From: Kel TITLE: Seminal Events BY: Kel and Trelawney CATEGORY: Pre-XF. HUMOR CLASSIFICATION: NC-17, for sexual acts between girl and boy, girls and boys, woman and boy, boy and fist, and the contemplation of sexual acts between boy and boy. Most of these acts are not described in detail. ARCHIVE: Anywhere is fine. FEEDBACK: Yes, please. Even if you think it's weird and tasteless. Kel: ckelll@hotmail.com Trelawney: frohicke@texas.net DISCLAIMER: Nobody's paying us. Not for this, anyway. All of these highly engaging character belong to us, with the following exceptions: CSM, WMM, and DT belong to CC, Ten-Thirteen, Fox, etc. Fox Mulder and Alex Krycek also belong to the above, but dwell in the hearts, minds, and fantasies of their many fans. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: From Kel: Thanks to Erin, for the beta read and for being as sick as we are. Thanks to Pelinor: without Deep Background, we wouldn't have known that Deep Throat's name was Ronald. Thanks to Scetti for reading and comments. Thanks especially to "L," who offered many helpful suggestions despite her repugnance toward the subject matter. We share your distaste over the sexual exploitation of minors, but we are willing to go there for a laugh. From Trelawney: Hi Weezey! Hi Arial! I also have to bow down to Kel for coming up with such an interesting topic of discussion. You can only talk about Mulder's...ahem...Mulder for so long. Right? SUMMARY: Return with us now to the days of yesteryear, when AIDS was unknown and disco was king. Follow the adventures of three dignified gentlemen on a mission. Martha's Vineyard may never be the same. Wanna put a face with a name? Wanna see why everyone wants a piece of Candy? View the dust-jacket/bookcover for this story here: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/4480/seminalevents.html You won't be disappointed... Seminal Events (1/3) The handsome, wood-paneled room was perfect for a quiet, private meeting. The three men seated on leather-upholstered chairs around a wooden table had the look of authority. The well-manicured Briton was the first to speak. "Unless the young man is cut of very different cloth than his mother, the matter can be handled without difficulty." The Englishman frequently tried to distance himself from the more tasteless duties that his consortium required, but in this case he chose to be involved. He found that his smoking colleague too often handled details with a monstrous disregard for his unwilling subjects. "Your opinion of his mother is immaterial and would be best kept to yourself," said the second man, looking down to strike a match. "Gentlemen..." The third speaker was about the same age as the other two, but without the British accent of the one or the unaccountable Canadian inflections of the other. His diction had the geography-free sound of an American television anchorman. "I'm merely observing that Teena Mulder bestowed her sexual favors with a certain amount of generosity," the Englishman said. "Perhaps the son is similarly inclined." "Teena Mulder is an intelligent woman able to enjoy life," the smoker said. And then more quietly, "At least she used to be." "Gentlemen, please," said the all-American voice. He was the warmest, the most genial of the three. He was also an international operative. "Young Fox is a typical teenager. I think we'll be able to collect what we need easily enough." "What do we really know about the boy?" the smoker asked. "Lives with his mother, attends the Martha's Vineyard Regional High School, good grades, varsity athlete--" "Ronald, this isn't an obituary," the smoker said. Unlike the Englishman or the smoker, this operative had a public persona that required the use of a name, and his name was Ronald. Years later, however, Fox Mulder would know him as Deep Throat. "Yes, do get to the point," the Englishman urged. "Varsity athlete. The basketball team has made it into the playoffs. Overnight trip, gentlemen. I think we can arrange for Fox to meet up with someone back at the hotel. Someone to console him in his defeat, or help to celebrate the victory," explained the man called Ronald. "A seduction?" the smoker asked. "My techniques are more direct and expedient." "We're all aware that you favor drugs and medical devices to collect samples," the Englishman said. "This lad has already witnessed the abduction of his sister. It is reckless to expose him to any more of our operation. I like your plan, Ronald. We'll have some comely young thing waiting for the hero after his game." = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = FIRST ATTEMPT There were three comely young things waiting in the lobby of the Nashua Sheraton when the buses pulled in. Let the boy make his own choice, Ronald thought. Any one of the pretty clone girls could collect his seed. The girls themselves were a little nervous. Each was committed to the cause, determined to serve with distinction. These youngsters had been created for a purpose, selected for their intelligence and dedication, but they held fears and aspirations of their own, like any other humans. The girls were studying printed programs from the New England Regional Tourney. They found a picture of their target, and even a few details: "Forward Fox Mulder brings speed and accuracy to the Vineyard squad." When the triumphant team came surging through the lobby, the three girls exchanged glances and rose to approach the boisterous swarm. The blond girl did her best to follow the script she'd been taught. Seeking out one of the young athletes, she giggled a bit before she addressed him. "Excuse me," she said. "We're looking for Fox Mulder." The boy gulped as he regarded the trio. "All three of you looking for Fox?" he asked. "Yes," said the brunette. "The outspoken senior who also letters in cross-country and baseball." Then she remembered to giggle. "I'm, like, rooming with him," one boy volunteered. His long, limp hair was parted in the middle, and he wore steel-framed glasses with tinted lenses. "You can wait for him in my room." The first boy nodded eagerly. "Good idea, Gary," he said. "I'll help you keep them company." "If you're sure it's all right, Gary," the blond girl said to the boy with the glasses. "We're supposed to see Fox tonight." "That lucky bastard," another kid muttered. A broad-shouldered boy pushed his way from the center of the group. "I'm the captain," he said. "All three of you for Mulder? That stinks!" "We're his groupies," the dark-haired girl explained. "We're a team, get it? All for one and one for all," he said. "You want Mulder, you gotta pull the chain." "All right, Big Mike!" another kid exclaimed. "I'm sorry, Big Mike," the brunette said. "We didn't know that." "You got it straight now?" Mike asked. He used his meaty hand to tilt her face up toward him. "I think so," she said. Her orders had been clear: Whatever it takes. "Oh, you're a smart girl," Mike said approvingly. "Let's go up to the room." = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = The chartered bus was supposed to be empty, but it was not. There were two students on board, a boy who had snuck back on the bus expecting to find ecstasy, and an angel-faced girl who had decided belatedly to deny it to him. Vineyard had played a great game. Putney was a physical team, but the Purple had stood their ground and prevailed. Fox was expecting to ride back to the hotel with his teammates, but then Heather had said there was some room in the band bus. Maybe he would like to ride with her. And when they'd reached the hotel, Heather had said she was really, really hungry. And Fox, who expected to spring for a pizza or a couple of burgers, found himself shelling out for a shrimp cocktail and roasted squab, which turned out to be a miniature chicken. Which forced him to order some funny shaped little pasta stuff for himself, which left him starving even after he ate everything in the bread basket. And then Heather said she had left her flute on the bus. And she wanted him to go back with her to get it. And then she said she really, really liked him. She didn't know if she loved him, but she cared about him. A lot. She wanted to show him how much. And he said he liked her too, and he cared about her. And she was beautiful. And she asked him if he'd ever done this before, and, thinking fast, he decided that since he'd never done it on a bus, the answer was No. She asked him if he had any protection. He did! She asked him if she could have his varsity jacket. Yes, yes! And she had let him kiss her, even though the greasy little bow-tie things had been loaded with garlic. And when he reached under her sweater, and under the thick formed padding of her bra, he had felt her hand trail across the front of his slacks. And then she had pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and he had hurried to unbutton his shirt. And then she had