we were both fighters and we'd both ponied up on the promise of pain. If there was to be a conflict, he wasn't going to do it for Brennan. He was going to do it because he always wanted to know how tough the other guy really was. Names floated around. The only people that mattered to me were Anima and Casper. Anima was Brennan's 'girlfriend' which I translated as a debauchery enabler. She was under the delusion that life was boring and pointless, so she should punish the world for her ennui. Her life's cup had been emptied at twenty-three? Bitch, I worked with real women who couldn't even consider such nonsense. Casper; Casper was going to be a problem. For starters, Anima had taken Casper under her wing; was going to show Casper the 'ropes'. Casper proudly proclaimed that. Casper was also not as rich as the 'in crowd' and not a hanger-on; she was the weekend's amusement, or would have been if Brooke hadn't shown up. And, of course, she couldn't see the danger, she was so eager to be with the super-rich. After the name game came the initial party shuffle. Who was aiming for whose bedroom tonight and how would they get what they wanted. Brennan sent two backup boys cruising for Libra while he angled in for Brooke. Anima and Casper were supposed to keep me busy. Libra promptly showed she'd thumbed through my Book of Social Fugliness. "I only date real men," she shredded the 'second-stringers' to pieces. The blast socially staggered them. "If you have to think about it, boys, you are not a man. Don't strain yourself trying to be something you can't even comprehend. Now one of you go get me a drink while I think about what Cáel and I are going to do to Brooke tonight." In social parlance, that was shooting someone with both barrels of a shotgun then using the stock to tenderize the remains. That was one flank secure. Next, Casper and Anima. Anima had the feeling I didn't like her; good for her. "Would you really have cut Orlando?" Casper asked me softly while she ran a fingernail over my right forearm. "Casper, to begin with, call him Mr. Keyes. There will come a time when you can freely use his first name, but you ain't there yet," I cautioned her. "To answer your question: yes, I would have sliced down and across, cutting his right hamstring." Keyes heard me, as I had intended. "Brennan says you are a co-worker of Trent," Anima cooed. "Kind of," I shrugged. "Trent is a big-shot with the Far East Unit while I remain in Personnel in the city (Manhattan)." They both looked disappointed then Casper handed me a plum. She wasn't stupid, just willfully blind. "Where did you learn to use a knife then?" Casper tried to 'salvage' me. She was doing herself a favor by trying to make me look better to the rest; doing me a favor. Nice. "I'm with the Records Redaction Unit of Havenstone's Executive Services," I lied. Blink. "That doesn't make any sense," Casper's brow furrowed. "You delete records?" "No Casper," I returned her arm rub, "someone creates a list with names on it. I am part of the team that reduces the number of those names on that list to zero." Blink. "You fire people?" she remained uncertain. She had to believe I was playing with her, which I was. "No," I shook my head. "That implies extra paperwork. We take a more ergonomic approach. No termination rigmarole; no traceable termination at all." "That sounds vaguely like you murder people," Anima murmured. "Murder is a crime. Converting all the data of a given person into one, misplaced file is a way of circumventing the whole 'exit interview/providing references for other jobs/pension' process." If you believed that this nation, nay, the whole world, was run by soulless corporate monsters that made scary sense. "What do you do with the people?" Anime was showing the tiniest bit of enthusiasm for this conversation. "What people? People have names," I smiled. "Bodies with no records are normally handled as John and Jane Does and are buried in Potter's Field, or used at medical schools." "Do you enjoy sex with multiple partners?" Anima smiled; veering the conversation off in a different dir

This is a free preview of a paid episode. To hear more, visit www.wethefifth.comOur first post-election Second Sunday Zoom call! If you missed it, shame on you for choosing to spend time with your family or choosing not to pony up. But it's all here. All three hours of it. Yes, it's the “Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg” of election analysis. But to be clear, we also discuss Emperor Hirohito, Kentucky politics, Australians, New York …

Cáel's tombstone: For the love of women, women put him here.In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..

Warwick Fyfe is an Australian opera singer, considered to be one of Australia's leading exponents of the Wagnerian repertoire and is the recipient of Helpmann and Green Room awards.Warwick has performed throughout Australasia and internationally. Most recently, he has sung the rôles of Wotan / Wanderer (MO, OMM and Alberich, OA). Other Wagner rôles include Heerrufer (OA); Beckmesser (OA); Klingsor (OA); Hunding (WASO); Dutchman (OA), Daland (VO); Wolfram (OA); Fasolt (SOSA).Other major work encompasses Amonasro (Aida-FNO, OA); Pizarro (Fidelio-MO, OA,WASO); Athanaël (Thaïs-FNO); Peter (Hansel and Gretel- OA),OMM); Four Villains (Tales of Hoffmann-ETO); Falstaff (OA); Rigoletto (OA, NZO); Sancho Panza (Don Quichotte- OA); Paolo (Simon Boccanegra- OA); Leporello (NZO) (OA); Fra Melitone (Forza del Destino- OA); Scarpia (WAO, OA); Tonio (I Pagliacci- NZO); Faninal (Der Rosenkavalier- OA); Schaunard (La Boheme- OA); Dr Schon /Jack the Ripper (Lulu- OA); Germont (La Traviata- OA); Mandryka (Arabella-OA). Warwick has delighted audiences in comedic rôles, such as Bottom (Midsummer Night's Dream, Adelaide Festival); Barone di Trombonok (Viaggio a Rheims - OA); Geronio (Il Turco in Italia- OA); Dr Bartolo (Barber of Seville- WAO) (VOC); Pooh Bah (OA); Taddeo (Italian Girl in Algiers- NZO); Papageno (OA).Concert work includes: Gurrelieder, (SSO); Carmina Burana (MSO, QSO, Adelaide Philharmonia Chorus); Beethoven 9 (MSO), (Orchestra Wellington); The Bells, WASO; Stabat Mater (Rossini, SSO); Viva Verdi (TYO); St Matthew Passion, St John Passion (Melbourne Bach Choir); Bluebeard's Castle (Monash Academy Orchestra); Mahler 8 (OMM); Stabat Mater (Szymanowski), (Melbourne Bach Choir); Ein Deutsches Requiem (OA), (Melbourne Bach Choir); Messiah (State Symphony Orchestras).Warwick performs the role of Scarpia in Puccini's TOSCA from July 31st to August 16th, for Opera Australia at the Sydney Opera House.The STAGES podcast is available to access and subscribe from Spotify and Apple podcasts. Or from wherever you access your favourite podcasts. A conversation with creatives about craft and career. Follow socials on instagram (stagespodcast) and facebook (Stages).www.stagespodcast.com.au

An episode from 5/20/24: Tonight, after a long hiatus, we return to Norse myth with the story of Sigurd's killing of the dragon, Fafnir. Couched in a much longer narrative that contains shape-shifting, war, revenge, brief appearances by Odin and Loki, and finally Sigurd's ability to hear the language of birds and animals, it is a brilliant and vivid example of storytelling in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. I read from the two great sources of the story, the Volsung Saga (in the Jesse Byock translation) and Snorri Sturluson's Prose Edda (in the Anthony Faulkes translation). I also discuss the history of the story, and its reworking in the Nibelungenlied, and Wagnerian opera. Listen to the other Great Myths here. You can support Human Voices Wake Us here, or by ordering any of my books: Notes from the Grid, To the House of the Sun, The Lonely Young & the Lonely Old, and Bone Antler Stone. I've also edited a handful of books in the S4N Pocket Poems series. Email me at humanvoiceswakeus1@gmail.com. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/humanvoiceswakeus/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/humanvoiceswakeus/support

DescriptionSiegfried Wagner, son of Richard Wagner, had to overcome many obstacles in his life. Take a minute to get the scoop!Fun FactSiegfried Wagner's most famous piece is likely his opera "Der Bärenhäuter" (The Bearskin), based on a Brothers Grimm fairy tale. Premiered in 1899, it showcases his romantic style with lush orchestrations and Wagnerian influences, though often overshadowed by his father's works.__________________________________________________________________About Steven, HostSteven is a Canadian composer & actor living in Toronto. Through his music, he creates a range of works, with an emphasis on the short-form genre—his muse being to offer the listener both the darker and more satiric shades of human existence. If you're interested, please check out his music website for more. Member of the Canadian League Of Composers.__________________________________________________________________You can FOLLOW ME on Instagram.

