How Wally Fucked an Alien: Part One

Wally came to consciousness slowly and painfully, with a growing awareness that that he was sitting up and leaning on an uncomfortably round, hard surface. Something was pressing into his cheek and nudging his mouth open slightly, and there was a feeling of wetness between his lips. He gulped and tried to open his eyes. The world looked blurred and very bright.
“I'm in my car,” he thought, and closed his eyes again. He started to cast around in his mind for answers. A horrible feeling of disorientation was crushing his mind and slowing down his ability to put his finger on exactly what was going on. His head ached and he felt horrible. Somewhere, in the very back of his mind, a little voice struck up a nagging call that seemed to be trying to tell him something important.

Carefully opening his eyes, he looked around the car and tried to asses the situation. He was sitting in the front seat of his car and had been slumped over with his head on the steering wheel for what felt like a long time. His face, the steering wheel, and a small patch of his pant leg were wet with saliva. Automatically Wally fished around under his seat until he pulled out a crumpled napkin, which he used to dab at the wet surfaces as he fought to remember what was going on. The car was parked on a majestic lookout point on a cliff high above the ocean. Occasionally another car would drive by on the road behind him, slowly crossing his rear view mirror before disappearing from sight. His car was parked crookedly with its front fender riding up a huge boulder that had been placed there to prevent people from driving off the cliffside into the ocean below. He must have pulled to the side of the road before losing consciousness. Wally lived in Oakland, not very close to the beach. He looked out at the lovely seascape with bewilderment.

Suddenly, it all came back. Jim! He was supposed to meet his old friend Jim at a cliffside restaurant up the coast in Big Sur. Jim wanted to show him something. That was it. He sat up in his seat but a wave of dizziness made him sit back and clutch at his head with his hands. He looked at the clock on his car radio and cursed. He was supposed to be there in less than an hour, and now he was in no shape to start driving again.

“I really fucked up this time,” he moaned to himself. “God, I'm such a useless son of a bitch. Jim of all people. I haven't gotten to see him in years and then suddenly he calls me up and now I can't even go on a fucking drive to meet him. What a fucking miserable nightmare.”

* * *

Wally was sitting in the back seat of Jim's blue van with a girl named Kathy. Jim was driving with his girlfriend Cindy in the front seat. Their friend Gary was sitting in the middle. It was a beautiful spring day and Wally felt a feeling of intense joy every time they would climb a hill and he could see the San Francisco bay spread out and glistening blue below them. It was warm enough to open the windows, and the sun shone on Kathy's wild brown hair and brought out red and golden tones that had been hidden in the shadows. Everyone was laughing and joking and having a wonderful time.
They turned onto Oak street and drove by the park. Here the sun gave way to a blissful shade and the smell of eucalyptus trees. Wally loved they way the bark peeled off the eucalyptus in chunky strands that you could pull off easily with your fingers.
Here and there in the grass there were groups of people sitting on blankets, having picnics, playing music or just enjoying the sun. Here Jim slowed down a little because they were all looking for people they knew. Jim touched Cindy's arm and pointed at a girl walking down the path playing a tiny ukulele.
“That's Anne,” he said. “Her dad was a spy in World War Two but now he has a peg-leg and does nothing but sit around and smoke grass all day.”
“I wish he was my dad,” said Cindy.
A short, squat figure with a cowboy hat, stringy brown hair, an embroidered leather jacket and an acoustic guitar was making his way in the other direction, making violent strumming motions and weaving back and forth. He saluted Anne as she passed.
“Jim, hey, wait, look, it's the troll guy!” said Gary, leaning forward and smacking the window with his open hand. “Pull over!”
Jim laughed, pulled over, and reached over Cindy's lap to pull open the door. Cindy giggled.
“Hey!” he shouted. “C'mere!”
The troll guy wobbled over to the window and struck a pose. He strummed a chord on his guitar.
“CHAIN CHAIN CHAIN, CHAIN OF FOOLS!” he yelled. “ALL RIGHT! WHOO! YOU'RE LUCKY, MAN, YOU'RE LUCKY HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! HAVE A-”
Jim slammed the door shut. The troll guy took a shaky step back and saluted. Cindy waved and they took off again.
“All right, this trip's gotten its official blessing! Now we're ready to go!” said Jim.
