The campus newspaper headline said it all: “RIOT IN THE DORM!” This had started a couple of days ago. Several of us discovered that our class schedules gave us an hour off at mid-day, all near Freud Hall. (The psych majors called it Cigar Castle; I never did figure that one out). Daryl and Brett lived there, so we’d all eat lunch with them in the dorm’s kitchen. At the first lunch everyone was kidding Daryl about his campus profile page. Every day brought at least a dozen new offers of sexual congress from women, and at least one or two from men. There were crowds in his hallway every afternoon and evening. In fact, there were women in each of the shower rooms right now hoping to get a glimpse of Daryl. They all wore buttons reading “Daryl’s Dick Cult: Nine Inches Dot Cum.” Daryl said it was getting beyond tiresome. Brett asked why he didn’t get any of that attention. “It’s almost all pussy,” said Daryl. “You’re gay, that’s the reason.” Charlene’s mischievous mind was at work. “Well, the girls probably have straight boyfriends they could bring along.” Brett and Daryl looked at one another and started talking a mile a minute. I couldn’t follow it and had to walk all the way across campus for my next class, so I left. The next day Jay told me to look at Daryl’s campus profile page. He isvecbahis had posted an announcement: An open letter to the ladies of Anthony College. I will go ahead and have whatever sex with you that you want. We will begin tonight accepting applications for a lottery. The eventual winner will come to my dorm room and spend twelve hours having whatever kinds of sex we want. I may also invite some friends, with whom the winning woman will have whatever kinds of sex they want. Twelve hours. The winner’s straight boyfriend will also come to my dorm room and spend twelve hours having whatever kinds of sex my gay roommate wants. He may also invite some gay friends, with whom the winning woman’s straight boyfriend will have whatever kinds of sex they want. Twelve hours. Bring your applications to Freud Hall, Room 122, before midnight next Sunday. Auditions start the next day. We will pick ten finalists to enter the lottery based on audition performance with me and with my gay roommate. Our senior resident will then draw one winner’s name from among those still in the contest. I thought it was hilarious. Daryl and Brett were going to put a stop to this crap. So much for my judgment. That evening there was a riot in the dorm. Seventy-two people were crammed into the hallway off Daryl and Brett’s isveçbahis giriş room. They were pushing, yelling, shoving, and fighting. Zeke showed up to stop it and was pummeled. He called campus police who arrested the thirty-six couples on multiple charges. At the campus jail, the police discovered they had thirty-nine men and thirty-three women. Three of the “women” had been guys in drag hoping to fool Daryl. Zeke had spent the night under observation at the hospital. The next day, at lunch, the campus police showed up at our usual table. “Daryl Bowdain?” they asked. He raised his hand. “Brett Goldberg?” He put down his ham sandwich (non-practicing apparently) and raised his hand. The older cop told them to come with them. Daryl asked if they were under arrest. “Not yet.” Brett asked if he could bring someone with him. In response to the cops’ question, he said he didn’t want a lawyer. “I want Mark to come with me.” No one was more shocked than I. Whatever could I do? The campus police shepherded all three of us out of the dorm and straight to the Dean’s office. We were asked – actually ordered – to take seats. The Dean and Dr. Wagoner were there, looking at us sternly. The Dean spoke. “Mr. Bowdain and Mr. Goldberg, you are in serious shit. Marjorie?” Dr. Wagoner took over. isveçbahis yeni giriş “Mr. Bowdain, if I went downtown and wore a sign saying pay me $20 and I’ll have sex with you, what would that be?” Daryl knew that was prostitution. “If I went downtown and wore a sign saying I will have sex with you if you paint my house, then I’m receiving something I evidently value in return for sex. Is that still prostitution?” Daryl nodded his head and I had figured out where this was going. “And, if I wore a sign saying I’ll have sex with you if you bring along your straight girlfriend to have sex with my lesbian roommate, what would that be?” “Fuck me,” was all Daryl could say. “Exactly,” said Dr. Wagoner. “Fuck me only if you give me something I value. You and your roommate are subject to charges of promoting prostitution.” That’s when the Dean noticed me. “What the fuck is he doing here?’ Brett replied, “It’s Mark. I asked him to accompany me.” The Dean was blunt. “So, Bozo the Clown wasn’t available?” I should have been insulted, but had to agree with the Dean. Brett spoke quietly. “Whenever Mark’s involved in something, it usually turns out all right. I don’t understand it, but I’m not going to mess with success. I want him here because I think that then things will turn out all right.” The Dean ignored me for the rest of the meeting. “You, Mr. Bowdain, and you, Mr. Goldberg, will sign a statement as will I. Dr. Wagoner is here not as a member of the faculty but as a lawyer to protect the interests of the college.