Join us as we speak with another one of our contestants for New Hampshire Opera Idol! Soprano, Tara Jamshidian joins us on Artful Living and we discuss the journey of young Wagnerian voices! Come and enjoy two beautiful arias and uplifting discussion.

Our special guest Chris Carberry of EXPLORE MARS, author of the new book THE MUSIC OF SPACE joins us! We imagine a civilization on a distant, cloud-covered planet called Seattle Nine. Their only glimpse into the universe beyond comes from intercepting old Earth movies and TV shows, which they believe to be real documentaries about space. As they piece together the evolution of space travel through the music in these films, a fascinating picture emerges. From the Wagnerian scores of early sci-fi to the brassy themes of Star Wars, they conclude that each alien species has its own musical soundtrack, that space itself changes sound over time, and that music may even be the key to communicating with extraterrestrial life. Join us on a humorous journey into the music of space exploration, as seen through the eyes of our fictional cosmic neighbors. Learn more about Chris' book, THE MUSIC OF SPACE on Amazon https://a.co/d/31F8gEP Barnes & Noble https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-music-of-space-chris-carberry/1143391721 and wherever you get your books! Learn more about EXPLORE MARS' incredible annual conference, The HUMANS TO MARS SUMMIT at https://ExploreMars.org. Sign up now for the upcoming event, May 7-8, 2024 in Washington D.C. --- Find out more about Gaby's science fiction short story! Here are the links for the anthology. The physical copy can be ordered here : https://www.neonhemlock.com/books/luminescent-machinations-queer-tales-of-monumental-invention The ebook can be ordered here: https://www.neonhemlock.com/ebooks/luminescent-machinations-queer-tales-of-monumental-invention

Heaven & Mercy calludeA Spring Break 14-part Novel.By FinalStand. Listen to the complete episode at Steamy Stories.*Anyone can be who they want to be; the challenge is being who you need to be*Can Zane go 24 hours without sex?My journey to the Dining Hall this Wednesday was enlivened by carrying, bridal style, a sophomore named Courtney while playing out a scene from Tristan and Isolde. I had Rhaine, Joy, and Mercy as escorts/minders, but Rhaine was now defining her responsibility as keeping me from misbehaving, not stopping me, and the other students from having fun.Tristan and Isolde was some kind of chick-flick taken from a Wagnerian play so technically it wasn't on the ‘banned' list. With me was the added bonus that it wasn't homo-erotic (being a guy in a romantic relationship with a girl, in the play) and that I could actually carry Isolde in my arms.A larger than normal crowd had gathered for my dutiful performance and while I generally received rave reviews, I did catch a few girls talking about redoing the skit with a Sampson and Delilah theme. I pledged to avoid girls with shears like the plague. We bunched up around one of the entrances to the Dining Hall as I finished our script and carefully placed her back on her feet.Among the scattering of applause and the press of bodies, I felt Mercy stumble into me. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open in surprise, and her breathing was coming in ragged gasps. My answer came when I looked over her shoulder and saw Rio, looking very casual but pumping her arm rapidly against Mercy's back.When we got into the food line, Rio smirked and began sucking her forefinger which was sticky and slick.“Seriously, in the middle of the crowd? You just couldn't resist?” I teased her.“Next I'm sticking in the butt plug,” she whispered in a conspiratorial manner. “I have it in my book bag and I'm jumping her after BA. Do you want to help?”“I'd rather face dismemberment than break Iona's schedule,” I sighed quietly.“Some He-Man you are,” she giggled. “You'll go five rounds with Gorman but Iona has you pussy-whipped.”“If I have to go, I could hardly pick a better woman,” I responded, and wrapped an arm around Iona's waist and rested my hand on her hip.“Yes, Zane?” Iona looked up at me with an exotic combination of innocence and genius.“Rio reminded me how lucky we are to have you with us,” was my answer.“Oh, that's nice,” Iona beamed up at me. “I thought it had something to do with Rio putting her hand under Mercy Chaplain's skirt.” I chuckled and Rio grumbled.“I have glasses,” Iona stated, “I'm not blind.”“Did anyone else notice?” I inquired.“No. I think Rio was pretty smooth, but if experience has taught me anything, it is Rio who is going to be the troublemaker, not you, Zane,” Iona stated calmly. “I was paying attention to her.”“Oh, Cordelia wanted to know if you could come by the Science Club today around two-thirty and help us with a little problem we are having,” Iona inquired.“What's the problem?” I asked.“Why didn't Cordy ask him herself?” Rio questioned.“I don't know the answer to either of those questions,” Iona admitted.“It is illegal, illicit, and off the record,” Rio pronounced.“No, it is not,” Iona battled back.“Trust me, I've done my share of things I didn't want the authorities to know about and this stinks of that kind of stunt,” Rio explained.“I'll be with Zane; nothing will happen. Besides, we are the Science Club, not an international criminal syndicate,” Iona told Rio.“I'll be okay,” I promised Rio. On the other hand, the Science Club wasn't all flowers, bells, and puppy dog tails.They hacked the school's computer systems, had illegal internet hook-ups, and were re-wiring a dorm floor for my personal pleasure, and Rio's criminal instincts were more often right than wrong. We were able to get our seats and enjoy most of breakfast before Iona nudged me.“Don't you ever answer your messages?” Iona inquired.“I have them all automatically forwarded to you,” I countered. “It seemed like the sanest thing to do.”“But you don't even know what's going on in your life,” she worried.“Darling, I have you to keep me from falling off the face of the Earth. I trust you to keep me on an even keel. Besides, someone hacked my phone yesterday so I'm not sure how safe I would be without you,” I enlightened her.“Someone hacked your phone?” Iona gasped. “Any idea who?”“Cordelia; she put herself at the top of my Handmaiden's list. I didn't mind, but the fact that she did it means it could be done,” I told her. Iona shot an angry glare in Cordelia's direction.“Don't worry about it, Iona,” Rio joked. “Have you known anyone to mess with Zane and not pay for it eventually?”“That doesn't mean I like it,” Iona kept glaring. I tapped her shoulder, then led her gaze to me by tugging on her jaw.“Let it go. In the social hierarchy, we are freshmen, despite any accomplishments. Trust me, I know: There are some fights you don't get into until you are ready. Cordelia likes you because you are useful but don't try her patience too far or she'll break you.”“I don't like it. This is high school all over again,” Iona grumbled.“The major difference,” Rio pointed out, “you have a sick psycho like me and a stud like Zane who have your back. We've left you alone once and that was only in hopes you would get out from under the hammer that was falling on us.”“Oh, we were told about your conversation with the Chancellor. I liked what you said,” I told her thoughtfully, “but I believe Rio and I could have done it better.”“Who would you have quoted?” wondered Iona. I exchanged a fanatical look with Rio.“THIS is SPARTA!” we shouted in unison, “and then we would have kicked her desk out the window,” I added.Iona sighed, looked down at her tray, and grinned while half the dining hall gazed our way.“You two are nuts,” she chuckled.“Ninja Urban Terrorists,” Rio and I declared together, “that's us.” The rest of breakfast passed without incident or too much Humor.It is not the Distance; It is the Weight on your BackGetting out looked to be a bit less friendly as Rhaine, Joy and Mercy added two other girls to their entourage.