Wally lay back in his seat and smiled happily. He had never felt so free in his entire life. His dad would probably disown him if he saw the crowd in the van. Wally's dad was very strict and disapproved of hippies.
“I'm glad I ran into all of you today,” he said. “I was just going to do some schoolwork today but you guys saved me.”
“Right on,” said Jim. Wally glanced at Kathy, but she was looking out the window.
“I think I'm going to grow a beard,” he said, after a few seconds of silence.


Wally drove the rest of the way to the restaurant very slowly, accumulating a long string of cars behind him. He felt sick and there was a terrible ringing in his ears which seemed to grow louder every time he would have to take a curve in the road that sent him way out on the cliffside, only feet away from plummeting down to the rocks below. As the time went by he felt more and more miserable, and when the hour that he was supposed to meet Jim- 2:00- came and went, he felt like he wanted to cry.

Jim was Wally's best friend from back in college. He was a remarkable human being, someone who had wandered from job to job and place to place after graduating college and then suddenly inherited a large sum of money from his elderly aunt, which he spent on a huge Victorian house in San Francisco. Jim had recently sold the house for four million dollars. That was the way things worked for Jim. Just when it seemed like he might be stuck in a dead end he would get handed a fortune on a silver platter. He was also unusually handsome and intensely charismatic. He had never had any trouble meeting girls in college. They hadn't seen each other much over the last several decades, although Wally always tried to call Jim up every year or so and sent him a card every December for Christmas.
Wally, for his part, had spent the last thirty-five years also drifting from place to place and job to job, eventually settling down with the Oakland Post Office. He had recently gone on disability leave for an unfortunate accident, during which he had slipped in the office and hit his head on the right-hand corner of a heavy oak desk. He had come out with a skull fracture and a double concussion, and a range of symptoms that had lingered on for months. He tried not to drive much since the accident, especially longer trips, but he had been forced into it by a sudden and unexpected call from Jim, inviting him to lunch in Big Sur, about three hours down the coast. Why they had to meet in Big Sur Wally wasn't too sure, but the message Jim had left on his phone was intriguing.
"Hi Wally, this is Jim. Remember me? Look, I don't know what you've been up to lately or what your time schedule is like right now, but if you get this message you should come and meet me at Mel's Burgers on highway 1 in Big Sur this Saturday at two. I know it's a long drive but there's something I'd like to show you. I won't be around a phone for a while so don't try to call me back. Just meet me at the restaurant, if you can. Well, maybe I'll see you then."
When Wally finally pulled into the parking lot of Mel's Burgers and Seafood it was 3:00. His mouth was dry and his heart was racing. He spent some time dabbing at his mouth with his paper towel again and straightening his hair before he got out of the car.
Mel's Burgers and Seafood looked like a ritzy place that was attempting, on the outside, to give off the air of being an old-fashioned rustic diner. A menu was posted at the door in a little glass case with tiny lightbulbs around it and a rusty horseshoe nailed to its thick wooden frame. Wally looked through the glass. A hamburger was $12. A pint of Blue Swordfish Pale Ale was $6. Wally looked at his watch. It was 3:10. Feeling apprehensive, he pulled up at the waistband of his sweatpants and opened the door.
Wally walked into the restaurant and scanned the room anxiously for Jim. Here the small-town diner effect gave way to an equally rustic nautical theme. There was a compass and a big stuffed swordfish mounted on the wall next to the big, shiny windows that captured a breathtaking view of the rugged cliffsides that led to the water below. A busty blond waitress was circulating the room under a set of huge wooden ceiling fans that spun very slowly above her head. Wally glanced around, avoiding the attention of the waitress for the time being, until he finally spotted his Jim sitting at a small corner table at the back of the restaurant He was slouched down with a mostly-eaten plate of fries and a pint-glass of beer under the towering presence of the two walls behind him. He was wearing a red and black plaid shirt and had a little bit of gray stubble on his chin. He was staring at his hands with a pensive look on his face, and when Wally waved at him and walked over to the table he sat up and nodded.
"Hi, Jim, I'm sorry I'm late," Wally said after a small moment of awkward silence. "I thought you'd be gone by now, and I wouldn't have blamed you for it. I don't blame you for eating already, either. An hour is a pretty long time to wait." Jim shrugged and took a sip of his drink. Wally sat down and indicated the glass in Jim's hand. "How's the beer?"