stood up and slipped the MVRHS jacket on over her white sweater. "You understand, don't you, baby?" she asked. "I thought I'd be ready, but I'm not. When we do it, I want it to be right." Fox sat on the bus for a long time after Heather left. He would have stayed there all night, but he was pretty sure the coach would do a bed check around midnight. Gary would try his best to cover for him, but the coach never believed Gary even when he was telling the truth. Gary was asleep when Fox got back to the room. He had taken the bed closest to the TV. Apparently one bed wasn't enough for Gary, because the linens on the second bed were in an uproar. Fox gave the sheets a few tugs to put things right and then something made him decide to turn on the light. "Baker! You're a pig," Mulder shouted. "Jerk off in your own bed, you spaz!" Gary opened his eyes, blinking in the brightness. And he smiled. "Fox!" he said. "Today I am a man." = = = = = = = = = "Congratulations, Ronald, you've played pimp to a gang of randy high school students. And while it's always nice to broaden the gene pool, our particular quarry has somehow eluded us." He twisted out his cigarette and immediately reached for another. Ronald acknowledged the barb with a wry smile. "Maybe he doesn't care for sloppy seconds," he said. "Maybe they weren't his type." "Perhaps he doesn't like girls," suggested the Englishman. "That is a possibility we have to consider," said the smoker. Ron shook his head. "Can't quite see that. Bill Mulder's kid..." he said. "I've got an aspiring young operative who has volunteered to be the receptacle," the smoker said. "Good God!" said the Englishman. "You needn't be so crass." "What's your plan?" Ron asked. "Disguise your little punk as a teddy bear and sneak him onto Fox's bed?" "The high school athletes are being honored at a special banquet this weekend. Mulder will no doubt collect a trophy or two and feel awfully pleased with himself. And he will be ready to celebrate. I'll see to it that he crosses paths with my eager rookie." = = = = = = = = = = = SECOND ATTEMPT "I know they're going to give you the award for Athlete-Scholar," Heather said, swirling the straw around in her soda. "Maybe some others, too. Are you sure you don't mind missing the banquet?" "I kinda wanted to show you off to the guys," he said shyly, but then she began to pout. "No, really, Heather, this is much better. Are you having fun?" "I'm not a trophy, Fox." She was still pouting. "I want you to respect me." "I do. I respect you like crazy. I'm sorry, Heather, that just came out wrong. I mean, I just feel so good when I'm with you, and--" "Because if you'd rather be eating rubber chicken at the awards dinner we can still make it." She gave a haughty sniff to punctuate her words. Fox leaned across the table, trying to melt her icy glare. "Heather, I said I was sorry. I don't care about the awards. Hey, I have an idea. I know a club we can get into. " "Sir?" The intrusion came from the busboy. Fox was in his way. Fox moved aside to let him clear the table. "Really? You think we could get a drink?" Heather asked. "You looking for a good time?" the busboy asked. "Hey, junior, mind your own business," Fox said. He hadn't noticed before, but the kid had the kind of face that made you just want to punch it in. Jesus! Was he wearing eyeliner? "Fox! How rude! He's trying to be helpful." Then she turned to the young busboy. "And what's your name?" she asked him. He gave her a bright smile. "I'm Alex," he said. "I get off work in half an hour. I can take you to some really hot places." "Oh, Fox," Heather said. "Doesn't that sound like fun?" "Heather, please." He leaned in to whisper. "Come on, he's about twelve years old. Where's he going to take us, Sesame Street?" "I'm eighteen," the busboy lied. "Look, kid, I don't want to have to hurt you," Fox said. Above all, he didn't want to hurt his shooting hand. Heather got a glazed-over look. She was imagining a nice, sweaty fight between Fox and this dark-eyed boy. "I'm just being friendly," Alex pouted. "We don't have to go to a club. We can go to my place and watch TV." "You go on ahead," Fox said. "We'll meet you there." "No, really," Alex tried again. "I have beer! I have dope! I have Space Invaders!" He was desperate. He was going to fail on his first assignment. "Thanks, honey, but I have plans," Heather said. He was a cutie, she thought, but Fox was right, he was a little young. "What about you?" he asked Fox, dipping his long lashes. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = "So much for your eager new operative," Ron said. "I think you should advise him to hold on to that busboy gig." "Once again you are failing to see the forest for the trees," the smoker said. "Krycek has provided us with useful information here, but you're too busy gloating to realize that." "He's quite right, you know," the Englishman said. "I think I see our opportunity. The young lady, Heather." = = = = = = = = = = = = = Heather Resnick was no fool, so she was skeptical when the distinguished-looking man told her he was a talent scout for a marching band. Maybe someplace like Ohio State or Southern Cal would hire a recruiter, but why they heck would they send him to Martha's Vineyard to talk to the girl who got edged out for lead flute in wind ensemble? But the man was clearly interested in her, and he when he proposed that they have tea at the Oak Bluffs Inn, she got into the car with him. Heather knew her musicianship wouldn't bring her the scholarships and opportunities this man was waving before her. Perhaps he suspected she had other talents. She wasn't afraid. Mr. Wellington was obviously a gentleman, and he was British. = = = = = = = = = = The coach split the class into squads for the practice, but he pulled one kid aside. "In my office, Mulder," he said. The kid followed him back, standing in silence as the coach got settled behind his desk. "We missed you at the awards dinner, Mulder." "Sorry, sir." "I called your house. Talked to your mom." "Oh." Fox looked at his shoes. "Listen, son. I know things aren't great at home, but there are a lot of people in this school who care about you. The rest of the team. Your teachers. Even my wife was asking about you," the coach said. "Oh," said Fox. "You got plans tonight?" Coach asked. The kid was spending way too much time making a fool of himself with the pouty-lipped flute player. "Gotta go to the lab," Fox said. "Good," Coach said. Most of the kids on the team had some work to make up; the play-offs had taken a lot of their time. Fox, however, had managed to stay up to date. He was going to the lab because Heather had asked him to meet her there. = = = = = = = = = = = = THIRD ATTEMPT That flint-hearted little mercenary had agreed to his request. No surprise. Now the Englishman waited outside the high school by the big windows of the biology lab. The Resnick girl was going to pass the desired material to him when her chore was complete. The biology lab didn't sound like a romantic locale for a rendezvous. He imagined shelves with jars of frog parts and the odors of ether or formaldehyde. But the ground floor location made it ideal. He could receive the sample without entering the building. Now the Englishman frowned as he saw his colleague approach. "Why are you here?" he asked the smoking man. "Back-up," the smoker replied smoothly. "You need someone to cover the door." "I do not," the Briton said, pointing to the open window. "The girl will give me the sample." "I want to insure that nothing goes awry," the smoker said. "I'll cover the door, and we will be certain of getting the sample." While the Briton had kept his back to the window, the smoker did not hesitate to peer inside. "The boy seems reluctant," he reported. "Perhaps he's started to use his brain," the Englishman replied. "This girlfriend of his enjoys nothing more than demonstrating her power over him and leaving him unsatisfied." "A most inopportune time for the big head to do the thinking," the smoker commented, as he walked away. "I'll be inside, by the door. Just to make sure we get what we need." The Englishman continued to face away from the window, but he was fascinated by the vocalizations he couldn't help but hear. "Do you like that?" the girl asked, and the boy replied, "Uh, well..." And then there were some huffy groans--apparently the girl had refined her technique. "Fox...do you love me?" The young swain answered with a "Huh?" but fortunately the girl accepted that as an affirmation. And then the vixen must have paused in her efforts, for the boy's next utterance was unclouded by passion. "Heather?" "Fox, can I have your class ring?" Damn that gold-digging hussy, the Briton thought. Come on, boy, give her the ring and let her finish. But the big head and the little head did not have time to negotiate, because at that moment the harsh clang of an