“Zane, Rio, Iona, we have a duty for you,” Rhaine announced. “You will carry our books, on your knees, and on the sidewalk.”“Well, Kemosabe, do we ignore them or kick their asses?” Rio looked to me. “Man, here I am without my hate-mallet too.”“I'm going for benign indifference,” I informed Rio. “Rhaine, we already have an assigned Handmaiden duty and we are not required to partake of any task that would result in our physical harm.”“We let Christina get away with it because we were isolated and new, but that's not the case anymore,” I explained. “You break the rules and we'll defend ourselves.”“Then we are taking you to the Chancellor's office,” Rhaine declared loudly. At this time my two buddies were despairing over the lack of appearance by our allies but I tend to have more faith in the fairness of Human nature.“Civil disobedience,” I advised Iona. To Rio, I explained, “Make yourself dead weight.” Rhaine's Traditionalists came forward and we three fell to the ground.“Get up,” Joy demanded of Rio.“Nope, not going to happen,” she gleefully shot back. Joy gave Rio a strong nudge with the foot.“What are you doing?” a cold calm voice pierced the setting. It was Coach Dana Gorman.“I, what, we are doing what Rhaine told us to do,” Joy stammered.“Kicking a student is grounds for dismissal,” Dana informed Joy. “Physical violence is only acceptable in self-defense, and only when withdrawal is not an option.”“Coach Gorman, we were told, ” Rhaine began.“Ms. Ritchie, the Board of Directors can alter the Handbook whenever they wish, and if they ever say that bludgeoning another student merely because they disagree with you is permissible, I'll be sure to let you know.”“Yes, Mam,” Rhaine gulped.“You three, stop loafing about and get to class” Gorman addressed us. “We can all hope you flunk out your first semester, but until you do, I am required to make sure you are in your classes at the appointed time. Now go!” she grumbled to Rio, Iona and I.“Yes, Mam,” Iona and I said as we stood up once more. Rio merely growled. We quickly parted Rhaine and company, then headed to class. Soon enough, Christina and her crowd appeared around us.“What tree were you bitches hiding behind?” Rio griped. That did not get her a pleasant response.“Rio, they were always with us,” I said, putting a hand on Rio's shoulder. “They also sent people to get Coach Gorman and others to get Ms. Goodswell in case things went bad. Cappadocia and Wilhelmina were rounding up the troops in case Rhaine tried to force us. By keeping the field clear of obvious forces, we resolved this fight in a way that didn't make us look bad.”“You got all that while talking to Rhaine and watching every sane FFU girl running away from us?” Rio gawked.“If an ally betrays you, they will stand by and watch. If you don't see them, assume they are fighting elsewhere on your behalf, or so the saying goes,” I related.“That sounds like dark matter, you know it is there because you can't see it,” Iona nodded, “but you see its effects.”“Essentially,” Christina remarked.“I'd like to know one thing,” Faith inquired: “Have you slept with Coach Gorman too? She seems to have joined our side very suddenly.”“She's not on our side and she's not our friend, but I did outline how this fight would work. If they break the rules, we break the rules, and chaos ensues. If the Coach keeps things fair, Rio and I will go down by our own faults or succeed on our merits, Christina will still beat Rhaine, and this year might not suck so much for the average student, freshmen included,” I said.“How do you jibe following the rules with having a different girl in your bed every night?” Hope taunted me with a hint of seduction. Heaven looked equal parts embarrassed and sensually hungry.“I don't believe he has a woman in his bed every night,” Christina corrected.“Expecting Zane to sleep alone is like putting a lion among your sheep and expecting to eat lamb next season; theoretically possible, but it goes against his nature,” Hope laughed.“I have not had a woman in my bed every night,” I sniffed indignantly.“Yeah,” Rio rallied to my defense, “there was that night you barred Barbie Lynn and, actually, I think that was the only night, though he didn't sex me up that first night on campus.”“I think it is safe to say that the female student body has made good use of Zane's time here amongst us,” Chastity noted, as she lightly slapped my shoulder.“Well, in case anyone cares, I'm going to a church function tonight and stopping by the Kappa Sigma house on the way back. Hopefully, I'll be able to finish up some Biology reading and go to bed early,” I declared.“And if you find a girl in your bed when you get in?” Hope teased.“He'll assume it is a day ending in ‘y',” Iona snickered.“Et tu, Iona?” Christina stated loftily.“In that case, please spread the word,” I muttered darkly. “I'm coming home and stealing Iona away to my lair for some much needed discipline and loyalty reinforcement.” Iona remained still while the other girls looked around.“Seriously?” Faith wondered.“I play around a lot but never with Iona,” I explained. “If she doesn't lock her door, she's mine.”“Iona, I'll help you barricade the door,” Heaven offered. Iona didn't say anything but the look she shot Heaven clearly stated ‘don't you dare!'The Research Partnership“Zane?” Virginia Goodswell requested my attention as I approached my English class.“Hey, Teach, I'm ready to have my head stuffed with learning,” I grinned.“That's good, because we are choosing Authors and Works today, along with project partners,” Virginia instructed.“So, Ms. Goodswell, who is my boy Zane partnered up with? Or is there going to be a Thunder Dome match to figure that out?” Rio beamed with failed innocence.“Ms. Talon,” my teacher sighed, “it is a volunteer process, and I'm not sure any girl in my class wants to work with Mr. Braxton.”“Zane, when the feeding frenzy begins, jump for the ceiling lights,” Chastity joked with me. At least I hoped she was joking. The ladies wished me luck and we parted ways. After taking our assigned seats, Virginia went over our latest lessons and then introduced us to our semester project. The first thing to decide was the partnerships.“Before we partner up,” Virginia asked the class, “would any of you consider teaming up with Zane Braxton to get this done? Hands please.” Multiple hands flew up. Virginia looked over the class, nodded, and said, “Thank you.” She looked it over, “Raven, Barbara, and Céline, each of you give me the reason why you don't want to work with Zane.”Ms. Goodswell had chosen the three girls who hadn't raised their hands. Barbara and Celine didn't want to work with me because they were afraid I would rape them the moment we were alone, “sigh”. Raven's answer was that she was afraid that my lack of a structured education would make the paper more difficult.Raven Thorpe was awarded the 'honor' of working with me, a designation she groaned over, and other girls glared at her with jealousy. After class she attempted to shoulder past me but I tapped her arm.“Can we talk for a second?” I inquired.“Don't you have to scurry off and take care of your schedule?” she replied blandly.“Can you stop being a bitch for fifteen seconds so we can figure out which author we can work on?” I snapped angrily. She pulled up short as if she expects to be pimp-slapped next.“Okay, who do you have in mind?” she requested. “And if you say William Shakespeare, I am going to smack you with my book bag.”“I was thinking the political works of Edmund Burke,” I suggested. Raven blinked.“Seriously, I didn't think you even knew who Edmund Burke was, much less that he was the father of modern conservatism,” Raven congratulated me. It was almost like she wanted to pat me on the head and give me a doggy bone.“I was thinking of concentrating more on his works during the American Revolution, but if that's what you are more comfortable with, we could cover his later period works instead,” I offered.