"I almost thought you weren't coming," said Jim, and then looked down at the beer and shrugged. "It's OK. Miller Hi-Life."
"Oh," said Wally. "I thought they served microbrew at this place or something."
"Well, they do, I guess, but that stuff's too damn expensive and I don't think it's any good anyway," said Jim.
"Oh," said Wally. "Well, I might get myself one of those pints of Miller, too, now that I see you have one. I got pretty thirsty out there, and my head hurts like hell. Do you want another one? I feel like I should get you something for having waited so long."
"No thanks," said Jim.
Wally racked his brain for conversation ideas. He forgot if he'd told Jim about the accident or not, but he didn't want to bring it up right away, especially since Jim hadn't asked. He glanced over the menu in silence. "Hamburgers any good here?" he asked after a while.
"They're OK," said Jim.
"Oh. Good," said Wally. He stared at the menu. After a while the waitress came over and filled his glass of water, and asked if he'd like something to start out with. He ordered a beer and the waitress walked off.
Flies were buzzing lazily around the airspace between the tables and the large, slow-moving ceiling fans. Wally sat very still and focused his attention on the waitress's ass as she walked around the room. Wally flicked his finger in her direction when she turned away from them and walked into the kitchen.
"Pretty girl," he said.
Jim nodded and took a sip of his beer.
“How's your wife?” Wally asked after a while.
“We've been divorced for five years,” said Jim.
“Oh really? I had no idea. I'm sorry.”
Jim shrugged.
"Hmm. Well. Know any cheap restaurants around here?"
"Not really. Everything around here's too expensive. It doesn't matter much to me, though, I guess."
"Oh wow, yeah, I guess it doesn't,” said Wally. "Congratulations. I don't think I've seen you since you sold your house. How's life been for you now that you're a millionaire?"
"Boring," said Jim. "That's why I come down here."
"Oh yeah? Well, I'm looking forward to seeing whatever it is you wanted to show me," asked Wally.
"It'll be great," said Jim.
The waitress came back up to the table with Wally's beer.
"Have you decided yet?" she asked nicely, setting down the beer and posing with her pen and paper.
"Oh, I'll just have a Special Mel hamburger with sweet pickle sauce," said Wally. "The picture on the menu makes it look so good."
"Sure, it's our biggest favorite," she said, showing plenty of cleavage as she picked up Wally's menu. "It comes with a side of salad. What kind of dressing would you like? We have raspberry vinaigrette, garlic tahini, creamy cilantro, and ranch."
"I'd like French, please."
"We actually don't have French."
"Oh, ok. Well, ranch, then," said Wally.
"Sure!" The waitress scribbled on her pad with a flourish and walked away.
When the waitress left, Wally picked up his napkin and set it on his lap. "So. What is this thing that you wanted to show me? I have to say, I'm curious. That message on my phone really left me guessing. I've been wondering about it all week; I mean, we haven't really been in touch the last few years, so it was kind of a surprise to hear from you."
Jim shrugged his left shoulder and stared into his beer. "Well, it's not something that I can really describe. It's more like something you're going to have to see for yourself. We can go there when you're done eating."
"I'll try to finish quickly, then," said Wally.
"Take your time," said Jim. "We can go anytime, day or night. Of course, it all depends on when you want to get back home. I don't have anything else to do."
"Oh, I don't really have anything to get back to," said Wally. "I haven't been working lately. I'm out on disability right now, actually. I had a head injury a while ago and I'm still recovering."
"That's too bad," said Jim.
"Well, I've been managing okay. The only thing is that I've been having dizziness and fainting spells sometimes. That's actually why I'm so late. I had a fainting spell while I was on my way here. I had to sit in my car until I felt okay to drive again, and then I had to drive slow. I'm sorry."
"My God," said Jim. "And you still came in and ordered yourself a beer and hamburger? Are you suicidal? You should be at home right now, and not out driving around on the roads!"
"Oh, I'm all right," said Wally. "I've spent enough time at home over the last few months. I'd hate to miss out on our adventure. I've been looking forward to it ever since I got your message."