alarm bell filled the air. The doors of the school flew open and the few students and teachers who were still inside began to evacuate the building. In the distance came the wail of the siren from the firehouse, summoning the volunteers to an emergency at the high school. But there was no fire. Something had activated the smoke detector. = = = = = = end 1/3 feedback to ckelll@hotmail.com (Kel) frohicke@texas.net (Trelawney) From: Kel Seminal Events By Kel and Trelawney Classification: Pre-XF, Humor Feedback: Of course! ckelll@hotmail.com, frohicke@texas. Seminal Events (2/3) The smoking man knew that people found him cold and ruthless. The *charming* Englishman and the *genial* Agency operative were both better liked than he was. And now he glared at them, daring them to blame him for the false alarm at the high school. They stared right back, waiting to hear his plan. He began at last. "While you two have wasted your time fantasizing about the young pup, I have done my homework," the smoker said. "In point of fact, Fox is a busy boy." "A busy boy?" asked the Briton. "What is he up to?" "A few summers ago, Fox started cutting the grass for some of the neighbors. Earned his pocket money that way." "Admirable," said the Briton. "A certain Mrs. Hardy became a favored client. She started coming up with extra chores for him. She encouraged him to take his shirt off when it was hot." The smoker gave a twisted smile. "Poor kid didn't stand a chance," Ronald commented. "Probably invited him in for some homemade cookies. Maybe she had a jar she couldn't open, a shelf she couldn't reach." "You Americans are so provincial," the Englishman exclaimed. "What on earth is the harm if some older woman chose to introduce the lad to the pleasures of love?" "No harm at all," said the smoker. "I'm suggesting that Mrs. Hardy can be our ally. She can help us complete this mission." = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = The Hardys moved to Chilmark in 1966. Mrs. Hardy was glad that the family next door had a little boy the same age as her stepson, Michael. And Mrs. Mulder was glad too-she had a baby to take care of, and she hoped that a new playmate would keep Fox out of her hair a bit. The boys played together, but never as friends. They were competitors. Fox generally prevailed in contests of speed, but Mike had an edge when it came to raw force. Come June, when the vacationers arrived, Fox would spend his time on the beach, playing pick-up games with the summer kids. These were casual games where no one wore cleats or complained if his sister struck out four times in a row. Samantha played first base-her brother didn't want anyone sliding into her. Fox would play a shallow right, covering her territory as well as his own. But by September, the seasonal crowd was back on the mainland, and Fox was back in the Hardy's driveway, playing basketball against his eternal archrival. Mr. Hardy took athletics seriously. He'd gone to lengths to have extra concrete poured so that the boys would have more room to practice. Fox had a gift for the game, and he gave it everything. Especially after things at home got rough. By high school, Fox and Mike were both starters on the varsity team. Years of one-on-one had molded them into a formidable combo. Mr. Hardy could see that Fox's skill as a playmaker was making up for his own son's sloppiness, and he urged Mike to take his game more seriously. Mike was captain of the team, but he had only one real goal, to get laid. He was forever abandoning Fox in the driveway to roar off with his buddies, out for another night of chasing girls. When this happened, Fox would just keep practicing by himself. He'd been playing here so long it didn't really occur to him that he'd be unwelcome, and indeed, he was not. One summer afternoon Fox was deep into practicing lay-ups. Mike had run off with the other guys to get beer, leaving him standing in the driveway as they sped away, Queen blasting from the radio of the dusty Capri. Mike was a douche bag, Fox thought. They were going to be seniors, and this year they had a real chance. Unless they screwed up royally, they would win their conference, and they might even make it to the state finals. Fox had just made four shots in a row and was riding high on the success, when he noticed Mrs. Hardy leaning against the garage door quietly watching him. "Don't stop," she said, smoke curling from her nostrils. His own mother never came out to watch him play. He wasn't even allowed to have a basketball goal in the driveway, because the ball would make too much noise. His mom needed things dark and quiet, since what happened. So he kept it up, beating the concrete with the ball, his big feet pounding the ground in their big Puma sneakers. After a while he wound down, breathing hard, sweat running down his back and chest, his skin darkened from a summer of mowing lawns. If Mrs. Hardy wasn't standing right there, he would have gotten himself a drink from the garden hose, but that didn't seem to be the type of thing you could do in front of somebody's mother. Of course, Mrs. Hardy wasn't like anyone else's mother, with her stiletto heels and her all-black outfits. Fox thought she looked like a centerfold. He blushed, hot and red. Because he knew exactly how much like a centerfold she could look. Two years earlier, he had the misfortune of peeking over the fence to find her sunbathing topless in the backyard. After a long terrified look he had raced upstairs and masturbated in the shower, a vivid memory of her bare breasts forever burned into his mind. Since that memorable event, he had never been able to look the woman full in the face without turning an obscene shade of red. "You're not half bad," she rasped, her ash scattering across the pavement of the garage entrance. She began to walk towards him. "Thanks," he mumbled. "And not bad looking, either, for a kid." Was he hearing right? Nobody had ever told him that before, not even Heather. "Tell me something--how come you're not out catting around with my boy?" she asked, squatting down on her haunches and rolling his blue and orange Knicks basketball between her knees. "I'd rather practice," he replied, trying not to stare at the thin line of white flesh between her tight black skirt and form fitting sweater. She turned to look up at him, and to his horror he felt a solid hard-on begin to grow in his shorts. "Don't you like girls?" she asked, staring at him intently. "Uh. . . . n. . . . no. . . I mean . . . y . . . yeah," he stammered, wishing for a locked bathroom and his memories of her bare, beautiful sunburned breasts. That was the wrong thought to have, under the circumstances, and he was embarrassed about the urgent need for relief. "No?" she said, with an amused glint. "Or yes?" He struggled to maintain a smidgen of composure. "Er, I like 'em, okay," he managed, his voice weak and throaty, "I just like to, um, practice." "Hmmmm." She licked her lips; they were plump, like the rest of her. She rose suddenly. "I should offer you something to drink." Her gaze moved down his torso. "You look hot." He nodded as if in a daze and followed her into the garage. She opened the interior door into the kitchen. "I think I have lemonade." He followed her into the kitchen. It was dark, like the rest of the house. The blinds were closed and all the interior lights were off. He had only been in Mike's house a few times. Usually no further than the foyer, to collect money for mowing the lawn from Mr. Hardy. Her voice startled him, "I don't have anything but beer and milk. Would you like a beer?" She moved towards him holding a can of Rolling Rock. Fox nodded, setting down his ball, and took the beer, momentarily saved from his lustful thoughts by the joy of getting a free beer. She had pulled the tab already and he raised the can to his full lips and swallowed. The cold liquid slid down, followed by the bitter aftertaste. He glanced at Mrs. Hardy and smiled, and she returned his smile. And then, as if it were the most natural move in the world, she raised her arms and took off her sweater, revealing plump soft breasts with large dark nipples. Fox gulped and slammed the can of Rolling Rock down onto the counter. "You're almost seventeen," Mrs. Hardy said matter-of-factly, "and I'm thirty-four. It'll be better for you to do it with me than some messy little teenager, who'll get herself knocked up before you can turn around." Reaching for the waistband of his shorts, she pulled them down slowly. Then she touched his cock, which he knew was about ready to burst. He jerked at her skillful touch and to his horror he came all over her soft, long-nailed hands. A slow, mysterious smile spread across her face, and she clucked sympathetically. She didn't seem at all put out, as a blush suffused him from head to toe. "First time?" she questioned. Fox pulled himself away from her and moved across the kitchen toward the door, pulling his shorts up with one hand. He shook his head. "I've got a girlfriend." "Don't worry, I won't tell." Mrs. Hardy leaned against her kitchen counter and picked up a dishtowel to clean her hands. "Next time we get together I can teach you everything you need to know." Fox backed out the door warily before turning to run out of the garage. It was only after he came, safe in his warm shower with the door locked, that he remembered he had left his beloved Knicks basketball on the vinyl tile in her avocado green kitchen. Mrs. Hardy put the ball in a safe place. If Fox wasn't over to ask for it by next weekend, why, she'd just have to return it to him herself. = = = = = = = = "You want me to give you a semen sample from the kid next door?" Mrs. Hardy asked. She was sitting at the kitchen table with a well-dressed man who had rung her doorbell and assured her that they had "mutual interests." "You sound shocked," he said, tapping some ash into the large green ashtray. "Well, frankly, Mr.