Four University students find themselves killing time, and finding
each other, during the Thanksgiving weekend when all the rest of 
the dorm is home for the holidays.

I'm not quite sure what to make of this story. Seren told me
I had to write it, and so I did. My faithful Muse was right, as
usual. She didn't tell me that I had to share it, but I did 
anyway -- that was my choice. As I said, I don't really know
what it all means, but I do feel better to have written it.

As usual, the following story may contain scenes of sexuality,
nudity, and adult situations. If this is going to offend you,
or you are too young to deal with such things according to your
local codes of conduct, then pass this work of erotic fiction
by. Please. I won't be offended.

On the other hand, I write my musings placing story first, and
sex second. If you are looking for mindless description of
huge breasts and impossibly large penises (penisi?), then you'd
probably be better off searching elsewhere. There are many
authors that can do this justice. I'm not one of them. This is a 
story that happens to contain some sex, not a porn script. Again, 
if you choose to ignore it on this basis, I will not be offended.

This is an original work of fiction copyrighted by the
author, Crimson Dragon. Please do not use it as if it were
your own. Do not repost, or archive, without express permission.
It isn't difficult to ask for reposting permission. I'm easy to 
reach, and I don't bite. Much.

Big thanks to Denny, who puts up with my silliness, and
proofs the stories so wonderfully, making them the best they
can be. And also, of course, thanks to Munk, who found an
error that Denny missed, but more importantly puts up with
*all* my silliness.

The story contains fictionalised elements. Any resemblance to
persons, places, or times of anyone or anywhere living or
dead, is purely coincidental. Except, of course, for Alison, 
Claire, Peter and Carole -- but even they won't admit their 
involvement. At least, I don't think they will.

I welcome feedback -- though spam and idiotic viruses are
summarily dealt with. I don't want a 'very humor[sic] game',
nor do I want to enlarge my penis, if I even had one, nor do I
wish to see Britney Spears naked. However, comments or
discussions or even rants about my writing are more than
welcome at the address below.

If you are still with me, onwards to the prose.

- Crimson (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

/~Crimson_Dragon
http://members.tripod.com/~Dragon_Of_Crimson


========================================================================

                         Four of a Kind 
                     (MF, rom, strip poker)

========================================================================

                  (c) Copyright - October 2002

                         Crimson Dragon 
                      (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

========================================================================

Five cards stared up at me while the implications of their
configuration suffused my being. Four queens, the heart suit
carefully arranged on the left, followed by her sisters, each
card a mirror image of the previous except for the suit. The last 
card, the ace of spades, broke the pattern, but served to complete 
the hand in mocking simplicity.

I never played much poker, wasn't the gambling type, but I
knew enough that this hand, the one I held between my trembling 
fingers, was rare. I had never seen a natural four of a kind, 
and I likely never would again. Some people spend their entire
lives gambling and don't see a hand like this.

I sighed.

Somehow, we'd all become four of a kind on this lonely, rainy,
dark holiday.

                      <---===***===--->

The day was dark and dismal, October rain clouds tumbling
across the sky like dirty cotton, whipped by a frigid wind
that chilled to the bone.

I shivered and pushed the battered old suitcase into the trunk
of the idling Ford. I slammed the cover and straightened, wrapping
my arms about me, shaking as the wind tore through my light 
jacket.

"Petie, my friend, sure you don't want to go home?"

Bradley stepped around from the passenger side of the car.
He wore a sensible parka, complete with fake fur lining the
hood, and cowboy boots.

"Don't call me Petie," I said glumly.

Brad stopped beside me and cocked his head to the side. His
normal wisecracking visage crumbled into a more serious, thin-
lipped frown.

"You need to tell her," he said seriously.

I nodded my head. Yes, I needed to tell her. And if I weren't
such a goddamn coward, I would have climbed into the Ford with
Brad, travelled the four hours to Apsley, and talked to her
like I should have months ago.

"Bradley! We need to get going!"

Bradley's mother leaned out the driver's window, her hair billowing
in the wind, flashing us both an impatient look. Bradley turned 
towards her, and shrugged. She slipped back inside, furiously
cranking back up the window.

"I'll be there in a minute, Mom." Then he turned back to me.
"There's still time, you don't even need to pack. Come back
home. It's Thanksgiving."

I bit at my lip, tempted, but then shook my head. Brad sighed
and moved forward to embrace me. I stiffened for a moment, then
gave in. I felt his palm smack my shoulder, then he straightened.

"If you won't go see her, then you should at least call her."
Brad shook his head in dismay. "It's Thanksgiving."

"I know," I whispered.

Brad nodded, as if he understood me. Without another word, he turned 
and rounded the car. I heard the passenger door slam, and with the 
spinning of tires on the pavement, the Ford pulled away.

I stood and watched even as its headlights disappeared down the
curve in the road, turning left at the stone gates of the University.

As far as I knew, Brad had been the last of my few friends to leave 
the school, rushing towards feasts of turkey and parsnips set on 
long dining room tables, laughter and warmth surrounding them all. 
I turned and stared up at the empty dormitory, its harsh white cinder
blocks reminding me more of a jail than living space for
twenty students. I mentally corrected myself. It was entirely
possible that for this Thanksgiving holiday, I was the only
student left who was foolish enough not to escape this place.
Holidays were the hardest -- school slowed down enough to give
us time to think.

The first drops of October rain spattered to the pavement, dotting 
its surface like a complicated jigsaw puzzle. After a few minutes,
the moisture had trickled into my hair and down my neck.
Shivering, I trudged up the path towards the dorm, watching
my sneakers until I passed back into the relative warmth of
where I now called home.

                      <---===***===--->

I stared out the window at the clouds tumbling over each other
like cats chasing their tails. Streaks of water, like tears,
trickled down the window, obscuring my vision. Trees bent
and twisted in the wind, multi-coloured leaves whirling
in mini-tornadoes across the manicured lawns and footpaths
across the small campus.

We'd kissed for the first time on a day like this: stormy, 
dreary, rain pattering against the basement windows. Karen and
I had been friends as long as I could remember -- she had lived
next door, and we had spent our childhood together. It had been
an October day, around Thanksgiving, sitting around the
television watching Gilligan's Island, or something else
inane.

                      <---===***===--->

"Have you ever kissed a girl?" Karen asked quietly
from her end of the sofa.

I shook my head, watching the Skipper smack Gilligan with
his hat for the zillionth time. Suddenly, she was
close, her hands resting entwined against my shoulder.
I turned to her, her face hovering only centimetres from 
mine.

Without thought, without considering what it might do to
our easy friendship, I kissed her. It was as simple as
that, lips touching, her warm breath taking away the
pattering of the rain outside.

                      <---===***===--->

Oh, I loved Karen in my own way, but something was missing.
She wanted different things out of life -- a family, maybe
a farm. I wanted to reach the stars. She was there, but
we rarely talked any more -- the easy friendship dissolving
in kisses and petting. A typical high-school romance.

We sat together quietly, watching the sunset, fingers entwined
in easy familiarity. It was the end of summer, not cool, not
hot, autumn approaching. There were subtle tears filling
her eyes, but none had spilled, yet.