“Good point, Zane. Let's talk it over during lunch,” Raven suggested.“Zane,” summoned a female voice from outside the classroom.“Go on,” Raven smirked, “enjoy your disproportionate level of abuse.”“You act like I have any choice in the matter,” I shrugged.It was of little consolation that Raven made it ten more feet from the door when she got snatched up too. This time out, my mistress got to point to a feature on her body and I had to give it a flattering description, I know, my life is utter hell.I had no idea where the Science Club met; I even began to get the sinking feeling they carefully controlled any information about themselves, sort of like a secret society, or the CIA.Paige & the Science Club“Hello, I'm Paige,” spoke this girl, who apparently materialized out of the ether. I'm not paranoid; I've spent the past two years in a region where you have to be alert because Tigers are common and I say this girl freaking ghosted me, Man.“I'm with the Science Club. You will come with me right now,” she smiled like said predator cat trying to disguise herself as a white rabbit.“You are albino,” I noted. She had long white hair, alabaster skin, and a red shadow to her eyes. She was also the only girl to date I'd seen with the dark blue jacket that was part of our winter uniform. She also had a jaunty blue hat and white stockings instead of socks.“You have eyes,” she rolled hers, “now come along.” I started to follow her.“So what is this meeting about?” I asked.“It isn't a meeting; we require you for something,” she replied.“What is it?” I became more cautious.“It is a surprise,” she mocked me. “Stop wasting my time and come along.”“Cool, I'm out of here.” I grinned, turned, and left. Paige staggered and seemed unable to grasp my departure.“Where are you going?” she snapped tartly.“To Archery Club,” I replied, while still walking away.“But, but you said you would come,” she stuttered.“Am I a person? Are you?”“Yes and yes,” she replied with irritation.“Are you an idiot or a child? Because those are the only reasons to forgive your spoiled behavior,” I turned and said. Paige glared. “So you assume you are smarter than me and can be rude to someone who is doing you a favor.”“We are the ones doing you a favor,” Paige snapped back. “Now we want you to repay us.”“Did you discuss payment when you did me the favor of rewiring my room? No? Good, because if you had, I would clearly be suffering a form of amnesia,” I gave back. “If you want something, you can ask as a friend or you can offer me something that makes it worth my while. Now go back to Cordelia and tell her you have returned alone because you were so much smarter than me. If you could only 'speak friend', ” I continued walking away.“Wait,” Paige called out nervously. “I, I, ” and I could almost hear the wheels turning. “Speak friend and enter.” I stopped in midstride.“So you read through my school records and know my top ten influences,” I turned and responded. We stared at each other for almost a minute until she finally gave up and put on her sunglasses. I retraced my steps back to her.“Favorite member of the Fellowship?” I tested her.“Legolas,” she responded. I scoffed and she had the Human decency to look embarrassed.“Ha,” I scoffed again. “Horny girls go for the elf; the marrying kind goes for Aragorn.”“Who is yours, then, wise guy?” she volleyed.“Boromir,” I declared my allegiance.“Ah, of course; the veteran warrior in a doomed struggle; he forsakes his honor only to redeem it in a hopeless fight, perishing in the arms of his brothers,” Paige retorted. “I thought you would have gone for Aragorn, the Uncrowned King.”“Hum,” I winced, “my second choice was actually Frodo but that would have sounded gay.”“You can't be gay; you are not clever enough to conceal that,” she stated.“See, now you are sounding like Saruman the White,” I teased.“Let me guess: because I'm an albino,” she grumbled.“You are an albino? I was talking about your facial hair and that arrogant, know-it-all vibe you've got going on,” I joked. Paige stared at me, suddenly speechless, finally taping her chin.“At least you didn't call me Gollum,” she admitted.“Nah; too much hair and not enough skin slime,” I explained as I ran the back of one finger over her cheek. She flinched slightly.“Are you going to, please, come with me now?” she asked much more politely.“Are you going to have sex with me?” I grinned.“WHAT!?!?” she squawked.“Just joshing you,” I smiled. “You are far too pretty to be interested in me. Let's go.”I'd clearly unsettled her because she didn't say another word to me until we were going downstairs in the Clegger Science Building.“Do you really think I'm pretty?” she asked as we finished the last set of stairs.“I must confess I find most women attractive, but you are far prettier than most,” I replied.“Do you still want to have sex with me?” she said in a casual voice. I took her hand and placed it on my heart. “Hah,” she snorted, “I get it; your heart is beating so yes, you want to have sex with me.”“I was going to say that a steady heartbeat indicated I was telling the truth, but someone keeps insisting they are smarter than me,” I teased her. Am I really asking for another sex partner? What's wrong with me?Her reaction wasn't what I expected it to be and then I realized that she still had something over on me, the reason for me being here. Bitch. She opened a door into a dark room and ushered me in. There appeared to be about ten ladies in the room, playing with a variety of electronics.“Delivered as promised,” Paige called out.“What did he hit you with?” a short caramel-skinned girl inquired.“Fellowship of the Ring,” Paige grinned. Mother-fuckers!“Did he offer to have sex with you?” Cordelia asked playfully.“Yes. And not only gave me a 'pretty' but also a 'far prettier'.” Paige gave me a smug look.“Ha, ha, ha,” I muttered. Idiot me forgot that psychology is also a science, and the reason we don't have a chess club at FFU was also evident; the Science Club devoured them.“Come on, Zane,” Cordelia batted her full lashes at me. “We need a little favor and it won't take fifteen minutes.”“Couldn't you simply coerce me into doing this?” I stated. “I'm sure this whole rigmarole of making me think I'm doing you a favor has to be making things more difficult.”“We are all friends here,” Cordelia smiled.“No, if we were all friends here, Iona would be at my side,” I scolded her. “I admit you did a great scam getting me in this room, but you aren't nearly as good at lying to my face as you think you are.”“Iona, ” Paige started to say.“Don't!” Cordelia snapped, then took a deep breath. “If you threaten Iona he will hit you, no,” she corrected, “He'll hit me,” Cordelia reasoned out.“There are eleven of us,” another girl, Pandora Jaspers, stated, somewhat angry and confident.“I've seen him fight, Pandora. I saw him drop Mercy Chaplain. I've seen him fight Cappadocia Davis and Coach Gorman too,” Cordelia said coolly as we stared at one another. “Unless we curl up in a ball on the ground, he'll beat us down. We'll hurt him, but Zane can take more pain than we can because he cares about her.”“On that note, I'm gone again. Good going Paige; I'm sure you can think of something to make your sisters understand,” I shrugged and moved for the door.“Zane, I need you to strip down and let us attach a series of video and biometric sensors so we can create a 'Virtual Zane' for a little project we are working on,” Cordelia blurted out.I had to think hard about this; not because I didn't want to do it but because I had to figure if this was an honest play or another convoluted turn of the screws. I turned and looked at Cordelia.“There was no way in hell you ever thought I was a professor and you miraculously materialized outside my first class with the knowledge I was actually a freshman, damn, Cordelia, can't you just ask for stuff?” I berated her.