-" She waited for him to supply his name, but he did not. "Mrs. Hardy, you've been entertaining the boy in your bedroom since last summer. I doubt if you'd like that information to become public," he said. "Are you threatening me?" she asked angrily. "Not at all," he said smoothly. "I'm asking you to assist me in a matter of great importance." "You want me to get a sperm sample from Fox Mulder. Are you trying to get him in trouble? A rape case, or something? Cause I know that kid never-" "Nothing like that," the smoker assured her. "No harm will come to the boy." "Then why?" she asked. "I'm sorry. National security," he said, turning his hands palm up to gesture his helplessness. "See, you keep thinking I'm getting it on with this kid," she said. She didn't know what this man was up to, but it sounded sinister. She'd been sleeping with Fox two or three times a week for the past ten months, but he couldn't know that for a fact-could he? "Mrs. Hardy, you are a beautiful woman. I feel certain you can induce the boy to cooperate," he said smoothly. "Beautiful, huh?" she echoed. She knew she looked good "for her age," but she felt old and ugly. Her husband's waning interest in her was just one of the signs. "A beautiful woman," he repeated. And now he knew how to seal their pact. "A beautiful woman who could be even more beautiful . . . ." = = = = = = = = = = = = FOURTH ATTEMPT He slept soundly but quietly. Not like her husband, who buzzed like a snow blower. Mrs. Hardy nudged him a bit; she wanted him to rototill by the garage, where she'd had him dig out the overgrown rhododendron bush. "Wake up, Foxcub," she said, "break time's over." He woke up smiling and edged over to greet her with a warm kiss. She'd taught him a great deal but she had never had to teach him how to kiss. "Honey," she said, "you're taking this way too seriously." He backed away from her. "I'm sorry," he said. "I couldn't help it." "No, Foxcub, it's not about that." Poor little dummy, she thought. He thinks I'm angry because he shot his load early. She felt cruel and despicable. She had made him do that, ignoring his huffy whispers begging her to stop, wait. And now he felt badly about it. Well, no pain no gain, as her husband always said. The neighbor boy's sticky sample on her fluffy bath towel was going to buy her something she wanted more than anything. Felicia Hardy was going to be young again. She would trade the towel for a new face, without these frown lines, and perkier breasts, and a flat tummy that wouldn't wobble. She was a soft, curvy woman, and Fox was not the only male who found her attractive, but when she looked in the mirror, she saw only the ravages of time. "I'm sorry," the boy said again. And then, he had to say it, even though he was sure she'd tell him to shut up. "Mrs. Hardy, you're so beautiful, and you're so good to me. I'll do better next time. Please don't be mad at me." "Beautiful?" Her scratchy voice would have been comical to anyone but the grateful boy in her bed. "Sweetie, you must have a flab fetish." And then, without thinking, the boy began to kiss her tummy. Her tummy that wouldn't stop bulging even though she did a hundred crunches twice a day. And she laughed. "Enough now, you little horn dog. You get out there and finish your work. I have a load of laundry to do." He smiled, because she wasn't angry any more. And after he left, she threw on a robe as she hurriedly bundled up the towel and sheets. Because she had laundry to do. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = The smoking man had failed. This was turning out to be more trouble than it was worth, Ronald thought. He would keep it simple. To get the job done right, go with a professional. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = FIFTH ATTEMPT Heather was away for the weekend, and Fox was expecting to spend Friday night sleeping over at Gary Baker's, playing Strat-o-matic Baseball and listening to Frank Zappa records. Like in the old days, before Heather. Then Gary called. "I'm thinking of going to Steve's party," he said. "You?" Fox asked. "You hate parties." "Gonna be girls there," Gary said. "What about that international conspiracy?" Fox asked. Gary always said there was a conspiracy among the women of the world. They had all taken a pledge to shoot him down. "Get with it," Gary said. "At least three of them have broken ranks." "Okay, then," Fox said. "Later." "Hey. You come too," Gary said. "Nah," said Fox. "Carl Sagan's on Johnny Carson." "It's a rerun, you nerd," Gary said. "I'm a nerd?" Fox asked. "What's that make you?" But in the end he went to the party. He wasn't cruising. He parked himself by the chips and joined in an on-going debate about the relative evil of Klingons and Romulans. She was a pink and white girl with a tight scoop-necked pink sweater and a tighter white plastic skirt. She had a habit of peeking out at him through a thick fringe of blond bangs. She told Mulder she thought *Star Trek* was fabulous. Then she told him that Klingons and Romulans were fabulous. Her name was Candy. She gave him a six-pack of beer. It was after she accidentally brushed against him for the third time that he decided to take her to his house. Fox was lucky. His mom was out for the evening and he decided to make the most of it. It was after Candy kissed him on his porch that he decided to take her up to his room. Fox's room was decorated with basketball trophies, sports banners, and Blondie and Led Zeppelin albums. One poster seemed out of place, amid the haughty leer of Ursula Andress and the glorious teeth of Farrah Fawcett. A more sinister print, a darkened road beneath a starry sky, a mysterious glow rising from the horizon. And four words: We are not alone. "Wow!" exclaimed his date, impressed, although Fox couldn't really figure out why. "What a fabulous room." Fox was also the proud owner of a soft blue fake-fur blanket that had figured into some of his fantasies. He was ecstatic that they might actually come true. He poured her some of his mom's scotch from his smuggled stash, using one of Teena's lead crystal glasses. Now to set the mood. He put "Love Me Tender" on the stereo. Then he crossed the room and switched off the overhead light, leaving only the glow from a lamp in the corner. He carefully placed a Harvard T-shirt over the lamp; now the room was suffused with red light. "Wow!" said Candy, "What a fabulous singer. Who is it?" Fox looked over at her. "Are you kidding me?" "What?" He plucked Elvis off the record player and pulled out his one and only make-out album. The soft strains of "You Sexy Thing" filled the small room. "Oh, wow. I love this song." Candy strolled over and perched on the edge of the blue fake fur. "This song is fabulous." Fox remembered that she thought his jump-shot was fabulous, although she'd never seen it. The purple and white of the Vineyard basketball uniform was fabulous too. He wondered if she gave blow jobs. "I think you're fabulous," he said. She giggled inanely and sucked suggestively on an ice cube. "In fact," he continued, perching next to her, "you're the most fabulous girl I've seen all year." "Really?" She peered up at him under think blond bangs. "Really." He reached for her left boob and circled the nipple with his thumb. She took a swig of the scotch, put the glass down, and leaned back on the blanket. He kept his thumb twirling and bent to kiss her. She responded nicely as Hot Chocolate crooned on. <> He maneuvered her boob from the confines of her scoop-neckline sweater and bent his head to the erect pink nipple. "Fabulous!" she murmured. He unzipped his fly, allowing his hard-on to escape, taking her right hand and placing it where it would find gainful employment. Downstairs he heard the front door slam. Fox jerked his head up. His mother was home early. "Goddamn it!" His hard-on deflated. Candy