"Do you really have to go?" she asked.

I nodded as the sun began to touch the horizon over the
lake. Mist spiralled upwards from the water, shrouding the
molten ball of orange.

"You know I do, Karen."

I wanted to tell her then. I've hated myself ever since.
I loved her, but not in the way she wanted me to. And I
couldn't tell her. I couldn't as she looked up at me,
losing me to the big world outside of hers, trusting that
I'd come back. Instead of telling her what I felt, I kissed 
her, telling her what she wanted to hear.

"I love you, Peter," she said simply.

I should have told her then. I should have. I should have.
I should have.

I swallowed, and said exactly what I shouldn't have.

"I love you, too, Karen."

I could still feel her lips as they brushed my cheek,
her breasts as they pressed into me as she embraced
me before I left her.

"Come back soon," she had whispered as she stood by
and watched as I climbed into the car, on my way to
University and a new life, leaving her standing by herself
on the curb. I didn't even look back as the car moved
away from her and towards the beckoning unknown. I don't 
even know if she waved.

                      <---===***===--->

I stared out the window at the rain, the campus awash
in what had begun to look like the great flood. The footpaths
had become swollen rivers, the manicured grass sodden and empty. 
My heart ached in indecision.

Sometimes, I still hated myself.

                      <---===***===--->

The dorm was unusually quiet. Only the quiet laugh track kept
me company as I sat in front of the television. Gilligan's
Island had transformed into more cerebral humour for me. M*A*S*H
graced the magic box, where the antics of Hawkeye, Trapper and
Hot Lips ignored the general dreariness outside the large
windows behind me.

Not many dorms these days were co-ed, but this white-washed
cinder block structure housed twenty of us. Twelve girls, eight
guys, all living together in controlled chaos. At this time of
night, there usually would have been four fights for control
of the only television, while four of the guys would be playing
Euchre on the old battered card table in the corner. Sometimes,
for money, mostly to pass the time. Sometimes, they would be
playing Hearts, and occasionally, when they could find four people
who knew how to play, Bridge. All in all, a happy community, if
not the quietest in the world.

Today, as most of them were travelling to distant homes where
relatives and girlfriends and boyfriends waited to greet them,
the dorm fell into an almost eerie silence around me.

I glanced out the window during a commercial. The rain continued
to pour over the world, cleansing it, and drowning it simultaneously.
I sat at the end of the more comfortable sofa in the common
room -- a luxury that was rare for me. The phone hanging on the
wall stared accusingly at me. Brad's words haunted me: "Call her
at least."

I think sometimes I tell Brad too much. But I think he might have
sensed it anyway. He was right, of course. I missed Karen terribly.
I missed her laughter and her easy friendship, and I desperately
wanted to call her. I should have called her. I wanted to love
her. I couldn't. Life wasn't fair sometimes. I tore my eyes from 
the instrument, and returned to watching the antics of the 4077th. 

                      <---===***===--->

A new episode of M*A*S*H began with the haunting theme music.
Suicide is painless. Uh, huh.

Somewhere down the hallway, towards the female section of
the dorm, a door slammed, and I sensed, more than heard,
a whisper of feminine giggling. Presently, the entrance opened
to my right, and two girls entered.

The brunette, Alison, was familiar -- tall and lanky, wearing blue 
jeans and a bright blouse. The girl beside her, Claire, was only a 
little shorter, laughing, with her blonde hair drawn back in a braid.

There were rumours circulating around, as rumours normally do,
that these two girls might be a little more than friends. They
came from the same all-girl Academy directly to our little University.
They seemed inseparable. Personally, I didn't believe the rumours,
but even if they were true, I didn't care. If they were happy
together, what else can one ask for? It would be far better than a 
fractured lie of a relationship that is more 'typical,' whatever that 
means. Rumours get started over the silliest things. Girls tend to 
be more affectionate than guys, that was all.

"What's up?" Alison asked me.

I smiled and motioned them to make themselves comfortable.

"Watching re-runs, you want to watch something?"

Truthfully, I was surprised that anyone else was still here,
but I didn't mind if they wanted to watch another show. I wasn't
stuck on the sitcom. I was barely watching it.

Alison settled into the far sofa and Claire stretched out
yawning onto the sofa nearest the phone, cradling her head
on her hands.

"M*A*S*H is good," Alison offered, settling in and turning her
eyes to the screen. Claire sighed, and shrugged, doing the
same.

In the first commercial break, Claire pushed herself up and
approached the phone. I closed my eyes and looked away,
not even wanting to think about the damn instrument.

She dialled and spoke quickly into the phone, her voice
lost amongst the blaring commercials. I thumbed down
the volume for her. After a moment, she covered the
mouthpiece and turned towards us.

"Cafeteria is closed for the weekend." Alison and I groaned 
together. Claire smiled. "What do you want on your pizza?"

                      <---===***===--->

We couldn't decide, so Claire ordered two, one with anchovy,
the other without. Alison shrugged, willing to eat either.

Turning away from the television, I glanced out into the
downpour. While the sun wasn't visible through the cloud
cover and the rain, its light became decidedly more distant 
as the invisible sunset approached. Twilight filtered through 
the clouds, turning the world outside grey and featureless.

I squinted. A flash of pale colour moved near one of the
footpaths. I wiped at the condensation on the window,
ignoring the dampness coating my palm. I peered out.

A girl moved through the downpour, her head down and
unprotected in the rain. Taking each step carefully,
her boots nearly disappeared in the wash of water flowing
down the paths. She carried something in her arms,
clutching it to her chest. I couldn't tell who it was
or what she was carrying.

"Who is that?" I asked, my finger pressed against the glass.

In a moment, Alison was leaning on my shoulder, her clean
feminine scent washing over me, her brunette hair tickling
my cheek. She peered through the small cleared patch beyond 
the streaked rain. I shifted to give her more room. Alison 
blinked, and then bit her lower lip.

"I think it's Carole," she murmured. "Silly girl out in the
rain like this. She's crazy, you know."

Alison straightened and wandered back to her perch. I continued to
watch the girl struggle through the downpour, ignoring the television. 
Once, the girl nearly slipped and fell, and the crazy urge to laugh 
descended on me as I watched her retrieve whatever it was she was
carrying from the water saturated ground and wipe it off with a bare
hand. The urge to laugh fled as quickly as it had come, and I 
mentally chastised myself. Instead, the thought was replaced by 
a vision of myself, a knight in shining armour racing through 
the rain to help the girl up. I shook off the image, convinced that
it would have been the knight, not her, who would have needed rescuing.
I continued to watch her slow journey.

Carole was a strange girl. She wasn't mean, or cruel -- only
strange. She kept to herself, never joining the rest of us
in the common areas. As far as I knew, she didn't really have
any friends, nor did she seek to have any. She was a loner,
happy and content to be by herself. From everything I heard and
saw, the girl studied, and slept, and really didn't do much else. 
On the other hand, I'd also heard that she was a genius level intellect
-- that she didn't even need to study to breeze through the courses
she took. Thinking about it, I realised that I had no idea what
she studied, nor what she majored in. Though I always tend to resist 
blind belief in rumours, the one concerning her intelligence I did 
believe, though why she attended this University was beyond me. If 
the rumours were true, she could have attended the best schools on 
the continent, or throughout Europe, if she chose. Even if she wasn't 
a genius, certainly she was far beyond my limited mental capacity.
One only had to look at my borderline grades to understand that.