“If you ask, you depend on another to get what you want; if you deceive, you win or lose on your own abilities,” she shrugged. “Besides, I did ask you to kiss me; remember?”“Good enough; where do you want me to stand?” I responded.“Wait,” Paige gawked. “Now he is doing it.”“Alright ladies,” one girl grinned. “Everyone pay up. I told you we should simply ask him.”With that, I stepped over to a table and began stripping. Slowly the girls around me stopped what they were doing and openly ogled me. I guess the real me was better than the video.“Aren't you curious about what we are going to do?” Pandora inquired.“You are probably going to tell me that I'm posing naked because it is easier to dress an 'uncluttered' form, or something to that effect, but really, I like Cordelia and Iona is one of my two best friends,” I mulled it over. “Besides, in case you missed it, I've seen all your faces.”Once they took that bit of news in, things went along smoothly, though they had some debate amongst themselves on whether my cock needed its own 'reference point', a sensor attached.The amusing thing was, when the girl running the computer imaging asked me to keep my penis still, I had to reply that certain reactions weren't under my control, which caused a rather awkward moment. When I was finally finished there was another quiet interlude as I got dressed.“So,” Cordelia wondered, rocking back and forth on her feet, “if we need more, data, could we get you to come back?”“Sure,” I smiled back, “you know where I live, and you certainly know what my digits are. Cordelia, I want you to consider that if something happens in my room that ends up on the web that betrays the trust people have put in me, I'm not going to come after all of you looking for excuses. Are we clear?”“Is that a threat, Zane?” Cordelia beamed playfully.“Cordelia, I'm always one step away from being tossed out of here on my ass, so those who chose to trust me and take up my cause are doing it because they are decent folk. I'm not like most people; I can't afford to toss friends away like most of the rest of the people in this room seem to be comfortable with.”“Or what,” Paige smirked, “you'll beat us up?”“No, Paige. I value trust, so if you take that away from me, I'll find out what you value and take that away from you,” I stared at her intently.“I know what you are going to say, Paige,” Cordelia jumped in, “and Zane being expelled will only mean that he has no other distractions from dealing with us and he'll still have people inside the school all too willing to help him.”“Zane, how about if something is done, we give you an off switch for various sections?” Cordelia offered.“Sounds great; let me know how the project works out, but now I have to go to Archery,” I replied, before slipping out the door.“How did he know we were going to wire his room?” I overheard Paige whisper to Cordelia.“You don't seriously think he came here solely because we tricked him, do you?” Cordelia answered. “He knew we would try something and he wanted us to know that he knew.” Yes, I had bumbled into the message I'd wanted to get across despite myself.Does Anyone Want Me Here?I had escaped school with a double date for Thursday Night (Chastity and Hope), then stopped by the house to plead with Aunt Jill to let Rio stay for the weekend. I gave a rational case, a compassionate reason, and then fell down on my knees and told her I really, really, really wanted her to stay. Something in that last argument made Jill relent and I phoned the good news to Rio.All that groveling resulted in me making the Festivities Committee Meeting by only two minutes. I swept into the room abruptly and as the story of my life goes, everyone stopped talking and looked at me. A quick scan of the room told me that two of the eight women knew to expect me, or at least some guy, while the others clearly assumed I'd lost my way.“Can we help you, young man?” an older woman with hair mostly turned to gray.“Welcome, Glenn,” Mrs. Wellington said. “Ladies, Pastor William has asked us to introduce Mr. Braxton to the good works of our Church.” There was a pause.“Thank you, Mrs. Wellington, but no one alive calls me Glenn anymore, and I'm not old or accomplished enough to be Mr. Braxton, like my Father or Uncle Tim. My teachers call me Zane.”“Oh, you are at the University?” a third woman asked politely. She was asking if I went to the University of Virginia.“No, I don't go to U V; I go to FFU, it is a long story,” I replied with trepidation.“I have a daughter at Freedom Fellowship,” one of the women responded with concern.“What is her name?” I tried to be polite, what were the odds?“Pandora Jaspers,” Mrs. Jaspers answered.“Seriously? I've done Handmaiden duty for her, and today I saw her at the Science Club,” I sighed with relief.“What did she have you do?” yet another woman inquired intently.“I helped her create an umbrella walkway when it was raining so that all the students could get to class without getting soaked,” I informed them.“Have you been to 'camp'?” a sixth woman hinted at something.“Camp, no, I can't say I've ever been to a camp,” I evaded, because I had no idea what they meant.“That's enough, ladies,” Mrs. Wellington said. “We have business to take care of. We can worry about Mr. Braxton's confusion at a later time.” Oh, they think I'm gay. Camp = Gay camp where fundamentalists are sure I could be cured of being homosexual. I try not to laugh.“Mr. Braxton, I want you to sit at the chair there,” Mrs. Wellington pointed to a chair away from the table, against the wall. “I want you to take personal notes for the members, things that don't go into the official record. Doreen Saxon,” she indicated the gray haired woman “is our secretary. She takes the official notes of the meeting, so pay attention.”The Meeting for the first of September was called to order, the record of attendance including the difficulty of my name, they kept trying to call me Glenn Braxton while I politely asked for Zane. They went with Glenn. The rest of the group worked out like this:Rochelle Wellington was Chairwoman, Kendra Bainbridge was our Treasurer, and Doreen Saxon was the grey-haired Secretary. The rest of the group consisted of Claire Baker, Theresa Geiger, Columbia Jaspers, Heidi Moulin, and Sahara Penny, the Pastor's wife.As the meeting progressed there was little I could do but watch the group dynamics at work. For starters, Bainbridge was at Wellington's throat; they clearly didn't like one another. The other was an oddity; no one interacted with Sahara Penny. I wasn't sure if it was her non-white heritage (Middle Eastern of some sort), her meek nature, or some past sin, but I decided to take advantage of it.I got up quietly and began walking around the table.“Glenn,” Mrs. Saxon asked, but I ignored her because, damn it, how many times do I have to tell them my name is Zane? I walked over and knelt by Sahara.“Zane,” Mrs. Wellington addressed me, “are you looking for the bathroom?” Bingo!“No, Mrs. Wellington. I was hoping to get some background information on the current discussions as well as contact information for the group. Since the rest of you are treating Mrs. Penny like she has the plague, I figured she would be the perfect candidate to tell me what is really going on here,” I grinned at her. “It is always the quiet ones who know the most.”And everyone stopped talking. Sahara not only looked shocked and frightened to see me, she looked like she wanted to sink under the table when I told the rest of them my reason for being here.“I assure you, Mr. Braxton, we are fully including Sahara in the process,” Mrs. Bainbridge snorted indignantly.“I will gladly accept your reprimand if you can please tell me the last five words you said to her since I arrived,” I requested, with as much innocence as I could beg, borrow, or steal.“I asked her about the children's clothing for the Nativity this year,” Kendra said after a long pause.“That was Claire, not Sahara,” I corrected her. “It is in my notes, but I'm sure Doreen can corroborate my recall of events.”