Jim rested his forehead on his hand and stared into his beer. "My God," he repeated, quietly, and then, after a moment, "Wally, I want to be honest with you. To get to the place we're going, we're going to be driving down some rough unpaved roads and then we'll have to walk up a trail through the woods. It's definitely going to be... physical. Are you sure you're up for it?"
"I can handle it," said Wally firmly. "I'll be fine."
"Well, alright then," said Jim. "But I can't let you drive. You can ride with me in my truck."
"Fine," said Wally. "You can take me back to my truck later and I can drive myself home."
Jim shook his head. "Jesus," he said.
The waitress came up to their table. "Burger and salad!" she announced, sliding the plate in front of Wally.

Wally sat in Jim's white pickup truck as they drove out of the restaurant's parking lot and onto the highway. After about five miles Jim turned abruptly up a side road and surged up the hillside. Wally held his head protectively as they scraped and jolted along, and Jim shot sharp glances in his direction but did little to reduce his speed. The patchy pavement turned into pure gravel and then into dirt. Jim's white truck was taking Wally further away from civilization than he had gone in a long time. After a few minutes, Jim pulled to the side of the road and cut the engine.
"Well, here we are," he said. "Where we're going is a trailer up the hill. What I'm going to show you is inside. It'll be about a quarter-mile walk." They got out of the truck. Wally looked around and saw to his surprise that they were parked in a fairly well-used looking parking area.
"Do a lot of people come up here?" Wally asked as Jim led him back down the road and up a little trail that led up the hill and into the forest.
"Oh, probably more than should come up here," said Jim, "but then again, it's not my property. If I owned this place I wouldn't let anyone up here at all."
"Except me," corrected Wally.
"Including you," said Jim.
Wally's face burned with a strange and sudden feeling of humiliation. He stopped walking. "Well, hell, Jim, I don't understand," he said. "If you don't want me to come up here, then why-"
Jim waved his hand and interrupted him. "It doesn't matter. The owner of this place wants it to be open to people who might benefit from it. One of the conditions of my coming here is that I had to bring someone else who it might do some good." He turned around and kept walking.
"Oh," said Wally. He hung his head but continued walking up the trail.
After roughly a quarter of a mile they reached a clearing, where a rusty old trailer was parked between two redwood trees up the narrow dirt trail that led out of the parking area. It wasn't a mobile home, as Wally had been expecting, but a very small camper trailer with loose chains still hanging from its hitch at the front that seemed like they were only waiting for a truck or van to come along and drag it to some sunny, less lonesome spot. The tires, however, had long since gone flat, and rival chains had been welded to the trailer's axles and hooked around both sturdy redwood trees. The camper had heavy black curtains hung from both windows and the door was locked with a tough-looking padlock. As they approached, a large dog ran out from a hiding place somewhere behind the camper and snapped to the end of its chain. It made a horrible snarling racket that only calmed down when Jim produced a piece of jerky from his pocket and threw it in the dog's direction. It snuffled around in the dirt and started snapping up the dried meat.
Jim produced a key from pocket and nodded his head towards the door.
"The man who owns this trailer gave me this key to use if he wasn't home, which was an amazing display of trust. That means that we need to leave this place exactly the way we found it. When you go in there, don't touch anything except the things that I say you can touch. You can sit or lie on the bed, but don't mess around with anything else unless I specifically say so. This is important, Wally. I don't know how many keys this guy has given out, but I think it's an honor that he trusts me like this. Be careful, and don't fuck it up."
Wally was speechless. Jim turned silently and opened the padlock. It made a sharp snapping sound as it opened. Jim put the padlock in his jacket pocket, opened the door, and stepped up into the camper. It rocked slightly after he was gone.
Wally stood outside, unwilling to follow. He felt insulted and a little bit frightened. He considered leaving. But where would he go? He could walk back down the road and would eventually make it back to the highway, which he could follow back to his truck. But what if he had another seizure? The redwood trees almost blocked out the sky and the fog made everything damp and gloomy. It was late afternoon, and the woods would only get darker and darker as time wore on. There was something solemn and lonely about the little camper on its rocky hillside under the towering trees that dangled dripping moss over its roof. And what about Jim? What made him speak so disrespectfully to Wally, who hadn't even seen him for so long?