A typical eccentric genius should wear librarian glasses and dress 
in baggy clothing. While Carole didn't fit the stereotype, she also
didn't seem to place much emphasis on her appearance, almost
deliberately toning down her tall, blonde stature. Some
days she'd appear in jeans and sweatshirt that almost hugged her 
body, her blonde hair swept up into an easy ponytail as she breezed 
through on her way to class. Other days, she'd appear in baggy 
sweats with nothing tucked in, socks mismatched, her hair unbrushed 
across her features. I don't ever recall seeing makeup on her or 
nail polish on her fingers. A book of one sort or the other always 
clutched in her hands, she was always in a hurry, never stopping to 
talk, and on the rare occasions that someone cornered her, never 
talking about herself. Carole was a bit of an enigma, but
she didn't bother anyone, and nobody bothered her. The dorm
was like that. We accepted peculiarities, because underneath,
we were all peculiar in our own ways.

Yes, Carole was a strange girl, but despite Alison's announcement,
probably not any more crazy than the rest of us. I watched as Carole 
purposely and carefully placed one booted foot in front of the other,
like a robot, moving steadily, if slowly, splashing through the
river of a footpath towards the warmth of our dorm.

                      <---===***===--->

Carole appeared, following a bluster of wind and dampness
as the door opened and shut. She pressed the door closed and
stood dripping near the entrance. I glanced up.

Her eyes seemed a little vacant, her golden hair plastered in
tangles to her head. Across her chest, she clutched a stack
of library books that looked as if they had been dropped
multiple times in the mud. She wore a light jacket, a
windbreaker, that hadn't protected her from the rain, its
surface stuck to her like a wet suit. Her pants mirrored
the jacket, clinging to her like a second skin. For the
first time, perhaps, I noticed that underneath her clothing
stood a body that rivalled Alison's or Claire's. Of course,
now, Carole more closely resembled a drowned rat, or a lost
child, unable or unwilling to care for herself. She shivered
uncontrollably as she stood in the entrance, her eyes
slowly taking in our presence.

Studiously, she bent and pulled off her boots. I was sure that
water would come pouring out of them as if she'd stepped from
a cartoon tempest. She straightened again, still shivering,
her teeth now chattering. She didn't move from the entranceway,
almost as if afraid of trailing water through the common
room.

I swallowed, not knowing quite what to say. What finally emerged
sounded inane and stupid, even to me.

"Shouldn't you be home for the weekend?"

Instead of ignoring me, as I thought she would, Carole shrugged,
her thin shoulders pushing her soaked clothing upwards. Unexpectedly,
a melancholy look crossed her fair features, and she lowered her
eyes to study her wet socks.

A quiet voice dragged my stunned attention from Carole.

"Jesus," Alison whispered. I watched as Alison pushed herself
off the sofa and approached Carole. Gently, Alison extracted
a few of the wet books from Carole's arms, and then took her
elbow, guiding the girl towards her room.

Numb, I watched them disappear into the gloom of the hallway.
When I turned back, Claire shook her head and shrugged, turning
back to the mindless sitcom on the television.

                      <---===***===--->

The petite girl delivering the pizza wore a sensible yellow
slicker, and a baseball cap that proclaimed "Domino's" in
tall red script. She stood under the overhang, huddling
away from the downpour. Her car idled, spewing exhaust in
a cloud that fought for supremacy with the rain. She looked
damp, but far less so than Carole had. She held out the
two covered boxes that looked far too small to be large
pizzas. I grasped them and placed them inside out of the
rain.

"Crappy night," I said, fishing in my wallet for cash.

"Not a night suited for man or beast," she replied with the
hint of a smile. "Not even Dragons would be out in this."

I shrugged, and passed her two twenties. I couldn't really
afford it, but I told her to keep the change. I'd overtipped
her, but as far as I was concerned, she deserved every penny. She 
smiled radiantly from beneath her cap, and then turned to 
disappear into the storm. I watched her go, a latent 
desire to be that knight emerging again for the anonymous 
delivery girl.

The girl slipped into her car, and drove off, driving far
faster than might be safe considering the weather. I sighed, 
picked up the pizzas and trudged into the common room,
thankful for the warmth and the light there.

                      <---===***===--->

Claire helped set the steaming boxes on the card table, helping
herself to a couple of slices and settling into the sofa, her
attention back on Trapper and Henry Blake.

Moments later, Carole and Alison reappeared, walking together
into the common area. Alison made for the pizzas, while Carole
stood awkwardly near the entrance. Carole looked more dry now,
her skin almost scrubbed. She wore a pair of Levi's and a
t-shirt, far more fetching than the clothes she normally
wore. Her hair remained wet, plastered to her head, but the
strands bore the easy streaks of a brush or comb, the tangles
of the storm faded into straight, if limp, tresses kissing
her shoulders. The shoulders of her shirt bore damp patches
where her hair had transferred water.

I motioned Carole over. Given her solitary nature, I had no idea 
if she even ate pizza, or if she was a militant vegan.

"Have some pizza, Carole. The cafeteria is closed tonight,
I understand."

I gathered up some pizza and returned to my former seat
in the comfortable sofa. After a few minutes of hesitation,
Carole walked gingerly over to the food and extracted a
single slice of the plainer, anchovy-free, pizza and then
settled into the only free chair in the room.

A commercial came on selling used cars. I muted the television
and turned towards Alison. 

Between bites, I shrugged. "So, what's your story?"

Alison swallowed daintily, and turned her brown eyes towards me.

"Story?"

"Why aren't you driving into civilisation?"

"You want to know why I'm here on Thanksgiving?"

I nodded.

She sighed, and took another bite. After swallowing again,
she nodded, pursing her lips.

"Okay. I'll tell you."

                      <---===***===--->

"When my parents had me, I think that they were expecting a boy.
Don't get me wrong," Alison murmured, "they loved me, and they
still do, but I really don't think that they knew quite what to 
make of me. Instead of 'Mommy', I think my first words were 'Nanny'.
I didn't really mind; I suppose I have an independent streak.
Maybe it's because I had to develop that way. I don't know.
Doesn't matter.

"For high school, they sent me to Laurier Academy for Girls.
I liked it there well enough, but what it really meant was that
they didn't need to deal with me. Claire and I were roommates
there."

At this point, Alison flashed a smile at Claire, and I was
reminded of the rumours surrounding the two girls. I shrugged,
and continued to listen to her voice.

"I don't think I remember a single time that the family ever
got together for holidays. Either Mother and Father were traipsing
over the globe, or Father had 'commitments.' Even before school,
my Thanksgivings consisted of turkey, and if I was lucky, I
got to eat in the kitchen with my Nanny and the maids. I didn't
mind, it was as close to family, I suppose, as I got.