sat up, her breasts popping back into her sweater. "What was that?" she asked, her eyes wide with astonishment. "My mother's home," Fox muttered as he fumbled to zip his pants. He crept to the door to listen. "This is terrible!" Candy wailed behind him. Fox whispered, "Shut up!" He couldn't hear a thing over the loud music from the stereo. He moved quickly, turning down the volume and disappearing out of his bedroom to catch his mom before she decided to come to his room at the end of the hall. Candy sat quietly for a moment. Then from beneath the bed she heard a sharp hiss. "Get down here." Her pink face popped beneath the edge of the bed. Her "real" client, Ronald, stared at her. "Don't worry about his mother, just keep after the boy." "Are you sure?" she asked, her brow creasing with concentration. "Yes!" he confirmed. Then he nodded encouragingly. "Now get back up there and do it right!" Her blond head disappeared just in time. Fox came through the door and leaned against it as he locked it. "My mom won't bother us. She's gone to bed." Fox sat gingerly down on the bed and watched Candy warily. The arrival of his mother had made him nervous and jumpy. Candy moved dreamily about his room, finally turning and prancing over to him. She leaned down and kissed his mouth with her soft lips. He licked his lips as she bounced onto the bed and tasted the waxy taste of greasy lipstick. Fox took the invitation she offered and pulled her down on top of him, spending an inordinate amount of time caressing her ample breasts. Candy moaned softly in encouragement and moved with purpose down Fox's lean body, unfastening his pants once more and sliding her hand into the dark depths. Fox careened up off the mattress as her hand found him. She cupped him skillfully and then before he half realized what she was up to, she leaned down and took his erection in her mouth. He gazed down at her, half in shock, half in ecstasy as he watched her bright pink lips slide down the length of him. Ronald listened to the growing excitement above him and exhaled impatiently. Then he heard the soft moan released in a shuddering sigh and Candy's voice above him. "Oh, poo. I forgot and swallowed." "Sorry," Fox mumbled. Ronald's head dropped to the hard surface of the wooden floor. "Damn," he thought to himself. Candy raised herself up off the bed. "It's okay, you taste fabulous! Anyway, we can try again." She shimmied out of her sweater, letting it drop to the floor in a pale pile of cashmere. The white skirt was dropped, the pink satin panties, and finally the white cotton bra. She moved toward Fox with a purpose, and he stared at her in horror, terrified she would try to kiss him. Kissing him was not her plan as she joined him on the blue blanket. Fox was soon as naked as she, and far too preoccupied to notice when a hand from under the bed passed a foil-wrapped condom to her. Candy's breasts brushed up against his new erection. "You're hard again," she giggled, tearing the foil with her sharp white teeth. "Fabulous!" Ronald listened in the semi-darkness under the bed, as it shook with the tell-tale signs of activity. He contemplated Fox's dingy Converse sneakers, marked by a dirty smudge of pink super bubble stuck in the crevice of the rubber sole. After a few minutes he glanced at his watch, marveling at Fox's renewed fortitude, but was unable to mark the hour. Finally, he heard Candy's soft sigh of contentment, followed by, "Let me take if off, baby." Then with a soft plop, the safely tied condom fell to the floor. Ronald stared at the used condom in revulsion, then with a tired sigh, reached out with one latex-covered hand to grasp it. But it was too far away. He settled back. "Surely," he thought, "the boy will have the sense to boot her out of the house, before his mother walks in," but Ronald heard only silence. So, he waited. And waited. And waited. Ronald woke with a soft snort. They were up. He could see Candy hopping from one foot to another as she struggled with the skirt. "I can't believe we fell asleep," Fox mumbled. Ronald watched Fox's big bare feet as he cracked open his bedroom door. "Hurry, Candy!" "I am!" She pulled on her white boots and straightened her sweater. Ronald tried to stretch. He had a pounding headache and a crick in his neck. He nervously watched Candy's white boots clomp on the hardwood floor. He glanced over to where the tied condom was lying and stared in horrified fascination as the sharp heel of her boot smashed the condom flat with a sickly squishing noise. "Oops," Candy squealed, as Fox pulled her out of the room by the arm. He took one last look toward his mother's room at the end of the hall and followed Candy down the stairs to the front door. His only concern was to get her out of the house before his mother woke. Ronald was slow to accept the disaster. He stared angrily at the small puddle beneath the rubber. Finally, he gave a philosophical sigh. He listened as Fox entered the room and watched as he swept the offensive substance up into a large paper towel. After the boy's white feet disappeared out the door, Ronald pushed himself out from under his uncomfortable haven and with one sweeping disgusted glance, he left the room. = = = = = = = = = = = The smoking man was disappointed when Ronald called to inform him that the mission remained uncompleted, but he was also relieved. His colleagues' failures made him look less incompetent. Perhaps it was time to use a lure other than sex. Perhaps Fox Mulder would respond to a more universal bait. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = SIXTH ATTEMPT "Mulder! Wait up!" Fox kept on walking. He always felt nervous and guilty around Big Mike. "Hey, Hardy," he said over his shoulder, hoping he sounded nonchalant. "Hey, motherfucker." Mike used the word casually, for he was ignorant of Fox's role in his mother's life. Fox cringed anyway. "Want to make some bread for doing something you'd do for free?" "Sure," said Fox. Maybe Converse wanted to pay him for wearing their shoes? Mike caught up to him and they walked together toward their homes. "It's kinda weird, but big bucks. Still interested?" "I guess," Fox said. He needed big bucks. Heather had alerted him that their one-year anniversary was coming up, and he understood that an occasion like that would require a significant gift. "You know the Smaldone Clinic, in Tisbury? You know what that is, really? It's a sperm bank, man, for chicks whose husbands shoot blanks," Mike explained. "Yeah?" Fox asked. "So they're lookin' for clean, healthy guys. Ya know?" Mike wouldn't have shared this goldmine with Mulder if the guy in the suit hadn't offered him a finder's fee. The guy was pretty cool, for an old guy. He let Mike bum a smoke off him. "Yeah?" Fox asked again. "I'm driving over around six," Mike said. "Interested?" "I gotta think about it," Fox said. "Hey, you can go ahead and blow your load in your fist if that's your thing," Mike said. "For a hundred bucks a shot, I don't mind putting it in a jar." = = = = = = = = = = = = "There was a mob scene at the sperm bank last night," Ronald said. "Half the senior class was over their offering their contributions." "And we'll be paying out for all that spilled seed," the Englishman said. "Nevertheless, it is money well spent." "I have to give our friend credit. It was simple and direct, but effective," Ron said. "Don't congratulate him too much," replied the Englishman. "My efforts would have been equally effective if he hadn't inadvertently summoned the fire department." The door to the wood-paneled room opened, and the smoking man joined them. "Well done," Ronald said, but the smoker shook his head. "No," he said. "A fiasco. The boy was a no-show." "I see," said the Englishman. "You have failed again." "I'm not the one who insisted on doing this without the help of advanced technology," the smoker answered angrily. "It's time we stop playing games and resort to more reliable devices." "No," said Ron. "The kid is perfectly willing and able to make the deposit, it's just that we keep screwing up on collecting it." The smoker had a streak of ruthlessness that was useful at times, but his fellow operatives tried to hold it in check when possible. "Not according to the Hardy woman. She told me the boy had no interest in sex," the smoker said. "I happen to know otherwise," said Ron. "I'm sending in Krycek again," the smoker said. "I think if he can approach Mulder apart from the girlfriend, he'll stand a better chance of collecting the sample." "Rubbish! Heather Resnick would have succeeded if not for your clumsiness and stupidity," the Englishman said heatedly. "She's the one who has earned a second chance." "Gentlemen, stay out of my way on this one," Ron said. "I know how to do this." "Do you?" said the smoker. "Then why haven't you?" "The high school is holding their all-important spring dance tonight," Ronald