Wally was still standing on the path when Jim stuck his head out of the trailer, saw Wally standing there, and laughed.
"Oh for Christ's sake, Wally, I didn't mean to scare you off. This is supposed to be fun! Come on in. And latch the door behind you, will you?"
Inside the camper, Wally blinked and shuffled in almost complete darkness. It smelled like musty blankets and old cigarette smoke, and there seemed to be a lot of clutter around his feet on the floor. Jim was fumbling around with an old camping lantern, and finally got it to produce a dim orange light, by which Wally could see the interior of the camper.
There was a miniature sink and stove with shabby cabinets mounted on the walls above them. On the other side, there was a bench that was overflowing with piles of clothes, books, and nameless odds and ends. On the far wall, in what might be called the farthest interior of the camper, there was a little bed with a high shelf above it that was stacked up with boxes. The bed was made with a scraggly wool blanket and two pillows with blue pillowcases. Cups, random clothes, empty jugs, and overflowing ash trays were scattered around the floor next to the bed.
Jim had told Wally he could sit on the bed, so that was where he sat. He folded his hands and watched Jim set the lantern on the counter and take another key out of his pocket.
"Here's the deal," said Jim. "I'm going to open this cabinet and take out a box. Then I'm going to step outside for a while. Take off your pants, open the box, lie down on the bed, and just let whatever happens, happen. When you're ready, come outside and we can talk."
"What do you mean, 'take off my pants?'" asked Wally.
"Just that," said Jim. "You'll see what I mean when the time comes. It doesn't have anything to do with me, either, if that's what you're thinking. It'll just be you and the alien."
Wally stood up from the bed, trembling forcefully. All his glorious expectations of seeing Jim again and their mysterious adventure came crashing down all at once in a horrible mess. The whole thing had just been a sick joke the whole time. He felt suddenly dizzy and had an overwhelming urge to go home. "Take me back to the highway," he demanded in a shaking voice. "Take me to the closest hotel. I feel sick and I need to go to sleep."
Jim started laughing. "There's no going back now," he said. "Don't be afraid to take your pants off, I told you, I won't look."
"What the hell is going on?" Wally shouted. He felt nauseous, and lights were starting to pulse in the corners of his vision.
Jim reached out, gripped Wally's shoulder, and sat him down on the bed. He crouched next to the bed on his heels and looked Wally straight in the eye.
"This may be the most amazing experience of your life, and I'm not joking." he said. "I know what you must be thinking right now, and God knows I had my doubts when I came here for the first time, myself. I'll tell you something, though. The experience that you're about to have could very well be the only reason I'm still alive on this earth. I was at the end of my rope when all that money came through, and investing most of it in real estate didn't help my mood all that much. It was a stupid decision and my stockbroker nephew talked me into it. What's a beach house going to be good for when this whole fucking state is going to be underwater in the next twenty years, anyway?"
Wally shrugged dejectedly. "It's better than a head injury," he said.
"True," said Jim, "but strangely enough a head injury is exactly what I had in mind. I had already bought the gun and had it ready. I was going to drive out to the Ventana Wilderness, park in the parking lot, and then just walk off trail until I found the right spot to blow my fucking brains out. I stopped at a bar to get a drink before I did it. That's where I met the guy who owns this trailer. I had lost all hope in the world until that day." He stood up and unlocked one of the cabinet doors, from which he produced a surprisingly large wooden box with a hinged top. It seemed heavy, and he strained to set it down gently on the floor next to the bed.
"Trust me, Wally," he said. "You can believe me or not, but don't make up your mind until you find out what's in that box. Remember when I gave you acid for the first time when we were in college? This is a little bit like that. You don't know what the hell's going on, but I'm here to help you figure it out. Now, I'm going to go outside and have a smoke. Latch the door behind me."
Jim left the camper, slamming the screen door behind him, and Wally was alone.
Feeling chagrined, Wally looked around the room. There was a stack of books next to the bed; he saw a lot of Piers Anthony, Arthur C. Clarke, and Orson Scott Card titles, and a lot of thick paperback novels with brightly-printed covers and names like "Starquest." The guy was a sci-fi nut. The clock was ticking and Wally still had his pants on.