"So I called them two weeks ago. Surprisingly, Mother was
home and talked to me. I mentioned that I was thinking of
coming home for Thanksgiving, and she agreed, saying that
she was looking forward to it." Alison sighed, and for
a moment, I thought I saw a tear forming, but then it was
gone. "Two days ago, she called the school, told the Dean
that she couldn't reach me but to extend her apologies.
Father and her had to go to Hawaii for the holidays."

She shrugged, but didn't really look at any of us.

"C'est la vie, I suppose."

                      <---===***===--->

Claire cleared her throat, and perched on the sofa near
Alison. The girls held hands, and again I was reminded of
the rumours. Bullshit. I felt terrible for Alison, and I
think if I were seated beside her, I would have held her hand,
too. Alison composed herself and bit off another piece of
pizza.

"I didn't want to bring the party down," Alison said easily.
"I'm used to it, but you did ask." She forced a smile to her
face.

Claire cleared her throat again, and tilted her head to
the side.

"I'm here because I didn't want Alison to be alone on Thanksgiving.
When I'd heard that she was going home, I made plans to go home,
too. Then Alison's plans fell through, and," she shrugged, "my 
family understood, even if Alison begged me to go." She shifted 
herself away from Alison, and leaned back into the sofa. She shifted
her feet to lie easily across Alison's legs.

"I thought that we'd be the only two in the dorm."

Claire flashed me an easy smile.

"We spilled. What's your story, Peter?"

                      <---===***===--->

I couldn't tell them about Karen, the real reason that I was
sitting here listening to the rain with three girls I barely
knew. So I settled for half-truths, none of them lies, exactly,
but leaving out the single-most important reason that I didn't
want to go home.

I inhaled deeply, and began.

"Did you ever have an uncle that drank a little too much and
then talked too loud? At every single family gathering?"

Claire shook her head with a small smile, answering the
rhetorical question.

"Yeah, I had to fight off his hands every single time. He was too
drunk to be a real threat, but it kind of grossed me out."

I laughed lightly, even while disgusted. Claire didn't seem to
be overly upset about her offhand revelation, either.

"Well, mine doesn't try to molest me, but he is obnoxious. He
smokes, and he drinks, and he tells the most off colour jokes ..."

Claire interrupted. "Tell us some," she laughed.

I turned to her. "You want to know why I'm here, or not?"

Claire somehow managed to look abashed, and nodded. "Tell us
the jokes later, then, you big baby."

I shot her a look, and continued.

"Anyway, it doesn't make for the greatest holidays, and Mom and
Dad insist on inviting him. Not surprisingly, he's not married,
and really doesn't have any other family."

"You didn't go home because your uncle is a pain in the ass?"

I sighed, realising that I was going to have to elaborate. I felt
like I had been suddenly drawn into an escalating game of Truth or Dare.

"Truthfully, no. That's only part of it." I put on a fake sheepish
look. "I'm a little behind in my classes, and if I want to be
here next semester, and keep my scholarship, I need to study
this weekend."

Claire laughed again. "So you watch M*A*S*H reruns. I like your
studying technique."

I shrugged. I'd get to studying eventually.

                      <---===***===--->

A small voice behind me and to the right saved me from further
interrogation. I swivelled in my seat to face Carole. The girl
sat in the single chair, her feet resting against the legs
easily, her elbows on her knees. Her hands cradled a half-eaten
slice of pizza. I could make out small teeth indents where
she'd nibbled the tip. 

"There is no Thanksgiving for me," she whispered. Her voice
filled the room, the light from the silent television flickering
across her nose and lips. This one sentence was probably more
than I'd ever heard her speak since the semester began. "Not 
any more."

We all shifted quietly to regard her. She didn't look at us,
but lowered her eyes to her own toes, or perhaps the
floorboards underneath.

"I used to love Thanksgiving -- the turkey, the hams, the
laughter and the closeness. It was like Christmas, but without
the presents. An early Christmas."

She paused for a moment. I couldn't see her face, but I thought
maybe that she would leave it there. I half expected Claire to
prompt her, but perhaps Claire felt the same as I. I wasn't
sure I wanted to hear the rest, a heavy feeling suffused my
stomach. Whatever hadn't been spoken by the quiet girl would
be far worse than a noisy uncle, or neglectful parents. I
shivered, even while the room was warm. Rain pattered against
the window, marking time until she whispered again.

"He'd drunk two bottles of rye, and twelve beers on a dare,"
she said. I had to strain to hear her words. "Then he climbed
into his Cherokee, and drove ten kilometres without meeting
another soul. Somewhere, on a dark side road, fate finally
caught up to him. Maybe my parents' headlights were too
bright, and confused him, maybe he simply lost control of
the damn jeep, maybe he fell asleep at the wheel. I don't
think I'll ever know ..." her voice trailed off.

The lump of lead expanded in my stomach, creeping into my
chest. I wanted to tell her that she didn't have to continue.
I could see her shoulders shaking, her body quivering, her
hair trembling beside her downcast cheeks. Even so, I
don't think tears fell, but I couldn't see her face.

"So, you see," she finally whispered, "There is no Thanksgiving
for me. Not any more."

Stunned, I could only watch as Carole wearily pushed herself
to her feet, her socks whispering through the silence.
She looked at me for a moment, her eyes shiny, but tears
still unshed. Then she lowered her eyes and walked over to
the nearly empty boxes. Carefully, she placed the remainder
of her single slice back into the box and lowered the
lid.

I watched as the girl disappeared down the hallway, like a
ghost into the night.

                      <---===***===--->

"Oh my God, should I go to her?" Alison whispered.

Both Claire and I shook our heads slowly. I found my tongue
before Claire did.

"She's lived with it for a while. Let her be. She'll come back
when she's ready."

Alison nodded, though she kept glancing back at the hallway
as if expecting Carole to stride back through.

                      <---===***===--->

I'd thumbed down the volume of the television in an effort
not to disturb Carole, wherever she was, and whatever she was
doing. Alison and Claire had curled up on the opposite
sofa, but they seemed to be watching the mindless drivel as
much as I was. I saw pictures flash by without meaning or
thought.

The only slice of pizza that remained was Carole's half
eaten piece that lay lonely by itself in the box.

We all looked up as Carole entered. Her hair still looked
damp, but the strands no longer clung to her head like
wet fur. Her eyes were a little red, but her stride seemed
more steady and sure than it normally did.

The obvious question died on my lips. Her face broadcast for
anyone who cared to look that things weren't all right for
her -- what was the point in asking stupid questions?
But she seemed in control of herself, and that was more
than I was expecting.

Outside, the storm seemed to pick up intensity. A lightning
bolt lit up the room like a camera flash. The lights and
the television flickered, but didn't extinguish.

She smiled and held up her right hand. Grasped between
her fingers was a deck of cards, a diamond shaped red pattern
gracing their backs. Carole swallowed twice, as if wondering
if she should even be here. She seemed to come to a decision.

"Anyone know how to play poker?"

                      <---===***===--->

We set up the battered old card table near the window. Claire
wandered back to her room and returned with a silver can of
pennies that jingled as she walked. I faced the window with
Carole across from me, Alison to my left and Claire to my
right.

Claire counted out piles of pennies for each of us, until
we each had a dollar or so in a stack in front of us.