said. "Now that is very interesting," the Englishman said. From what he understood of young Americans, they frequently engaged in copulatory behavior after events of that nature. "Fascinating," the smoker agreed. Alex Krycek would have to attend, he decided. Alex would want to wear his leather jacket, but the smoker would insist on a suit and tie. The key was this: Alex would have to make his overtures when Fox was alone. Naturally the kid wouldn't take the bait in front of his girlfriend. Of course Ronald had his own idea. "I'll give the charming Candy a call and see to it that she attends," he said. "If you want to be useful, look up your old flame Teena Mulder and take her away for the evening." If the smoker would get Teena out of the house for the night, Ron was sure that Candy could succeed in her mission. It might be tricky getting a girl her age into a dance at a high school, but he would find a way. His colleague was not inclined to be cooperative. "I'll be otherwise engaged," said the smoking man. Alex Krycek was too young to drive; the smoker would have to be his chauffeur. "I will be otherwise engaged as well," said the Englishman. Heather Resnick was obviously their best chance; it was foolish for the consortium to try to match young Mulder with someone else when he had already made his choice. But this time the Englishman would stay close enough to the couple so that the greedy little flute player wouldn't try any ad libs. = = = = = = = = = = = = "Just say the word, man, and she's history," Gary said. Even on the telephone, Fox could tell he was nervous. Gary was mumbling indistinctly, the way he did when he fiddled with his retainer while he talked. "It's okay. Really," Fox said. "That's good," Gary said with a sigh of relief. "Cause I don't think I'd want to live without her. But I know you saw her first." "I don't care if you take Candy to the dance," Fox assured his friend again. "I didn't go after her, you know," Gary explained. "She called. She asked me out!" "That's great, Gary. How's it feel to triumph against an international conspiracy?" Gary wanted to go on talking about the goddess in his life, but Fox had to get ready. Heather would pitch a fit if he was late picking her up. He showered and dressed. The new white suit had looked great in the store, but now that he had it on he felt like Ricardo Montalban. "Welcome to Fantasy Island," he said out loud as he brushed his hair. "You look nice, Fox." The boy's jaw dropped in surprise, and then he smiled proudly. "Thanks, Mom," he said. He'd left the bathroom door open but he hadn't heard her footsteps over the hum of the blow dryer. He clicked it off and looked at her in the mirror. She had a kind face, but vague and unfocused. "Getting ready for the big dance?" she asked. "Yes," he said, surprised again. "Mrs. Hardy mentioned it. She and her husband will be chaperoning," Teena said. "Oh," said Fox. That wasn't welcome news. "You've gotten quite close to that family, haven't you?" she asked. "I guess," Fox said carefully. "Well, you seem to spend a lot of time over there with Michael, and you see Coach Hardy practically every day during basketball season," she said. "I gotta go, Mom." = = = = = end of part 2/3 feedback to Kel, ckelll@hotmail.com, and Trelawney, frohicke@texas.net From: Kel Seminal Events By Kel and Trelawney Classification: Pre-XF, Humor Feedback: Of course! ckelll@hotmail.com, frohicke@texas. Disclaimer, etc., with part 1. Authors' notes at end. Seminal Events (3/3) MARTHA'S VINEYARD REGIONAL HIGH SCHOOL THE SPRING DANCE Fox had spent hours in front of the TV trying to master the various variations on the Hustle. Surveying the other dancers in the gym, he concluded that his efforts were passable. He caught sight of Gary Baker. Gary was a good dancer, but no one would notice that tonight. Gary's date was wearing something tight, pink, and spangly, and she was dancing with total abandon but very little skill. Gary's date wiggled and whirled in a full circle, giving Fox and Heather a good look at her. Heather discreetly brought her hand up to check the front of her own dress. Like Fox and many others, she was wondering if Gary's blonde would pop right out of her gown. Heather knew that her blue taffeta was far more tasteful and appropriate than that sequined, low-cut sausage casing. And her own dress would have never stayed up without those little spaghetti straps to hold it in place. Gary's blonde had stopped dancing. She was wriggling her way toward Fox and Heather as fast as her tight little dress and her glittery stiletto heels would allow, and Gary was following, holding her firmly by the wrist. "Fox!" Heather whispered angrily. Her date! And he was checking out that slut. "Hi, Fox," the blonde slut said. "Hi, Candy," he answered. He felt a dull clench in his stomach, much like the time the team decided to pool their resources. A bottle of Ripple Purple Passion, Mike Hardy's Southern Comfort, and his mom's Chivas Regal. The memory of that long, agonizing bus ride to Braintree increased his nausea. "Fox!" Heather said again. "Isn't this fabulous?" Candy asked, turning to Heather for confirmation. Heather gripped Fox's arm. "Candy was thinking we could all go over to her place after the dance," Gary said. "Fox and I were just leaving," Heather announced. "I'm ready!" the blonde giggled. "Help me out, Fox," Gary whispered urgently. Candy had told him it wouldn't be proper for her to entertain him alone in her apartment. It wouldn't look right. But if Fox would come too, that would be fabulous. "I... gotta.... Excuse me," Fox said, pulling Heather's arm off his sleeve so he could get himself to the bathroom. "Fox!" Heather's voice was loud and shrill. "I'll be waiting for you in the car!" = = = = = = = = = Coach Hardy was making a quick check of the boys' lavatory; he knew none of his kids would sneak a smoke, but there were plenty of boys who might try it. "Excuse me," Fox said as he passed him. Maybe if he got some cold water on his face he would feel better, Fox thought. "Having fun?" the coach asked as Fox scrubbed at his face over the sink. "Yes, sir," the boy answered. "Try to keep an eye on Baker," Coach Hardy advised him as he left the john. "Makes me nervous to see a young fellow with an older woman." Fox was starting to feel more settled, but then Gary came into the bathroom. He had some glittery pink sequins clinging to the arms of his baby-blue jacket. "You okay?" he asked. "Gary," Fox began. "About Candy..." "I'm sorry, Fox. This is must be killing you." "What are you talking about?" Fox asked. "Hey, you're my bud. I didn't want to fall in love with your girlfriend. It just happened." "She's not my girlfriend," Fox pointed out. His stomach felt better, but now his head was pounding. "I know," Gary said sympathetically. Fox's stomach began to rebel again. "Fox, you sure you're all right with this?" Fox lurched into one of the stalls. His stomach definitely wanted to be empty. Gary remembered how Mulder had held his hair for him that horrible night in Braintree. "I can't do this to you, man," he said. "I'm gonna ditch her." "Gary, you can have her! Really! Heather's my girlfriend," Fox shouted through the door. He used some toilet paper to wipe his mouth, but he felt his stomach heave again. He peeled off his white jacket and flipped it over the door to Gary. "Hold this for me," he gasped, then turned back to the porcelain fixture to puke some more. Finally, his gut was empty, and he wiped his mouth again. His skin felt cold as the beads of sweat began to evaporate from his face. He didn't hear Gary's babbling any more. The poor guy, he thought. He'd fallen hard. No one would be able to tell him about Candy, he'd just have to figure it out for himself. "Listen," Fox said. "You have to go with your feelings. Go for it, man." With all the retching and hacking and flushing, Fox hadn't heard the sounds of the bathroom door opening and closing. Gary had gone back out to the dance floor to woo his dream girl. Someone else had come into the bathroom. Fox walked out of the stall and into the arms of someone who wanted him. Soft lips covered his, soft lips that did not recoil at the sour, bilious taste of Fox's mouth. Fox couldn't dislodge his admirer until he used an illegal wrestling move and pressed his forearm across his windpipe. "Wow," Alex Krycek managed to rasp. This cloak and dagger stuff was turning out to be just as thrilling as he had hoped. "Jesus Christ, you perv!" Fox exclaimed. "Why don't you try your luck in Provincetown?" Fox would have felt more horror from Alex's gambit if he wasn't growing accustomed to the idea that everyone he met wanted a piece of him. Fox loosened his hold, and Alex brought his hand up to his bruised throat. "But...but you told me to go for it!" Alex whined. He gave Fox one last, hurt look before he ran out of the bathroom, still