After slowly examining the rest of the room, Wally confronted the box. His curiosity was starting to get the better of him. He opened the lid gingerly and peeked inside. It was too dark to see anything. He opened the box all the way and let the lid rest against the bed. Nothing happened. Wally got up, picked up the lantern, and slowly walked back to the box. He held the lantern at arm's length and carefuly filled the box with light.
There was a large, dark object at the bottom of the box, but no details emerged in the lantern's light. The object seemed inert and completely featureless. Wally stood still. The only sound he heard was his own breathing, which was coming a little faster than usual. His hand that was holding the lantern was trembling, and it made the light quiver slightly as it fell into the box. There was a horrible illusion of movement from the dark object and Wally impulsively stepped back and fled to the door, holding the lantern tightly in his hand.
"Jim?" he called, hoarsely. It was starting to get dark already, as the thick fog smothered the late-afternoon sun. There was no sign of Jim anywhere. Wally took a shaky step down, stood on the trail that led to the road, and looked around. He felt completely alone. Even the dog had disappeared into its hiding place, and made no sound when Wally left the camper. The air was cold on his skin and he felt a few drops of rain land on his face. Quickly, Wally set the lantern down on the stoop and set off down the trail back to the truck. He was almost all the way back to the parking area when he finally spotted the light of Jim's cigarette down by the road. Wally took a deep breath and noticed that his heart was pounding. Suddenly feeling foolish, he turned around and walked quietly back to the camper. He climbed the step, picked up the lantern, went inside, and latched the door behind him. Then he set the lantern back on the counter, grabbed the waistband of his sweatpants, pulled them down to his ankles, and quickly sat on the bed.
Nothing happened. Somewhere in the forest outside a woodpecker was pecking away at a tree. It made a loud, intermittent tapping sound. The air of the trailer was cold on his bare skin and he began to shiver slightly.
Wally thought hard about being back in college at San Francisco State. Those had been days of adventure. He remembered the first time he had done acid, very well.
He was walking up the Great California Highway from Golden Gate Park to the Cliff House on a Saturday afternoon, taking a break from a paper he had been working on. It was a windy day in the second week of his first semester at college, and the waves were rolling in high up onto the shore. He had paused to catch his breath and was looking out over the beach when a tall young man started to pass him on the sidewalk. The young man gave him a long glance and Wally recognized him suddenly from his history class at school. The young man had struck Wally as an impressive figure from the first day of class, when Wally witnessed him starting an argument with the professor about the political slant of the textbook as the rest of the students were leaving the room. He was obviously an intellectual, but also seemed distinctly fashionable and appeared to have a lot of friends. He exuded a sense of radical chique that seemed to attract people to him with ease.
"Hi. Wally, isn't it? San Francisco State? I think you're in my history class." the young man said, extending his hand.
"I'm sorry, I forgot your name." said Wally.
"Jim." they shook hands.
"Short for James?"
"No, just Jim. How about Wally? Short for Wallace?"
"No, Wallard."
"Wallard?" the young man looked perplexed. "That's an unusual one."
"It was my mother's maiden name," explained Wally, embarrassed.
"Oh, well. Groovy. Hey, I was just going down to the beach to meet a couple friends, would you like to come?"
"Sure," said Wally. They both started walking down the hill in the direction of the beach.
After a short walk they reached the sand and eventually came to a small group of students sitting on beach blankets by the cliff side. There was another young man who looked like a hippie and two attractive girls with long brown hair. One of the girls had a long pink skirt on and the other one was dressed all in white. Wally introduced himself to all of them, shyly, and sat down on the edge of one of the blankets with his legs sticking out awkwardly. He tried to keep his feet planted on the ground and not drag his cuffs in the sand. Jim whispered something in the other young man's ear and then sat on a rock near the blanket and kicked off his shoes.
"So, Wally," said Jim, "I was actually talking to my friends here about our learned professor just the other day. What do you think of him?"
"Professor Woodrow? I dunno. He's all right, I guess" said Wally.
"Don't you think he's just a little bit fascist? Have you noticed? The way he talks about the Reds like we're witnessing the return of the Black Plague? He's like Joe McCarthy in a ratty suit that smells like piss and mothballs."
The girls giggled. "I guess so," said Wally.
"Don't tell me you haven't noticed," said Jim.