Gambling wasn't allowed on campus. Of course, for all we
knew, we were the only souls stirring on campus. Even the
dorm proctors had left for Thanksgiving. Didn't really
matter. The pennies were really only symbolic. There wasn't
real risk involved, and I thought that this was how the
girls wanted to play. A quiet diversion, nothing else.
Something to occupy our minds.

Outside, the storm howled around the building, lightning
occasionally crashing, the world reduced to a black sheet 
of water outside the windows. I thought I saw Alison shiver 
once as she glanced out beyond the glass.

The first four hands played out uneventfully. Claire won
two pots, Carole won one and I won the other.

As Carole prepared to deal the fifth hand, a bright flash
burned across my retinae, leaving multi-coloured bands
where the girls should have been. Only a moment later,
the building shook as if an earthquake had dislodged it
from its foundations. Dimly, I heard Alison and Claire 
scream beside me, though Carole seemed to take the sudden 
crash in stride.

The lights flickered once, then again, then finally plunged
us into complete darkness. Alison laughed lightly, but
shakily.

"Guess it's bedtime." Then after a pause. "Claire!"

After a few seconds, the emergency halogens washed away
the complete darkness replacing it with dim pools of
light along the two hallways that leaked into the
common room. I squinted, but couldn't see the cards in
my hand, though I could make out the silhouettes of the
girls still seated at the table.

Claire pushed herself up.

"Be back in a minute," she said. We all watched as she disappeared
down the hallway only to return a few moments later with candles
in her right hand.

She lit each in what seemed to be a blaze of light, dripping wax
onto the table and setting each candle into the makeshift
puddles and allowing them to harden. When she was done, a small
flame burned at each corner shedding only enough light to
read the cards. Candlelight flickered over the girls, and
for a while, I simply watched them.

We played two more hands.

Unfortunately, poker without risk is like riding in a flat
roller coaster -- there really isn't any point. For me, I
was enjoying the company in the blackout, but I really wasn't
surprised when Carole leaned back in her chair. For a
moment, I thought I saw a glint of impish joviality there,
something completely unexpected, especially given the
revelations of earlier this evening. However, if the game
had taken her mind off her grief, even for a while, I was
glad to see the sparkle of life there, even if I didn't
really know her all that well.

Carole dropped her cards on the table and leaned in 
conspiratorially.

"Do you want to make this game more interesting?" she
whispered.

                      <---===***===--->

I had been expecting her to suggest using real money instead of
the penny markers that we'd been betting carelessly up until
this point. I stared at her, actually unsure that she'd
uttered the words. This was Carole, the quiet, nerdy, super
intelligent, weird girl. It was difficult to shake the image.

I repeated her words incredulously.

"Strip poker?"

She nodded her head.

"None of us can afford real money, right?"

I certainly nodded at that.

"Why not, then?"

"Strip poker?" I said again. "You're kidding."

Carole cast me a cock-eyed glance in the candlelight.

"Are you afraid of something?"

I swallowed. "Afraid? Of what?"

She hesitated, gauging how far to push me. She shrugged.

"Afraid of losing to three girls? Are you embarrassed about
something?" She glanced meaningfully through the table
to where my crotch would have been. I flushed.

This was the same girl that we'd watched struggle through
the rain carrying a stack of library books as if they were a
lifeline? The same girl that barely said two words to anyone
unless severely pressed?

"You want to play strip poker."

She nodded. "I don't think I'll lose."

I glanced at Alison and Claire. They weren't any help. They
merely smiled and shrugged. They were willing if I was.

Carole spoke again, her voice animated.

"We'll still play with the pennies. One article of clothing
buys you a dollar's worth of chips. Ten cent bets, maximum. No
cheating. Pants, socks, shirts are the only items that
you can use -- oh, and underwear of course." Carole glanced
at me and shrugged. "Girls get an extra piece of clothing
if they are wearing bras, unless there are objections." She
paused. It didn't seem fair, but being outnumbered, I didn't
object. Carole leaned back in her chair. "Anyone can chicken
out at any point. Fair enough? If you don't want us to see
your ... thing ... you can bow out before you lose your shorts, 
Peter." I flushed. If anyone was going to bow out, assuming that 
I agreed to the game, it wouldn't be me. But it seemed fair enough, 
except for the bras counting as clothing. She clicked her tongue, 
staring up at the ceiling. "And if anyone loses all their clothing, 
we agree that the loser stays naked until morning."

She lowered her head, staring at me. I didn't know why she
was challenging me directly -- it seemed that the girls
to either side of me might object more so than I. However,
Alison and Claire remained silent, their lack of objection
implying consent.

I swallowed once. Poker without risk was like riding a flat
roller coaster. I raised my eyes slowly and captured hers.
I don't know why I agreed, but I did.

"Okay," I murmured.

                      <---===***===--->

Because of the nature of the game, someone always remains
clothed at the table. Sometimes two people, sometimes even
three if the pots are shared equally, and the loser is
literally losing her shirt. More often, one person is
lucky, and rakes in the pots, and over time, the three
others dwindle.

I sat comfortably, four stacks of pennies rising in my
pile. I tried not to stare, but it wasn't easy. The candlelight
flickered easily off the girls' skin, giving them an
ethereal beauty as they gazed at their cards. Not one had
complained beyond the expected groans as Claire or Alison
had to trade an item of clothing for chips.

Alison's jeans and socks lay neatly folded near her
bare feet. Claire's shirt, jeans, and socks lay crumpled
on the ground. She wore a dark coloured bra that matched
her panties. Claire seemed unfazed at her condition,
unembarrassed and still betting as if she were still
fully clothed. Carole sat across from me. A string of
bad luck had claimed only her socks, one at a time.
Her bare toes dug into the floor as she concentrated
on her cards.

I dealt the cards one at a time. No wild cards. No silly
rules. Straight poker. We all tossed in the ante before
lifting the cards. Claire groaned as she picked up the
hand. Alison, still to my right, sighed. I'd been able
to read Alison and Claire pretty much all night, calling
their bluffs and understanding the difference between
pairs and three of a kind merely by the set of their 
frowns.

Carole had been much harder to read. As Carole picked up
her cards, her eyes widened a touch, then settled back
into her more normal poker face. Carole shifted her
weight, peering at her hand, never raising her eyes
to mine in an attempt to read deceit.

Claire folded, a noise of disgust passing her lips. The cards
fluttered to the table. Alison tossed ten pennies into the
pot, looking apprehensively at Carole. Carole called, as did
I.

Alison drew three, Carole drew one, and I drew three. I
swiftly sorted my hand, my eyes widening. The pair of
twos I held were joined by another two, and a pair of
jacks, both black. A full house, lately, had been very
difficult to beat. Alison's face fell as she sorted her
hand. Carole sat across from me, watching me impassively.

"Carole?" I said. It was her turn to bet.

Carole glanced at Alison, then at me, and licked her
lips.

"Want to make it even more interesting?"

                      <---===***===--->

"Hey, we had a betting limit," Alison cried and glared at Carole.

Carole merely shrugged, staring at me. Butterflies flittered in
my stomach. This seemed like a poor idea. If it was a bluff, it
was a hell of a bluff.