“Well,” she said testily, “I'm sure I said something to her.” Silence.“I apologize for disrupting the meeting. I'll crouch here quietly and conference with Sahara while the rest of you complete the business of the day,” I told them, then turned back to Sahara. “Now, what the heck is up with the live turkey at the Thanksgiving celebration?”In the end, I gathered my information, the meeting concluded its business, and the room emptied until it was me, Sahara, Kendra, and Rochelle.“A Christian gentleman would apologize,” Kendra informed me.“Well, I guess that makes us both poor Christians, because a good Christian woman wouldn't have lied to me,” I calmly replied. Kendra gaped like a fish out of water.“Rochelle!” Kendra snapped to the Committee head.“Zane, you apologize to Kendra right now,” she commanded me, without much passion.“Kendra Bainbridge, I apologize for my rude and uncalled for behavior,” I said with a bow. Neither woman had expected me to fold up like that, so all Kendra could do was huff and storm out of the room.“Thank you,” Sahara whispered, as she touched my hand.“I don't always know the right side to fight on but it is usually by the side of the person being bullied,” I grinned. “It is the Christian thing to do,” I added with a wink.That left me with Rochelle Wellington: MILF, Lance the asshole's Mom, and wife of the Mayor.She looked like she wanted to stand up but couldn't. Me, I had a Sorority meeting to get to, I missed dinner so I had to grab something first, and why in the hell was I even thinking what I was thinking? I sat down beside her.“What's wrong?” I began. She looked at me, tired and somehow forlorn.“You wouldn't understand, Mr. Braxton, Zane,” she sighed.“Try me; the worst that could happen is, I give the expression that every teenager gives an adult when something important is being said but we are too caught up in our own lives to understand.”“Oh, good point, young man,” she sighed, “but I'm afraid I don't have anything even remotely interesting to talk about.” I waited patiently. “I'm feeling sorry for myself. My baby is leaving the nest and it has been so long since I've been alone in the house, I don't know what to do with myself.”“Lance is an only child?” I wondered.“Oh, no, he is the youngest of five,” she responded with sadness. My jaw dropped and she stared at me.“What, did you start having kids when you were ten?” I gawked.“What?” she sounded confused.“I have a hard time believing you are forty, much less the mother of five grown children,” I stammered. At first Rochelle was embarrassed and a bit uncomfortable, but slowly the compliment seeped its way into her psyche.“I, I have a home gym,” she suggested as an answer.“Well, whatever you've been doing has worked. Your husband is one lucky guy, and I hope he appreciates you and all you do to look, act, and feel so young,” I wowed her.“I'm not feeling all that young right now,” she slipped back into her depression.“Where does it hurt?” I changed my focus.“I don't know what you mean?” she asked.“People keep their stress in different places; the back of the neck, the mid-back, shoulders, or temples,” I informed her.“I'm not comfortable talking with you about that,” Mrs. Wellington replied warily.“Sure,” I said popping out of my seat. “I apologize if I crossed any lines,” and I made for the door.“Wait, Zane, I apologize. I'm tired and a bit cranky. I know you didn't mean anything and besides, I'm sure you already have a girlfriend,” Rochelle admitted.“Please don't spread this around, but I have several girlfriends at the moment. They know about each other, I'm not going to lie about my sex life, but they are usually interested in different things,” I told her.“You have, multiple girlfriends, different things? Like what kind of different things?” Rochelle spilled out her confused thoughts.“Some women like sexual contact,” I related, “while others like romantic time together, and still others want companionship.” There was another long pause.“But you are at Freedom Fellowship University, ” she trembled.“I've never taken a student's virginity, if that's what you are asking,” I answered.“Oh, I understand. I've taught all my children that they should be virgins on their wedding day,” Rochelle said with some pride.“I have to disagree with that,” I shocked her, “but that is one of the reasons that women are better than girls.”“And how would you know this?” She now turned in her chair to face me, trying to sound affronted but coming across as deeply curious.“Um, I've had sex with girls in their teens and women in their forties, and women know more, pace themselves better, and generally have better bodies,” I explained. “Teen girls need a few more years to fill out.”Rochelle was utterly speechless, and part of that had to do with the fact that I was being frank and honest, yet not openly coming on to her.“You must not think much of me, then,” she mused, “teaching my children my views on virginity.”“Where did you get that from? If anything, you are proving yourself to be an intelligent, warm, caring, and compassionate woman and mother, who happens to look like she's less than forty years old,” I added. “You did what you thought was right. I can't argue with that.”“Well, good,” she replied.“Now for my part, I was taught that a real man gives his lover multiple orgasms and he should never reach fulfillment before his partner does. Any man who does so is being selfish,” I stated.“How did you come by this, thinking?” she inquired with a small voice.“Um, I've had sex around five hundred times with thirty different partners,” I told her, “so I've not only learned from very good teachers, I've field tested their ideas.”“How can you possibly consider yourself a good Christian, Zane?” she accused me.“Compassion, respect for all living things, and forgiveness, that's what I believe in and what Christianity stands for in my eyes,” I explained.“The Bible is clear on sex and the sanctity of the marriage bed,” Rochelle insisted.“Mrs. Wellington, everything after the death of Jesus is conjecture. We both accept that Jesus was the Son of God, but after he dies, who is to say who was being touched by the Divine, who was building on JC's teachings, and who was simply making stuff up,” I held up my hand to stop Rochelle's protest.“The Catholics have a thousand Saints, most of whom we don't hold to be divinely inspired. You chose to believe that virginity is a girl's sacred duty, but I don't recall Christ saying anything on the subject. You can certainly quote later Gospels or the Old Testament, but that makes it your choice, not the Word of God,” I finished up. Another long pause followed.“I keep my stress in the top of my shoulders,” she suddenly said. I stood up and moved behind her, deciding to not question her changing opinion of me.“It helps if you take off your jacket,” I suggested, then helped her shimmy out of it. She tensed up as my hands weighed down lightly on her shoulders so I kept my touch gentle.Two minutes into the massage, I began squeezing harder and harder, moving my palms back and forth over her bra straps from upper arm to neck.“Rochelle,” I whispered into her ear, “I am going to rotate your shoulders.” I rolled over each shoulder one at a time but when I finished, I pushed her slowly forward until she was resting her elbows on the table and held her head on her upturned hands.When I went back to the massage, I worked her over harder and extended my reach from her mid-back to neck. This was clearly a case of begging forgiveness instead of asking permission. I took my time, relaxing her to a completely detached state. When I brought her back to reality, I was kneeling beside her and tapping her on the arm.“Rochelle? Are you okay,” I asked in a gentle, caring voice. Dreamily, she turned her head from its resting place on her arms to look at my eyes straight-on and mere inches away.“What, huh?” she muttered.“How do the shoulders feel? Has your stress gone away?” I inquired.