holding Fox's white jacket. = = = = = = = = = = = = "Hi!" Candy's inanely bubbly voice greeted Fox when he finally emerged from the bathroom. "Hi," he managed. "We're waiting for you!" She seemed to end every sentence with an exclamation point. "I have to go home," Fox said. "Oh, poo!" Candy said. "But we could have fun!" "Why don't you just go with Gary?" Fox suggested. "Oh, Gary's fabulous!" she agreed. "But I think you're supposed to be there!" "No, it will be fine," Fox assured her. "Just go ahead." "Oh, okay!" She minced away on her pointy shoes, repeating something to herself. Fox couldn't catch what she was saying, but this is what it was. "Remember not to swallow. . . remember not to swallow. . ." = = = = = = = = = = = = Tonight they would succeed, the smoker reflected as he waited in the parking lot outside of the high school. Krycek had his orders; if Fox did not make his contribution voluntarily, Krycek was to wait for him in his car. He had a bottle of chloroform and a cotton bandana-crude, but they would serve to disable the Mulder boy so that the consortium could use their medical gadgets to extract what they needed. The cigarette smoker was not the only distinguished adult who sat alone in a car. The Englishman inspected his fingernails as he waited and watched. Heather Resnick had come storming out of the dance and practically flung herself into Teena Mulder's black Lincoln. She'd been alone in there for a long time, but at last young Mulder had come to look for her. It was too dark to see his face, but the white of his suit coat made him easy to identify. Ron sat in his car too, listening on the radio as those pathetic Bulls got humiliated again. The Buffalo Bills would win the Superbowl long before Chicago managed to put together a decent team. But then Candy tottered out of the dance and assured him that everything was under control. She was going to get what he needed, and this time she wouldn't swallow. He gave her an encouraging smile, and then he drove off. This business with Mulder had taken up way too much of his time already. = = = = = = = = = = = = = He hated seniors. They thought they were God's gift. They cut classes, and nobody cared. They walked around like they owned the school. They made the teams and they got to play, and they never had to settle for dorky jobs like equipment manager. Alex had tears in his eyes as he hurried from the school building through the parking lot, but they were tears of rage. That guy Mulder thought he was a faggot! But it was Fox who was the faggot! Otherwise the boss wouldn't have told him to-well, it hadn't come to that anyway. Alex hadn't enjoyed kissing Fox, who had the worst breath he had ever encountered. But when Fox had put his arm across his throat, holding him so that he could barely breathe, well, that had felt kind of special. But it had to be Fox who was the faggot. Fox had given him his jacket. A white jacket. Alex was still holding it, and he stopped in the darkness to put it on instead of his own. What would a senior have in his pockets? Alex wondered, patting himself down. Let's see. Okay, a comb, a pack of Kleenex, a pen. Some kind of packets-maybe those pre-packed wet wipes from Kentucky Fried Chicken, or something? Only these felt round. Car keys. Yeah, of course. Seniors could drive. A flashlight. Now that really was nerdy. A penlight. Alex was on the AV squad, and even he didn't carry around a little flashlight. He used it to examine the last item. A draft card. Cool, only it didn't have Fox's name on it. What would Fox want with someone else's draft card? Alex put the draft card back in his pocket and took out the keys again. The boss was going to leave a pack of Morleys on the hood of Fox's car, so Alex would know which one it was. And there it was. He fumbled with the key, inadvertently locking the car, because it had been open. Finally he heard it click again. He held his breath, opened the door, and closed it as he slid in. He had to move quickly or the dome light would give him away-in case Fox was close enough to see. "Don't say a word." Alex whirled to the right-it was the girl from the restaurant. The girl who had asked him his name, and called him honey. "No more games-I want you. Right here. Right now," Heather said. Her tone was anything but sexy. She liked Fox, she liked feeling her power over him, and she would have loved to wear his class ring-he'd have to buy her a gold chain for it, of course-but the stakes were too high. Mr. Wellington was giving her a second chance, and she was not going to fail again. Whatever it took, she would bring him the sperm sample he was after. Fox's girlfriend, Alex thought. A senior! And she wanted him. "How do you want it, honey?" she asked. Alex wasn't sure how to answer that. "Regular," he wanted to say, or maybe "normal." Heather had been pondering how to accomplish her mission. She didn't want to ruin her dress if she didn't have to, but she had some doubts about taking him in her mouth. She pushed him back, and he collapsed against the seat willingly. As she started to open his pants, he hurried to assist her. Mr. Wellington had given Heather a special container, and he'd been so discreet and apologetic when he'd explained to her how to use it. She could deposit the contents of her mouth, if that happened to be how she achieved the collection. She could use it to hold a Kleenex, or she could put in a used condom. Heather had it tucked between the backrest and the seat, and she checked to make sure she could reach it quickly. She hoped this wouldn't take too long. He was wearing black pants. What happened to Fox's white pants? Heather wondered. She didn't want to think about that. She slid the trouser down, the boy lifting his hips to accommodate her. Heather's heart was pounding. She'd consulted Masters and Johnson at the Chilmark Public Library, and *The Joy of Sex* at home. It was weird for her to realize that her mother or her father must have bought that book, maybe even read it. She'd snuck it into her room almost five years ago, though, and apparently nobody had missed it. Her search of the literature was augmented by her own limited experience and the knowledge she'd garnered from her peers. It was a shame that everything had gone wrong back in the biology lab-she didn't feel confident attempting another hand job, and she didn't think Fox would settle for that anyway. She touched his penis tentatively, first with her fingertips, and then she wrapped her hand around it. She took care to avoid his testicles; from what she'd gathered, testicles were extremely fragile, easily hurt or damaged. Besides, they were disgusting. His penis was less terrifying, now that she was resolved to go through with this. Heather's impression from past encounters must have been mistaken. She licked around the knob at the end. He didn't come. She licked up and down the long part-the shaft. Then she blew across it. Masters and Johnson said it would require five minutes of effective stimulation. She hoped this stimulation was effective. In five minutes he would ejaculate, and she'd have to hold his semen in her mouth until she could spit it into the little container. Would he tell her when he was about to come? That would be very helpful. The boy said something, something dark and warm and mysterious. Something completely unintelligible. It didn't even sound like English. "Fox?" she said, and she heard a gasp of pain, although she was sure she had not touched his testicles. "I'm not Fox," Alex said despairingly. "Who are you?" Heather asked, recoiling in alarm. "I'm just a faggot underclassman who can't drive," Alex sniffed. Fox's girlfriend didn't want him after all, he realized. "Oh my God," Heather said. "Don't hate me," Alex said. "And don't tell Fox." Except, maybe if she did tell, Fox would choke him some more. Maybe even beat him up? Why was that thought so yummy? This was all so confusing. "You're the boy from the restaurant," Heather said. She'd been thinking about the gorgeous young busboy with the soulful eyes. "Are you really queer?" Alex detected sympathy in her tone. And she recognized him. He'd kissed Fox right on the mouth, but he didn't think Fox had remembered him from their last meeting. "Yes," he said. "Fox thinks I'm queer. The old man thinks I'm queer." It galled him that the smoking man took it for granted that he was gay. When the smoker had used his charm and persuasion to convince Alex's mother to let him leave home, he had told her he'd make Alex into a tennis star. So even Alex's mother must think he was gay. "Then you don't like girls?" Heather asked softly. She wanted to comfort the sad boy with the beautiful face. "I like you," he said shyly. "I like you a lot." "I can tell," Heather said. She was feeling his penis again, but only out of curiosity. It was rigid like Fox's, but it seemed more manageable. More like