Resigned, Alison shook her head and dropped her cards on the
table. "I'm out," she whispered, crossing her arms under
her breasts.

Carole stared at me, her eyes shiny in the candlelight.

"I want to bet four dollars," she repeated.

I heard Claire clear her throat gently to my right.

"Carole ..." she whispered.

Carole carefully fanned her cards out on the table, face down,
and leaned back into her chair. Her eyes unfocused, and she seemed
to be peering into a realm that was beyond our ability to comprehend.
I suddenly knew that I didn't want to hear what she was about
to tell us.

"I called my boyfriend last week," Carole murmured towards
the ceiling. Alison's jaw fell, and I wanted to reach over
and close it for her. But her reaction was exactly what I
felt. Carole had a boyfriend? "I called him to wish him a
happy Thanksgiving, even if I no longer celebrate it. It
rang a long time. A really, really long time."

She paused here, staring at the ceiling where rings of
flickering light danced.

"Beth picked it up."

"Beth?" Claire whispered.

"Beth. She's my best friend. Was my best friend."

Carole paused again.

"I thought I'd dialled the wrong number. She seemed out of
breath as she said 'Hello', her voice husky and low. But
I recognised her. 'Beth?' I said. I was about to ask her
if I had dialled the wrong number." Carole closed her eyes 
here, her shoulders hitched once, but she didn't lose control.
"She said she was sorry, so sorry, and then hung up. I
stared at the phone for a long time, then hung it up as
the dial tone changed. I didn't call him back."

Carole fished in her jeans without looking down. Between
her fingers emerged a worn scrap of paper that looked like
it had been folded and unfolded many times. She passed it
to Alison who held it as if it was made of crystal.

"I know what this is," she whispered.

"It arrived two days ago, in the mail," Carole whispered.

Alison passed it unopened to Claire, who passed it to me.
The paper was still warm from Carole's body heat. Slowly,
I opened the paper. Within, a masculine hand had scrawled
a quick note. In the flickering of the candles, I could
make out most of it, though I didn't want to.

Dear Carole. Three months. Beth. Sorry. Forgive me.

There were more words than that: explanation, regrets. Didn't
really matter. It was over for Carole, and had been for a while,
even if she hadn't known it.

I swallowed and refolded the letter along the worn lines.
Wordlessly, I passed it to Alison who laid it atop Carole's
cards.

"He was sleeping with her for three months and didn't tell me." 
Then fiercely. "I had to call him and catch him." She paused for
a moment. "He was having sex with her even while he was
telling me that he didn't 'feel' like it with me. He didn't
call me once since I moved up here."

Carole swallowed hard. Apparently I wasn't the only one
that had hidden reasons for avoiding home on the holidays.
She lowered her eyes and watched me expectantly.

"I want to bet four dollars," she whispered.

                      <---===***===--->

I glanced at Claire and then at Alison. Alison nodded almost
imperceptibly, and I slowly turned back to Carole. Gently, I 
pushed four stacks of pennies into the pot where they stood like 
four skyscrapers between us.

Carole nodded and quietly picked up her Dear Jane letter
and returned it to her pocket. Then she slowly pushed her
remaining pennies into the pile. The understanding was
implicit. She still wore a t-shirt, her jeans and presumably
a bra and panties underneath. Four more dollars in clothing.

If she won, she raked in the pot and bought back her socks
putting us pretty much on even footing again. If she lost ...

Carole picked up her cards again, squinting at them and
swallowing heavily. When she looked back at me, her eyes
glistened with unshed tears again. This time, she didn't
run from the room. I had the uneasy feeling that Alison,
Claire, and I were the only human beings on the planet to
share in Carole's life. And suddenly, perhaps a premonition
of what was to happen, I didn't want to be there.

Carole slipped a forefinger into the neckline of her
t-shirt, tugging gently before realising what she was
doing. Her face remained impassive except for the
shiny wetness coating her eyelids.

"Call," I whispered.

                      <---===***===--->

"One," Carole said grimly, pushing her discard across the
table past the skyscrapers. I closed my eyes. Dear God,
she was drawing to an inside straight. I stared at my
full house and shook my head. I drew nothing.

There was nothing left to bet -- not for her -- so all
Carole did was raise her eyes, still shiny, to regard
me, watching for anything to give away my hand. It simply
didn't matter any more.

To her credit, Carole maintained her composure as Alison and
Claire shifted uncomfortably watching her and then me
alternating like they were watching a match at Wimbledon.

There was no hint of discomfort or fear in Carole's voice.

"Whatcha got?" she whispered.

I swallowed heavily, and fanned out the full house in front
of me. Jacks over twos. I watched as her face crumbled for
a moment. I'll give her credit for acting. For a moment, I
thought that she was going to fall apart in front of us.

A bright flash of lightning lit up the room, and after a
few seconds, a deep rumble rolled over us. Carole didn't
flinch, but Alison and Claire did.

"Better than me," Carole whispered staring at my hand. She 
dropped her cards face down in front of her. The cards lay in a
neat fan.

"Carole," I began, "you don't have to ..."

With a grim smile playing across her lips, Carole pushed
herself to her already bare feet and stood.

                      <---===***===--->

Without any hint of embarrassment, Carole unhurriedly began to
remove her clothes. Mesmerised, I watched her.

In one fluid motion, she drew her t-shirt over her head,
her hair falling in a loose cascade over her shoulder.
Carefully, she smoothed the fabric and folded it, leaving
it on her vacant chair. Her jeans slipped down her legs,
and she stepped out of them, bending to shake them out and
fold them to join with her top. She reached behind herself,
and fumbled for a moment with the clasp to her bra. Alison
and Claire shifted uncomfortably, watching Carole, a morbid
fascination in the girl.

Carole hesitated, drawing in her breath. To me, it didn't
seem as much embarrassment as steeling herself for an arctic
wind to kiss her chest. I almost missed it as she leaned
forward and allowed the underwear to drop away from her
breasts. I couldn't breathe.

I glanced at Alison. The brunette sat nearly stunned in
her chair, her mouth slightly open as she watched Carole.
I returned my eyes to the nearly naked girl across from
me.

Carole inhaled audibly, then let her breath out as she
pushed her panties to the floor. She left them there, only
kicking them aside with her foot. Instead of covering herself
with her hands, as I'd expected, she lowered her hands to
brush at the sides of her bare thighs. She stood proudly,
defiantly, her nudity exposing who she really was. She had
nothing to be ashamed of.

She broke the silence.

"Four dollars," she whispered. "We're even."

Carole reached forward and plucked one of the candles from
the corner of the table. Its light played over her bare
skin and hair, flickering, kissing, caressing. In its light, she
looked like an angel -- innocent and ethereal.

Then Carole straightened, though she didn't raise her eyes
to capture any of ours. The silence stretched.

I thought that she might sit again, even though she was out
of the game, but instead, she glided forward, her bare feet
silent against the floor. Only the pounding of the rain outside,
and her soft breathing, filtered into my consciousness.