“Yes, yes,” she popped up, alert once more. “It feels really good, in fact. I haven't felt this way in years,” she added with a smile.“I think it is time for us to go,” I suggested. “Can I help you with your jacket?”“Of course,” she nodded. “Thank you for helping an old lady out.” I held it while she put in one arm after the other but when I settled it on her shoulders, I stepped in and held her there for a moment while I pressed myself against her so she could feel how I felt about 'old ladies'.Rochelle froze when she felt my cock, rigid in my slacks, pressed against her ass. I was unsure if I'd gone too far when she pushed ever so slightly against me.“I've got to be going. I will see you on Sunday but I'm home all weekend with one of my girlfriends in case you need me,” I informed her.I slipped out before she could respond because not only did I have a Sorority function to attend, I also needed to figure out where I could score some Viagra because I clearly had no common sense where sex was concerned. Besides, Sahara was obviously in need of attention because Pastor Bill wasn't giving it to her, and Bainbridge was lashing out due to years of sexual frustration, I repeat: I have no common sense.Every One Like a Fingerprint to MeWhen I was racing to get to the Kappa Sigma House, I hardly expected to be met by one of their pledges and absolutely no one else. After I sat down in the den and the pledge, Tina, got me a soda from the kitchen, we found ourselves staring at one another.“So, I'm here on the correct night; right?” I asked.“Yes, you are, Zane,” she bubbled with anticipation.“Where is everybody?” I prodded her.“They are taking care of Sorority business but they will come get us when they are ready,” she grinned. I knew I was missing something but I didn't know what it was.“Is it hot in here?” I wondered.“Yes,” Tina said after a bit of concentration.“Tina, can I have some Advil? I'm getting a headache,” I yawned.“Okay,” Tina responded, still happy, and still sitting down.“Ah, fuck, you drugged me, didn't you?” I groaned. I doubted I could still stand and then proved my doubts as I slid off the chair. “Damn,” I slurred. Tina walked over to me, took my drink away, and gently maneuvered my body to the floor.“If it is any consolation, I was selected as the pledge most likely to seduce you,” she stated with real sympathy. I might have smiled at her, I wasn't sure, but I definitely passed out.Cough! Someone plunged cleaning detergent underneath my nose and fired me back to consciousness. Holy Mother of God, I'm cold, my wrists and ankles hurt, I'm outdoors in the woods illuminated by torches and surrounded in a semi-circle of bare-footed figures in ankle long brown robes and black hoods.I was cold because I was naked and my limbs hurt because I was suspended on a cross, not a 'T' cross but an 'X' cross. I certainly know some kinky, fucked-up people.“Zane,” a modulated voice addressed me, “you are on trial before Kappa Sigma for your treatment of one of our sisters. You have abused the trust of one sister by seeking romantic relations with another. What do you have to say for yourself?”“If the question is that I had relations with Leigh, then had a similar encounter with Paris, then I confess. In my defense, I never sought to deceive either one and will make amends if permitted,” I promised.“Sisters, we have heard his defense. Will any of you vote in his behalf?” she intoned. No one stepped forward.“Zane, we will give you one chance to save yourself. If you fail, you will be shaved bald and painted in a permanent purple dye.” I assume that means seven days on Human skin. “If you can pick out the woman you have wronged, beg her forgiveness, and are forgiven, you will go free.” I was getting pretty nervous since they were all totally covered except for their toes when the 'leader' nodded and the girls all opened their robes to reveal string bikinis in a variety of colors.Their faces were still covered, though that wasn't really a problem for me anymore.“Choose Leigh and Paris, beg their forgiveness, and you may be pardoned,” the 'leader' commanded.“That's not fair,” I answered right back, “because they are not before me now.”“Think carefully,” the girl with the modulated voice cautioned me.“No, seriously; I'm looking at Josephine, Maria, Cynthia, Sarah, Ferrara, Petra, Yvette, Tawny, Jersey, and Monique,” I named them left to right.“What?” Sarah gasped to her assembled sisters. “Do we have name tags on?”Behind me, I heard snickers turn into giggles, Leigh and Paris. Tawny stepped forward.“How did you know?” she inquired, clearly not the girl with the modulated voice.“Ah, Josephine has a birthmark on her ankle, Maria has the darkest skin tone, and Cynthia's breasts don't angle down the middle or to the side but somewhere in the middle.”“Sarah has slender thighs and her calves curve just so below the knee; Ferrara always paints her nails in these crazy patterns; Petra scrapped her knee backpacking two weekends ago; Yvette, has that tattoo over her right nipple; Tawny, you have a slender neck, a, 38C chest, and a strong swell from your waist to your hips; Jersey is the tallest and has that scar she got in a boating accident in high school; and finally, Monique has the perkiest nipples and the most slender calves,” I recited.Man, even the crickets went quiet after that.“Zane, did anyone help you with this test?” Tawny finally asked.“Nope.”“How could they?” Leigh came to my defense. “You didn't make the line-up until thirty minutes ago.”“Jersey, go check his phone log,” Tawny directed her sister.“I'm getting really cold,” I whispered to Leigh. She looked from my eyes to my waist with sympathy. Jersey walked out of the light but quickly returned with my phone.“His last call was at 2:10 p.m. but he did have a data download at 6:45, it seems to be a bunch of women's names and phone numbers,” Jersey relayed the information to them.“It is my church group, I swear. Honestly, they are all married women in the Festivities Committee that bastard of a pastor assigned me to,” I pleaded.“No phone calls?” Tawny persisted.“No phone calls,” Jersey confirmed.“Okay, Zane, how did you know who we were with our faces concealed?” Tawny wondered.“Is that a serious question?” The deafening pause was its own answer. “You are women; I pay attention to women and to me, each female form is as exacting as a fingerprint. Until now I thought all of this was a joke,” I related. “I mean, if you wanted to scare me, you would have given me something difficult to figure out.”“And you picked all this up at one party?” Tawny sounded bewildered.“Have I mentioned how much I like women?” I reminded her.“But you brought twenty women with you; you always had a woman by your side. How?” Tawny still struggled to understand.“I repeat: have I mentioned how much I like women? I see nothing wrong with being with one woman and looking at others, but I believe it is wrong to be with one woman and thinking about someone else,” I explained. “You should always appreciate the one you are with.”“Um, does any sister believe Zane has earned a reprieve?”For two seconds no one reacted, then Jersey stepped forward.“He knew about my scar,” was her excuse. Five more stepped forward right after that and all had done so by the tenth second.“Very well Zane, you are forgiven,” Tawny announced. Yay, me! “But I have one other issue to address. Zane, I can't have you cutting a swath through my girls so I'm going to demand that you stick to one and only one Kappa Sigma per semester.” I stared at her until she finally had to question me. “What?”“I wish you would stop treating me like a child,” I chuckled.“What makes you think I'm not being serious?” Tawny growled.“We've kissed. You can tell a lot about a person in the way they kiss, and you are very caring and thoughtful,” I told her. “Why would I be out here in the woods naked if I didn't trust you?”“You kissed him!” yelped Leigh. Tawny smirked as she looked at her.