"I guess he smells pretty bad. He's really boring, too" offered Wally. "I can never pay attention in that class. I keep almost falling asleep."
"Smart," said Jim. "You'll fill your head with less bullshit that way."
"Yeah," said Wally.
Jim turned to the others. "Well, shit. There you have it, I guess. But hey, what kind of a party is this, anyway? Alan? Don't you have something you'd like to show us?" Alan was the other young man.
Alan reached into his pocket and pulled out a little bag, from which he produced a small strip of paper. Wally thought he knew what was in the bag, and the thought jolted through his body like a shot of electricity.
"I was waiting for you, Jim," said Alan, tearing a square piece off the strip and handing it to Jim. Jim put it in his mouth and laughed, leaning back on his rock and kicking his feet into the air.
"He's been keeping us waiting," said the girl in white petulantly, and stuck out her tongue at Alan. Alan produced another square and placed it carefully on her tongue.
"Don't forget me," said the girl in pink. She took a dose, and then Alan took one. They all looked at Wally.
"Showtime," said Jim, sitting back up on his rock. "What do you think, Wally? Tell me. Are you shocked? Are you going to turn us in? Or do you secretly do acid all the time and you just don't show it?"
Wally blushed. "I've never done acid before, but I'm not shocked."
"What do you say, then? Are you going to join us?"
"I don't know," said Wally nervously. When Wally was nervous he had a habit of scratching his head, and he leaned his elbow on his knee and scratched deeply. Flakes of dandruff started to rain down on his shirt collar, and he stopped scratching and tried to brush them away. The girls glanced at each other.
"Are you freaked out, Wally?" said Jim, leaning forward on his rock. "You shouldn't be. From your perspective right now it may seem new and scary, but from our perspective you're like a monkey or an ape, and we're like supermen. You can be a superman, too, Wally. Anyone can. Just give yourself a fighting chance!"
"I'm not freaked out," Wally said. "Give me one."
"Just sit back and relax," said Jim.
Wally was sitting back. A warmness was spreading in the air just over the hairs on his upper thighs. He jumped, opened his eyes, and was instantly back in the camper. The lantern started to flicker and then, suddenly, went out. The only light was a pale blue smudge of outside light that lit up a small patch of floor under the curtains. The warmth spread, in the dark, to Wally's crotch, and then something dropped, suddenly, onto his lap. Wally shrieked.
There was a banging sound from the outside of the camper and Jim's voice shouted, "Settle down in there, Wally, I promise you you are OK!"
A wonderful feeling was spreading over Wally's unmentionables. He stopped screaming and froze. The thing was pulsing around on Wally's naked lap and it was starting to feel very pleasant, much to Wally's surprise and confusion. He bit his lip and looked around. After a few minutes the thing stopped pulsing and switched to an intense vibration that shook both Wally and the bed and made an audible buzzing sound. Wally gripped the blankets with both fists. Outside, he heard Jim's footsteps pacing back and forth.
"You alright in there, Wally?" Jim asked.
"Fine," Wally croaked, flicking his eyes for a second in the direction of the door. "Don't come in," he added, biting his lip as the vibrations increased.
"I wouldn't dream of it," said Jim, and Wally heard his footsteps retreat into the woods.
The next few moments were very strange. The vibrations slowly built up to a fever pitch that made Wally cry out, once, to the dark ceiling of the camper. Tears welled up in his eyes, and the dim light from the window jolted back and forth in a blur. He felt an intense orgasm coming on, almost beyond his control. His breaths came in gasps and he ground his teeth helplessly as he felt it building. Then, suddenly, at the very last moment, the world went black and Wally collapsed on the bed as if he'd been shot.


* * *

“Well, well, well, there you are,” said Wally, after a stretch of not seeing Jim hanging around at his favorite coffee shop. “I've gone into Grounds to see you but I never see you in there anymore. Where're you been lately? ”
“Hiding out, man, and that's about it” said Jim. “I've been getting ready to move down to Socal for a bit to hang out with Cindy so I've been trying to get my shit together, not really hanging out too much, y'know.”
“Oh, you're leaving me behind, then? I see. Very tricky. Where in Socal are you going? When are you moving?”
“Pretty soon, I don't know, I guess I'll have to earn a little more money so I'll be pretty busy for a while.''