I felt her touch before I realised what she wanted. I shook myself, 
expecting her touch to be cold and damp and sad. Instead, her 
fingers against my hand were warm and soft. Almost in a daze, I
pushed myself up, her fingers guiding me. The candle flickered
between us, her skin pale, my shirt feeling coarse against my
chest. Her scent, feminine, reminding me vaguely of baby powder, 
rode above the gentle scent of candle wax.

Two chairs clattered back. Carole ignored them, her
eyes tracing my chest. I lifted my eyes past Carole's
hair. Alison and Claire stood awkwardly behind Carole.
Alison touched Carole's bare shoulder.

"It's late," Alison whispered. "Thanks for the game."

Carole turned and nodded once. Quickly, Alison bent and
retrieved her few items of clothing, and Claire mimicked
her. Together, they disappeared down the hallway, carrying
their clothing. I heard a single door close quietly
somewhere, and then silence returned, except for the
rain and Carole's breathing.

A tug to my fingers set my feet in motion. Numbly,
I followed Carole into the dimness of the hallway.
I glanced back once. Carole's clothing lay neatly
about her chair, lonely. I turned away, hurrying to
catch up with the small pool of flickering flame.

                      <---===***===--->

Her hands seemed remarkably small and delicate against
my shoulders. She didn't push with any real force, but
I willingly fell where she wanted me. Her bed was small,
a standard single issue that we all had inherited upon
moving into this place. I lay half on and half off
the bed staring up at her as she stood in front of me,
still no attempts at covering her nudity.

"I can't dress 'til morning. Rules," she whispered.

"Carole ..."

She shook her head slowly. "Peter. I don't want to be
alone. Not with the storm. Not tonight. Please?"

I swallowed heavily, staring up into her eyes. Her eyes
radiated warmth, even while they reflected the flickering
light of the candle as pools of molten liquid. I pushed myself 
up until I sat on the edge of the bed, my toes digging into
the floorboards. Carole stepped back a single pace. I stared at 
her bare feet. For some reason, her feet, devoid of covering 
while the rain lashed her window, seemed to emphasise her strength 
and her vulnerability at the same time.

"Carole ... I have a girlfriend. Back home. Her name is Karen."
I paused, and whispered the name again. "Karen."

I thought she'd throw me out right then and there. I would have
deserved it. Instead, Carole sighed softly and turned on her
heel. For a second, I thought that she was going to pull open
a drawer and extract some clothes. Instead, she simply lowered
herself into a chair, still naked, and crossed her arms under
her breasts as if she were cold. She watched me for a moment
as I fidgeted. When she finally spoke, her voice wasn't much
above a whisper.

"I had a boyfriend back home, too," she whispered. Her eyes
lowered to watch her bare legs. When she raised her eyes again
to mine, she refused to let me go. "Do you love her?" she asked.

Such a simple and damning question. Did I love Karen? I swallowed,
knowing the answer to that. Brad knew the answer, and even, I suspect,
Karen herself knew the answer.

I couldn't tear my eyes from Carole's. I should have been drinking
in her body, losing myself in her curved breasts, her toned legs, her 
flat belly. Her eyes held mine, adamant and searching. I couldn't 
speak.

Slowly, I shook my head. I was no better than the heartless slob
that had broken this girl's heart. Lower than snails. Lower
than dirt. I didn't love Karen, at least not as she wanted.

Carole finally lowered her eyes, and relieved, I let my eyes
drop. I didn't ogle her. I stared at a single board in the floor
near her left toes, the oak shimmering in the faint light
of the candle that still graced her fingers.

"Peter," Carole whispered. "You aren't a coward. You have to
tell her."

I knew. God, how I knew.

The spot on the floor I was staring at disappeared as her
body slipped through it. Tears filled her eyes as she fell
to her bare knees onto the floor and shuffled across the room.

For a few moments, she knelt near her bedstand, the flame of
the candle flickering crazily across the walls and her bed.
Then it stabilised, and she turned. Silent tears dripped
down her cheeks, and she made no attempt to brush them away.

Slowly, she moved on her knees until she knelt between my
thighs, her hands warm through the denim. She rose up,
her skin close and soft, her bare breasts touching my shirt.

She kissed me, her mouth warm, inviting, and soft.
Without thought, my arms encircled her, and she stiffened
for only a moment as my fingertips brushed the softness
of her back. Her tongue flicked across my lips. I ached.
All over. I ached for her.

She broke the kiss, and an emptiness filled me.

"I don't want to be alone tonight," she whispered.

Outside, the tempest raged on, pattering drops of water against
the glass of her window. Thunder rolled across us, and lightning 
pushed its way through the closed blinds to light up the room like 
camera flashes, temporarily overpowering the single candle.

I closed my eyes, the flickering of the candle still visible,
even while her image faded. My hands slipped across her back,
light as a feather, brushing her sides, and finding her breasts.
Carole gasped once, and then pressed herself against me,
her lips hungry and insistent.

                      <---===***===--->

She paused, hovering over me, her naked body reflecting in the light
of a single flame. Her fingers held me upright, throbbing between
her legs, ready to impale herself upon me. She swallowed, breathing 
heavily. Tears still ran unchecked down her cheeks, but it seemed 
right somehow -- to try to comfort her unthinkable. She cried unabashedly, 
even while she made love to me, somehow as cleansing for her as the 
act itself.

She raised her eyes to the ceiling, and gently lowered herself
onto me, engulfing me -- warm, moist, and full -- in a single
motion of her body.

For a while, I enjoyed her slow rocking, one body where there
had been two before. I watched her beauty as she slowly moved
above me, gently, but insistently, stilling my own movements
with guiding touches. I didn't mind, and let her find her own 
path.

Gently, I reached up to her, fingertips tracing her nipples,
her breasts, her belly, her thighs, her knees, as she moved
achingly slow. Up. Down. Rock. Up. Down. Rock.

She sighed as my fingers found her clitoris. I could feel her
motion, her rhythm, unlike any woman I've ever been with.
Tears coursed down her cheeks like ancient rivers.

With my fingers guiding her, she increased her rhythm. As 
unstoppable as a hurricane, I felt her tremble; my fingers 
stroked her skin, her clitoris, her being. Thunder crashed 
around us, the building trembling in the storm's fury. Her lips 
parted, and she cried out softly -- not a scream, but nearly a 
sigh, encapsulating freedom, pleasure, and release mixed together 
in harmony. Her muscles contracted around me, and my own eyes 
closed to the image of her climax as orgasm rushed over me, a stab 
of lightning followed by thunder, my voice mingling with her sigh.

                      <---===***===--->

A bright ray of light woke me. Disoriented, I refused to open my
eyes, listening for the sounds of last night's storm, or the familiar
ticking of my ancient alarm clock. Neither were present, but I became
aware of an unfamiliar softness pressed against my left side.

I opened my eyes. Sunlight streamed through the crack in Carole's
blinds, striking my face in a painful glare. I blinked.

She lay naked beside me, her head cradled in the crook of my arm,
her golden hair fanned out across my chest, the softness of her breasts
pressing into my ribs. One delicate hand lay across me, the 
fingers encircling my nipple.

