Schaffer banished the intrusive thoughts, shifting his position on the ground and trying to get comfortable. But as the sounds of passion assaulted his ears, he doubted that sleep would come easily.Schaffer achieved some level of sleep, the kind where you don’t quite fall into a deep, satisfying slumber but rather skirt the edges of unconsciousness. The noises did eventually abate, but his frustration was overcoming him. At least he was alone now, out of view of the curious aliens. Perhaps he might finally have an opportunity to relieve himself without being observed or interrupted.He undid the clasps on his suit in order access his loins, slipping his hand beneath his underwear and trying to think of something more wholesome than what he had been subjected to over the past week. Damn it, his hand was like a block of ice, the ground was hard and uncomfortable beneath him. Come on Schaffer, it’s just a biological need, get it over with.It was slow going, but he worked up a rhythm,. To me that meant he made some excuse about going to the bathroom and kept on going. I really did like the guy – hell, we had been roommates for a couple of years now and hadn’t even had an argument – but Tony was never one for emotional entanglements on any level. It was six weeks after that I really met Taylor. The rest of the people in the corridor at the time can attest to that. ‘Excuse me. Are you Mitchell Cromwell?’ When I turned around, Taylor Dennison was standing there with a few books resting on her arm and an intense gaze in her dark eyes, two of her friends waiting patiently behind her. When I nodded in the affirmative she handed her books to one of her friends and slapped me across the cheek. The whole corridor heard the slap and looked on, waiting for whatever was going to happen next. Other than her friend handing her books back and all three walking off talking to each other, nothing else did happen. Both the heat of the slap and the confusion as to why I got it.
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