“You left me alone with a naked Zane in your room; he looked cold and lonely,” she told Leigh. I was cold and lonely because Tawny tossed Leigh out of her own room and then wouldn't let me get dressed, but only Tawny, Christina, and I knew that.“Besides, Zane, you are naked in these woods because we tricked you into our house and spiked your drink,” Tawny pointed out.“Ah, but would I have been dumb enough to take that drink if I hadn't first trusted you enough to show up, wait, that didn't come out right,” I mumbled.“Are you agreeing to my terms?” Tawny teased.“Nope. I prefer to hold to the illusion I'm living in the Free World,” I declared. “You can certainly tell your sisters what to do because they volunteered for this but I only hang out here because all of you have been so nice to me. If I've been a poor guest, I'll just leave, because I'm not going to pretend I like one sister less than another.”“Zane, you are deep in the woods, tied to a cross, and the only people who know you are here are all bound by Sacred Oaths of Sisterhood, Blood, and Secrecy,” Tawny stated sweetly, as she came up and stroked my cheek. “You aren't in the best place to be dumping us.”“Good point,” I agreed defiantly. “Maybe I should wait to get on my high horse when I can actually get on a high horse, but I'm still not going to take it back.”“We could always keep him in our secret basement,” Monique suggested. When everyone looked at her she added, “Hey, he liked my nipples. Finding a guy who is good with nipples isn't as easy as you would think.” Huh, what? I had a definite feeling I was losing control of events.“You have a secret basement?” I gulped. “I didn't know you had a secret basement.”“Well, duh,” Paris snickered. “It wouldn't be much of a secret if you knew about it.”“We are not keeping Zane chained up for our amusement,” Tawny warned the girls. “We specifically changed the Charter back in '02 so that we can no longer keep men on the premises for more than forty-eight hours.” Yay?“We also can't leave him here,” Tawny continued. “I'm sure Christina will have search parties out looking for you before sunrise.”“I'll stay out here and stand guard over him,” Leigh volunteered.“No,” Tawny scolded Leigh. “We can't let him get fucked to death either.” Leigh looked truly heartbroken.“I think we have to let Zane get off this time,” Tawny sighed.“I was trying to get him off,” Leigh grumbled.“Give it a rest, Leigh,” Tawny demanded. “Paris, give our guest something to drink so we can wrap this up.” Paris disappeared behind me, then reappeared with a glass of water.“Drink up,” she smiled beatifically.“Just promise me I'm not going to wake up in some landfill or tied to a lamppost somewhere public,” I groaned.“Drink it down right now and you might wake up next to me,” Tawny challenged. Needless to say, I drank and quickly, because I'm an idiot who keeps too much blood in the wrong head.When I woke up, I was back in the Sorority house with a different sweet pledge smiling at me and that smell of ammonia in my nostrils. She handed me a folded piece of paper.I said 'you MIGHT wake up next to me' the paper read. 'P.S. See you and the Ladies at our Halloween Bash.'“What's your name?” I asked the pledge. This time the home was filled with the noises of occupancy.“Larissa,” she giggled. “So, are you Leigh's boyfriend?”“Ah, no; I'm community property; the other sisters hand me around like a box of chocolates,” I joked.“Really! That is so great,” she bubbled with excitement. “I can't wait until I get initiated. I want you to make me scream the way you had Leigh singing.” Does no one get my jokes?“Larissa, I am sure you will pass your initiation, no sweat,” I told her as I stood up, feeling a bit drunk. Larissa walked with me to the door and gave me a quick peck on the cheek as I turned to head for my car. I made it to campus with seconds to spare. The crawl up to the Solarium was done in relative quiet, though Barbie Lynn decided to sample my tonsils before letting me up.Not two steps inside the door my phone rang.“Hello, is this Zane Braxton?” this familiar voice greeted me.“That would be me. What can I do for you this night?” I responded.“This is Felicity Tolliver. I wanted you to know that I had dinner with Rochelle Wellington tonight and I think having you on her committee has really improved her mood,” she informed me.I reached the top of the landing and nearly dropped the phone. Iona sat nervously on my bed, which she had made up because I never do it that well. She was wearing lingerie that definitely made her whole form much more feminine.“Felicity, Rochelle and I talked mostly, plus I showed her some techniques to help alleviate stress,” I related, “but you can tell her it was a pleasure to work with such a vibrant and beautiful woman. You two are a lot alike.”There was a pause, then,“I'll tell her that,” Felicity said.“I will be at my home in case she needs something this weekend. I would like to see both of you, as would my Aunt,” I offered.“That would be nice,” she sounded upbeat.“We could also discuss getting some FFU girls coming over to your place and the workshops you could teach on campus in October and November,” I suggested.“That sounds great too,” Felicity agreed. “I would like to spend some time at FFU and having some girls know where Lance's house is would be nice. When do you want to meet?”“How about after dinner, say 8 o'clock?” I suggested. “You can bring Lance.”“After dinner is fine but Lance has a church workshop on Saturday nights,” Felicity sighed. Oh hell, does this woman even get taken to first base? “He's always so busy with his fraternity at school, the Young Christian Men's Republican caucus, and the Christian Men's League at church.” Does this guy spend any time with women at all?“Consider it a date,” I replied. “Now I have a very good reason to go to bed, so good night.”“Good night,” she parted in a friendly manner, which allowed me to hang up and start undressing as I approached the bed. I looked down at my bed buddy once I'd stripped down to nothing.“You look lovely, Iona,” I greeted her. “What do you want to do?”“I'll do whatever you want,” Iona said with a tremor in her voice, looking down at her lap. She looked stunning in her burgundy bra and panties, which were far more lace than substance. I felt the hand of, Christina (?) in all this.“Thank you, Iona. What I really want is to lie down, you beside me so that I can look into your eyes and gently trace lines along your body, and then I want to go to sleep with you in my arms. That's what I really want.”“Really?” she perked up in surprise and relief. I crawled under the covers, holding them open so she could join me.“I like this a lot,” she murmured, as she settled in at my side, snug in the covers. I shifted to my side and cupped her chin before exchanging several soft kisses with her. Afterwards, I did as I told her I would; my hand caressed her body, avoiding nipples and pussy but doing my best to get everywhere else. I elicited sensual moans and ticklish giggles.When I had forced her to push me off so she could catch her breath, I felt I had given Iona what she wanted, and more importantly, what she could live with. I sat back and stared at the Moon through my glass roof. Iona's smiling face slowly invaded my view.“I give up, Iona,” I pleaded. “Right now I want some sleep.”“That's okay. I will sit here and watch over you,” she sighed.“That's, that's a little creepy, actually,” I confessed.“I've watched all of the Twilight movies so I know what secretive romances are all about,” Iona explained.Unfortunately, I knew little of the Twilight series of movies. I knew it involved vampires and werewolves and some chick named Bella but I'd never actually seen any of that. Had I known it involved a 100-year-old vampire breaking into some teenager's room and staring down at her while she slept, I would have been much more concerned, but for now I went to sleep.A lesson in wh