I blinked again, gently lifting her arm and slipping out from under
her. She snuffled, and turned over, presenting the curve of her bare 
back to me, the curls of her spine meeting her bottom somewhere under
the sheets.

Silently, I rose and gathered my clothes from the floor where Carole
had tossed them last night. The candle had transformed into a useless
pool of wax with a blackened tip of wick emerging. The puddle of
wax stood on her bedstand, presumably flickering out sometime in the 
deepest night. I pulled my boxers over my legs, and leaned down,
hopping quietly to slip my jeans over my feet.

"Whatcha doing?" Her voice whispered dreamily from the bed.

I nearly fell as I turned, my jeans half up my thighs.

She'd turned back over, curled up, her hands under her cheek.
The bright sunlight slashed across her cheek, but she'd positioned
herself so that the beam didn't intersect her eyes that remained
closed. Her bare breasts peeked out between her arms, the
sheet covering her only to her waist. Her body rose and fell as
she breathed there.

"Dressing," I said simply. My voice sounded hollow and empty
echoing through her small room.

"I can't," she said.

For a moment, her words puzzled me, then the 'rules' flooded
back into my memory.

"It's morning," I said. "You're allowed."

She smiled without opening her eyes. I wanted to see her eyes.

"I don't want to," she whispered. "And my clothes are out in the
common room."

"Surely ..."

She shook her head sleepily. Truthfully, I didn't want her to
dress anyway. I pulled my shirt over my head, settling it around
my waist.

I knelt beside the bed. Memories of her moving forward on her
knees, naked, and kissing me made my chest ache. Gently, I
leaned over and kissed her forehead. She murmured something
that I couldn't make out.

"I have a phone call to make," I whispered.

Carole still didn't open her eyes. She only nodded.

                      <---===***===--->

Alison sat easily in the corner of the sofa, a red terry bathrobe
engulfing her. Her hair lay in tangled layers about her face, but
she looked awake and happy. As I entered the common room, she glanced 
up from the campus newspaper and flashed me a smile.

"Good morning," she said. "Or should I say afternoon?" If she was
surprised that I'd emerged from the direction of the female wing,
she didn't allow it to touch her face. Sunlight streamed in through the 
window to cover her like a blanket. She reminded me of a cat stretched 
out in a favourite sunbeam. "If you're looking for the showers, Claire 
has a monopoly on them. Even kicked me out. She'll probably be done 
soon." She grinned evilly. "I'm next, though."

If I didn't know better, I would have said that Alison had that
just-laid look about her -- something about the set of her body. She 
glowed somehow. I probably did, too, but it's different with guys. 
But if she had been laid ... who? Again, I wondered about the rumour, 
dismissing it for the zillionth time. I probably just had sex on the
brain.

"I ... I have to make a phone call," I said dumbly.

Alison nodded, as if she knew what I was talking about, and
waved towards the phone sitting like a beacon on the far wall.
Alison returned to the newspaper as I determinedly stepped
across the room and lifted the receiver from its cradle.
The dial tone greeted me with a muted buzz.

Trying not to think about it, I pressed the buttons in a
pattern with which I was far too familiar.

                      <---===***===--->

Karen's voice issued tinny and far away from the earpiece. She
sounded happy.

"Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?"

I swallowed and gripped the handset.

"Karen?" I whispered into the phone.

"Peter? Is that you?"

I paused again. Alison glanced up from her paper, and pushed
herself up. Her bare feet whispered across the floor, and she
bent as she approached where I was sitting. The terrycloth
about her shoulders looked warm and soft.

Alison bent and kissed my forehead.

"You're doing the right thing," she whispered in my ear. Her
breath was as warm and sexy as Carole's had been. I had no
idea how Alison might know who Karen was, even if she'd overheard
my only contribution to the strange conversation.

With that, Alison straightened and stepped soundlessly towards
the hallway. Dimly, I heard a shower cease somewhere down the
hallway. I stared as Alison dropped the robe near the common
room entrance where it pooled near her feet like a fiery
puddle. I watched her naked back as Alison walked out of sight
around the corner, calling out to Claire as she moved.

"Peter?"

I shook my head, tearing my eyes away from where Alison had
disappeared.

"Peter? Are you still there? Peter?"

I gathered in my breath, and closed my eyes.

"Karen? We need to talk," I whispered.

"I know, Peter. I know."

                      <---===***===--->

I sat alone where Alison had been, her newspaper crumpled beside 
me. The sun streamed in to fall across my rumpled jeans.

The storm had left the world looking clean and refreshed.
A light breeze stirred a few coloured leaves across the
green lawn below. In my memory, I could see Carole fighting
through the downpour -- the strange, blonde girl who until last 
night none of us had known at all.

I wasn't sure that I knew her either, even now.

For a long time, I stared out into the sunshine.

                      <---===***===--->

The fan of cards lay like a talisman, beckoning me, calling me.

I pushed myself up off the sofa and approached the card table.
The three remaining candles had burned themselves into the same
puddle as the one that stood on Carole's nightstand. Probably
a fire hazard, but we were all still alive. The proctor would
have had a fit.

Carole's clothes lay innocently across her chair, except for
her black panties and socks that stood sentinel near the base of
where she'd sat.

I glanced at the entrance where Alison had disappeared. No
naked girl greeted me -- neither Alison nor Claire nor Carole. 
Gently, I picked up Carole's shirt, bringing it to my face. I 
inhaled deeply.

Oh, it smelled exactly like her. Feminine. Soft. Strong.
Vulnerable. Sweet. Musky. And a hint of woodsmoke. Sheepishly,
I lay it back on the chair, smoothing the fabric.

My eyes turned to the last hand that we'd played. The hand that
had lost Carole her clothes, and gained her something that I
wasn't sure that I'd ever fully understand. Five cards lying
innocently in a fan, placed there by her fingers.

                      <---===***===--->

I picked up the cards, even while my mind screamed at me to
let them lie where she'd put them. Somehow, I knew, even as my
eyes widened.

Five cards stared up at me while the implications of their
configuration suffused my being. The queen of hearts, fully
visible, smiled at me, followed in turn by her three
sisters. The ace of spades sat lonely on the end, mocking me
with its uncomplicated simplicity.

Four of a kind. We were four of a kind here, alone but not, this
Thanksgiving.

I replayed the last hand in my mind. Carole only ever drawing one
card -- to an inside straight that wasn't. There wasn't a mistake
here. I stared at the five cards for a long time. A natural
four of a kind. Impossible.

And she'd tossed it on the table as if it were a bluff hand,
high to the king. Maybe.

I blinked once, my mind wandering from Carole, to Karen, to
Claire, to Alison, and back to Carole.

Then I gently returned the cards to the table, carefully fanning
them as she'd dropped them.

                      <---===***===--->

I didn't know if she'd want them, or whether she'd even want them
delivered by me. Without real thought, I gathered her jeans, her
t-shirt, her socks, her panties and her brassiere into my arms.
Her scent suffused me, rising from her clothing like perfume.

I turned at the door, staring at the five cards that held a
secret lying innocently upon the card table. I shook my head, returned 
to the table and picked up the top card. I placed it face down upon 
the stack of her clothes, smiling. Then I returned to the hallway, 
and headed back towards her room.