something that might actually fit into her body without causing pain. "John Thomas likes you," Alex said. He was thinking about the dirty book he'd read, which had turned out to be a little disappointing. But he liked the idea that he'd be the virile gamekeeper, and Mulder could be the cuckolded nobleman with the war injury. "*Lady Chatterley's Lover*!" Heather exclaimed. The boy was young, but he was well-read. "Alex, you're not gay--you're sensitive!" "I wish you were right," Alex said, the wheels turning in his brain. "I wish there was some way to know for sure...." = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = His jacket was gone, and with it his car keys, but Mom kept an extra set in a magnetic case under the fender. When Fox hit the cool darkness outside the school, he began to feel better. "Fox!" It was Mrs. Hardy, leaning against the empty bike rack and smoking a cigarette. "Good evening, Mrs. Hardy," he said, and then, as he got closer, he greeted her in a more conspiratorial whisper: "Hi." His appreciation of Mrs. Hardy had grown of recent days. She gave him great pleasure and asked so little of him. It wasn't her fault that her stepson and her husband would cut off his balls if they ever learned about the affair. "You got your hands full tonight, don't you, sweetie," she said. "Not any more," he answered. "I'm done with this, Mrs. Hardy." "You're taking the pledge? Giving up women?" she teased him. "No, Mrs. Hardy, I'm giving up girls. And women-except for one." "Hold it right there, Fox," she told him. "I mean it, Mrs. Hardy. I don't want anyone else. You make me so happy, Mrs. Hardy, and I want to make you happy too. Right now I don't feel too well, but tomorrow, Mrs. Hardy-" "Sweetheart, it's over," she said. "It's not a good thing, Fox. There are lots of nice girls out there, and you're going to have such a good time." "I've been thinking, Mrs. Hardy. I don't want you to pay me anymore-for the yard work, I mean. I'll cut the grass. I think you need some more lime in the back, Mrs. Hardy, and maybe some weed killer. But don't worry about that-" "It's over," she said again. "Or we could try something organic. And maybe start a compost heap..." "Fox. No." "Mrs. Hardy! I'm just talking about your yard! Come on, Mrs. Hardy, you got to let me mow the lawn!" He hadn't felt so confused or powerless since his dad had told him he was moving out. "Fox, do you really want to cut the grass?" she asked, looking into his eyes as the smoke curled out of her nostril. He sighed. "No," he said. With nothing left to say, he turned away and walked to the car. There was something in the car that he really wanted. It was that roll of Tums his mother kept in the glove compartment. He couldn't see Heather through the fogged-up windows when he got to the car, but the fog itself showed she was in there. She'd lace into him for making her wait so long. Mulder had never dumped anyone before, but he knew the drill. On the other hand, he really didn't want to be friends with Heather. She wasn't very nice. He was reaching under the fender for the spare keys when he realized that the car was moving, rocking a bit. What was she doing in there? Okay, Einstein, he told himself, figure it out. He felt like ripping the door off the Lincoln and shouting at whoever was inside: "Keep the girl! Keep the car! Just give me the Tums!" He didn't do it, though. He pocketed the spare keys and walked away from the school. Perry's News and Variety was just a couple of blocks away. Perry's would have Tums. Or Rolaids or something. And as he walked, Fox thought of all the injustices, all the discrimination, all the wrongs that had been perpetuated on women around the world over the centuries. But it still didn't add up to what had been done to him today. Perry's was open, of course. Perry's was always open. The Seconal man was outside on the bench, waving a magazine to get his attention. Everybody called him that; maybe Seconal was his poison-of-choice, but more often than not he carried a brown paper bag. "What'll it be, kid?" he asked. "You want some Bud? You want some Molson?" Seconal man eked out a steady income purveying beer to Perry's underage customers. "No thanks," said Fox, his hand across his stomach. "You want rubbers, kid? You want some Trojans?" he asked. "Nah." The only thing he wanted was Tums, and he could buy that himself. "You gotta help me out," Seconal man croaked at him. "I'm hurting bad." Fox looked at the wretch, who twitched and trembled so much that his words caught in his throat. Fox gave him a couple of dollars, and Seconal man nodded. "You're a good kid," he said. "This'll get me fixed up." He rose from the bench, almost forgetting the magazine. "Hey, here you go, kid, you keep it," he said, and he gave it to Fox before shuffling off into the darkness. Fox looked at the glossy publication. Somebody must have paid Seconal man to buy it for him, and then gotten scared off without taking his prize. He'd seen magazines like this before, of course, but he'd thought they were for losers who couldn't get themselves a real girl. Tonight he realized how comfortable it might be to spend some time with these two-dimensional women, who wouldn't take his jacket or ask him to dig out the rhododendron or prattle like airheads. This was a really classy magazine, he thought. He turned it back to the cover page to find out which one it was. *Celebrity Skin*. Never heard of it, he thought, and went back to looking through the pages. = = = = = = = = = = = = = The smoking man employed his usual tactic of taking the offensive, and Ronald seemed to shake off the humiliation with a shrug, but the Englishman felt appalled and disgusted. "You gentlemen are off the hook," the First Elder rasped at them. "The project has been shelved indefinitely." A comfortable, well-appointed conference room in New York City, occupied by a group of men with a unique understanding of the world and its place in the cosmos. "Off the hook," the smoker repeated. "And what about those responsible for the error? I obtained the specimen and I refuse to be held accountable if one of our scientists made an error in identifying it." The smoking man had been so relieved, months ago, when Mrs. Hardy had unexpectedly provided him with a sperm sample. He had given up on her by then. "Let's make this quite clear," the First Elder said. "With our resources and data base, there was no error. What you brought us was the ejaculate of a totally unremarkable man identified as Robert Hardy." The smoker clenched his jaw with repressed fury. "I'm curious," Ronald said. "Who was the source of my sample?" "Another nonentity," said the First Elder. "A schoolboy named Gary Baker." Ronald shook his head in amusement. "Apparently we went to great expense to gratify the men of Martha's Vineyard," he said. "Not only the men," the First Elder said, looking directly at the Briton. "Very well," said the Englishman. "Why don't you tell us the source of my specimen?" He could see that the chubby lout was eager to capitalize on this disaster. "It took our doctors a long time to match that sample," the First Elder said. "There's something shady about the donor. Never inoculated against small pox, and difficult to identify." "A mystery man," the smoker said ironically. "*Your* mystery man," the First Elder said pointedly. And then, for the first time in that chamber, the name was spoken. The Briton, the smoker, and the enigmatic Ronald uttered it in unison: "Krycek!" = = = = = = = = = = = = end Seminal Events by Kel (ckelll@hotmail.com) and Trelawney (frohicke@texas.net) Authors' notes: You may be wondering about one thing: Why did the Consortium want a sperm sample from Fox Mulder? We've been wondering about that too. To get a glimpse of some of these colorful characters, don't forget to stop by and pick up a mug and a T-shirt at: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/4480/seminalevents.html We have websites too! Visit Kel at: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Realm/9374/ Visit Tre at: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/4480/ Messages to "L": We're still grateful and impressed that you were able to be so constructive about a story that was inherently offensive to you. You'll feel a little better to learn of the following, even though it didn't fit in the story: Heather and Alex not only returned the varsity jacket and the white suit coat, they even had them cleaned first. Alex arrived at an acceptance and understanding of his own sexuality. We may still be confused, but he isn't. Fortunately, no one in this story was carrying any sexually transmissible conditions. One of the kids on the team thought he'd caught a case of "crabs," but it turned out to be jock itch. Eventually, Fox did meet a woman who was worthy of his affection. Now you understand why it took him so long to figure it out. # # #